Did you ever play those games in school where you would tell the class how you felt by describing weather patterns? Well, I guess that today both the city of Louisville and I could be classified as “gloomy.” I did indeed have a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday, in which I both ate and shopped way too much. I wish I could say that I had observed Buy Nothing Day on Friday, but unfortunately I forgot about it until after the fact. Next year…

But alas, David left Louisville early this morning, taking the sunshine with him. He must have lost it somewhere between here and New England, though, because he’s been having a horrid time getting back to Boston (his original destination when he went to the airport yesterday afternoon…) due to all sorts of calamities. Two new destinations and twenty-four hours later, and he’s on his way to Providence, Rhode Island right now. And I’m still here.

I’ve been in the office since 7:15 am, and I feel like I really haven’t accomplished much. I think it has to do with the fact that whenever you come back from a big holiday, you have to spend the entire day talking to your coworkers about what you did. You know it would be rude not to, and anyway, there is a hint of reluctance to go back to the little offices and cubes where you don’t see anyone else all day. There’s something about the magic of the holidays, if you want to call it that, which makes even isolated, individualistic Americans want the warmth and comfort of other people. Maybe it has something to do with it being the darkest time of the year outside.

Fitting, isn’t it, that we should celebrate Jesus as the Light coming into the darkness right at the time of year when the darkness is greatest? For those of you who aren’t familiar with the liturgical calendar, Advent is upon us. We often associate Advent with joy and hope, and even non-liturgical Protestants observe it (my church growing up, a Pentecostal church, was an exception—almost every other Protestant church I’ve attended, of whatever theological stripe, has held some observance). Yet in the medieval church, Advent emphasized the Second Coming of Christ and was thus a time of penitence, kind of like Lent. Some modern liturgies, although now focusing on Christ’s birth, nod at this early tradition by emphasizing apocalyptic texts early in the Advent season. But our Advent season is a time of joy and expectation, of anticipating light in the darkness of our lives.

We are entering a season of expectation, a season of waiting—waiting for exams to be finished, waiting for dawn to come, waiting for loved ones to return to us. But most of all, we’re waiting for the Hope that is at the center of our Christian faith to meet us in Bethlehem. In a world scarred and beaten by violence, suffering, and injustice, when the darkness seems to overwhelm us, perhaps we do need a little Jesus after all. It starts as a small spark, a baby in a manger, a mustard seed in the ground. But the light shines, and darkness cannot overcome it.

“A thrill of hope,
The weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn…”
--From “O Holy Night”

Kelsey

It's gloomy here in Memphis too (and by Memphis, I really just mean me, but you get the picture.)

But, this was just what I needed to hear. Thanks

Jen Ross

I loved your "O holy night" quote - We tend to forget that it's really more than just a pretty solo for Christmas eve. I wonder how many of those congregants in the most powerful and influential churches in the nation really listen when it states
"Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is love and His Gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother
And in His Name all oppression shall cease."
Do they remember that the slavery and oppression the hymn writer was decrying is still present in our lives? Like "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day," this is no passive "Away in a Manger." Christ is not tucked away in some far off corner, born into silence, but rather right here amongst us, redeeming and liberating from his very first days...