Advent 2 2015

2 Advent 2015 (Year C)

One of the aspects of the Advent season, along with preparation, is this idea of enduring hope, and even the trust that all things will be made well in God’s time. So, like in our reading from Baruch, we’re given glimpses of promises—promises that God will restore all things, that justice and peace will abound, and that even those who are cast down will be lifted up to places of honor. And I think it’s this sort of thing—this hope—that we remember, and even try to rehearse in this season. So, whether it’s charitable giving, or volunteering our time, people respond to the ideals of compassion, and generosity. Likewise, we know that most television shows will have a dedicated episode where the virtues of hope, charity and faith play out in some manner. And no matter how cheesy it may be, we sort of enjoy it, because deep down, we love stories about these things.

At the same time, I suppose to some people believing such things, trusting such things, and even hoping for such things seems terribly naïve. After all, evidence of how difficult the real world is plays on a constant loop in the background of our lives.

We continue to ignore the irreparable damage we’re doing to our world, which continues to have broader consequences—not only animal and plant species, but even those who are most poor in the world.

We watch, seemingly powerless as individuals amass unimaginable wealth, all the while families of employees, or those the companies have laid-off, struggle financially.

We know there are children neglected and abused, and we know there are people who, for whatever reason, cannot have children, but want them desperately. And all of this just within our own country, without even considering matters concerning race, gender, or sexual orientation.

We inhabit a terribly convoluted world, one with untold dangers and complexities that can shake the faith of anyone. In fact, if our faith doesn’t get shaken once in a while, we’re perhaps not paying enough attention. As Bob Dylan says, “It’s not dark yet, but it’s gettin’ there.”

Maybe it’s this feeling of imminent darkness that seems to obscure the goodness and generosity of God. Maybe this is even the reason that faith in general seems so minute and insignificant when compared to all the factors in the world that test our mettle. Maybe this is why it’s difficult to let our little lights shine, as the song says—because, after all, what difference would it make in so much dark?

But, then again, it may well be that the reason we feel like our little lights are not all that bright is because it’s just not dark enough. See, this is sort the irony of the Advent season. For us in the Northern Hemisphere, we’re moving into the darkest part of the year. The weather is cold, nights are longer, days are shorter. And so, we use candles not only to give extra light, but also to mark time—one candle for each week of Advent, and if they were wax, we’d see them each getting smaller as the season went on. Technically, I suppose they could even last through to the Spring.

Anyway, before Christianity, there were a number of ways in which people in different cultures marked this time. Candles were used, but other things were included as a sign of hope and promise that life wouldn’t stay this way—cold and dark… So many people did things like hang sprigs of evergreen in their houses—evergreens, obviously being plants that remain green year round. Again, this was not only a reminder that winter would end, but also that there is always hope of rebirth, and eternal life.

Within the Christian faith, symbols of hope and eternal life are of course signs that are important and familiar to us. This is why we’ve adopted things like decorating with evergreens in Advent and Christmas. And in the same way that these things are used to remind us and help us focus on hope and new life—the candles likewise remind us that there is still light in this dark season. In fact, as the season gets darker, we light more candles, and the light continues to get brighter. But, the interesting thing is, if the season weren’t dark enough, we might very well miss how bright the light of these candles really are…

If you picked up one of the Living Compass Advent books, you might have read one of the recent meditations written by Scott Stoner. He talks about one night when the power went out in his house, and suddenly he realized that he was completely disoriented. He was in his own kitchen, in his own house, but he couldn’t even see his own hand it was so dark. Maybe you’ve experienced this feeling too—I know have.

Anyway, he eventually finds a candle and is again able to find his way around. What he was writing about was a bit different than my point, but what I was struck by, was thinking about how almost painful it is to go from being in pitch darkness, and then to suddenly have the light of a candle flame. Even such a small light as a candle flame can be almost blinding when the darkness is at its thickest…

And really, this is the main theme for Advent—sure there is preparation, but what we prepare for is that which is largely unseen. It is the assurance of hope that all things will be made new. But in the meantime, our work is this business of light—to share the light of hope, and in our way to remain little lights in a world that appears to be getting dark around us.

In fact, John’s Gospel says this is what Jesus was like when he was coming into the world—a Light—one which was small enough that it could easily have been missed, and was missed. And yet, in his brief ministry, the light that Jesus gave to his disciples was kindled by generations of others who in turn shared their light. It’s no mystery why we give newly baptized people a candle, and it’s no surprise that we tell them to receive the Light of Christ. We even call the largest candle in our Advent Wreath the Christ Candle—and at the Easter Vigil, we’ll chant the words “The Light of Christ” as we process the Pascal Candle into the church.

  

The point is, if we begin to take the business of faith seriously—make