Once again we have arrived at the season of Advent. Advent is the liturgical season of waiting for the arrival of Christmas.  Advent comes at the end of the calendar year, yet it marks the beginning of the calendar for the liturgical year. Advent is a beginning, the root word of advent is arrival – it is the start of something. And in the lectionary, the start of advent again and again offers us a form of this apocalyptic text about the second coming of Jesus – something that feels like a very different kind of arrival.

Each year I am taken by surprise when I read this text as we kick off this season. The fancy theological word for thinking about ‘end times’ is Eschatology. Sometimes when we hear eschatological reflections they come across as threatening – a dire warning to get yourself in order and make sure you are on the right path or you may be left in the dust! It is in the dust of earthy living that we abide. Our day to day lives are in many ways mundane, we are incarnate beings – we are embodied and we experience life in and through the capacities of our bodies which are simultaneously full of possibilities and limitations.

This eschatological text is less about threat and more of an invitation to hope in the midst of weariness, despair, anguish, and destruction. We know what it is to be surrounded by pain and in the midst of less than ideal circumstances – some people experience this more intimately than others – yet we are all impacted by the presence of injustice and suffering, whether it is our own or if we are witnesses to the impact of injustice and suffering on others. As people of faith we desire to believe in something bigger than experiences and  systems of oppression and disconnection. In the presence of such systems and experiences, we seek signs of hope that there is something different possible – something redemptive on the horizon – something that prioritizes possibility and freedom.

Receive this poem by M Jade Kaiser entitled: Behold, this glistening of hope:

Behold, the glistening sign of hope.

 

A distant but shining star is

cupped by the darkness

that holds gently

our future.

 

Do we dare to feel its warming glow

in these days so cold with fear?

 

Do we dare to wonder where it leads us,

or choose the path we know?

 

The Holy has painted possibility

across the night sky.

 

It flickers with potential,

trembles with vulnerability,

shimmers with beauty, still.

 

Come, seekers.

 

The journey is before us.

A new day is born.

I first encountered these words in the book we are using as a resource during this season of Advent here at HMC. The book is entitled: The Holy in the Night; Finding Freedom in a Season of Waiting – written by Shannon Dycus and published by Herald Press. Shannon Dycus is currently the vice president of student affairs and dean of students at Eastern Mennonite University and was previously co-pastor of Indianapolis Mennonite Church. In The Holy in the Night, Dycus offers daily reflections that invite us to intentionally join in the journey before us – the journey of advent.

The journey of advent is about waiting. To use journey and waiting in the same sentence is a curious conundrum. Journey implies movement, progression, momentum. Waiting feels more still and stagnant. The invitation of advent that Dycus offers is an invitation to lean into the limbo of this season. To realize that while the journey we take during advent may not move us down a path, it is an expansive experience that can shift things within us, making space for us to recognize, receive, and reflect the Holy when it shows up.

The framework for this book is a series of daily devotionals. The devotionals are rooted in scriptures, poems, and songs from the old and new testaments and voices of Black and Brown modern day prophets. It includes an overarching structure based on the song: O Holy Night.

Dycus’ own words provide meaningful context for the journey ahead:

“The title of this book reframes the familiar Christmas song “O Holy Night,” which starts with these three words. This phrase is contradictory. Our notions of the night are often scary and dangerous. The language of darkness that fills the night is [often] aligned with sin and death. We elevate and center our faith on finding the Light. How can the night be holy?

The central themes of Advent embody this contradiction. Our calendars say go; Advent says slow down. Hasty Christmas music and social obligations maintain a constant volume; Advent says find silence. Marketing and capitalism say go extravagant; Advent says there is value in simple gifts. Advent is resistance. It is a season to recalibrate our spirits by accepting the invitation to slow down, find silence, and seek the simple.

“O Holy Night” introduces a possibility, one that showcases the Advent message. Resistance to the norms and the powers that fuel the norms, “O Holy Night” suggests that something new might be possible. The season makes a space for us to draw closer to ourselves and God, finding freedoms we haven’t known before.

There is possibility of peace in this season

There is possibility of wisdom in this in-between.

There is possibility of holy in the night.”

The song “O Holy Night” is based on a poem originally written by a French man, Placide Cappeau,  who apparently wasn’t particularly devout or religious. The English translation of his poem became the carol that we are familiar with and the carol goes like this:

O holy night! The stars are brightly shining;

it is the night of our dear Savior’s birth.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining,

till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,

for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!

Fall on your knees; O hear the angel voices!

O night divine, O night when Christ was born!

O night, O holy night, O night divine!

Dycus issues a unique invitation to the season of advent through the use of this song – here again are some of her words:

“In this night, we are summoned to settle and listen – for there is divine work before us. In many of our Christmas songs, we rush to the light of the morning and the beautiful swaddling of a baby. “O Holy Night” affirms that this night is holy. While there is sweat and blood, fatigue and awe, the forming of a brand-new family, this night is holy; this night is divine.

This song finds us before Christmas breaks in with all its lights and splendor. It catches us before the upbeat melodies and the moment when “all is bright.” This song portrays the messy night, before all the joy, is holy and Love is still swaddled, quiet, and vulnerable. “O Holy Night” asks us to squint through darkness with wonder for its unique capacity to bear the divine.”

Dycus has invited us to celebrate and linger with wonder in the darkness, to honor the night and open ourselves up to the wisdom it holds and the gifts it offers. Our worship arts installation for this season is joining in that exploration. It is a night sky. Upon that night sky are collaged layers of comforter batting that, this week, allude to the clouds in the scripture bearing Christ towards us. In the weeks to come, as we linger longer in the holiness of the night, we may encounter them as abstract explorations of the mysteries of deep space. Images taken by tools like the Hubble Telescope reveal wonders of deep space formations and colors that make it clear that there is more going on in the darkness than we can take in without taking time. To stand under an expansive night sky one can be filled with a sense of infinite possibilities. One can also feel infinitesimal and insignificant. The juxtaposition of those experiences are a space of limbo, much like the season of advent. We are invited to linger in wonder in the liminal space between the mundane and the holy; it is a threshold that holds space for both.

The art on the boards is made out of scraps of cotton batting leftover from the creation of the comforters that the comforter group works on so diligently each week. These are the leftover bits of the center filling from those comforters. One might say they are the heart of comfort. During this season, we may encounter moments of weariness and uncertainty and find ourselves in need of comfort. At the ends of each pew you will find a basket of scrap pieces of the batting material. It is soft and inviting to the touch. You are invited to hold a piece during worship each week as a sensory aspect of worship. Swaddle your fingers with it and let it hold and comfort you as you hold it. And if you need to take a piece with you in your pocket to carry you through the week ahead – please do!

We all need a bit of support sometimes – a bit of hope – to carry us through whatever it is we are going through. The apocalyptic text from Luke cries out words of hope to those experiencing anguish, suffering, and destruction. It is a reminder that spaces of oppression and injustice will not have the final word. Christ is on the move, coming near, and drawing all things towards justice and freedom. The text instructs those who hear it to not simply wait for Christ to appear, instead, to be bold in attending to that space of waiting, to expect justice and freedom and to take part in making space for it.

Advent is a season that calls us to this kind of engaged waiting. A waiting that anticipates the presence of Emmanuel, God with us. We may deeply yearn for the joy and celebration of Christmas and the hope it brings; advent invites us to linger in this time of waiting. A waiting that is actively on the lookout for signs of God’s presence. A waiting that invites us, to be on the lookout for the possibilities and freedom that God is bringing about – yes, and to also experience the presence of the Holy now in the midst of the weary world as it is.

Each daily devotional in The Holy in the Night concludes with a breath prayer. Words to hold as we inhale and exhale through this season of active waiting. Join with me in this breath prayer:

Inhale: I can start with what is.

Exhale: God becomes closer as I start.

Christmas is a celebration of Emmanuel, God with us and God is with us in all things. May we open ourselves up to seeking and recognizing that presence and, as we are able, to reflect that presence in our living as an act of resistance and a sign of hope.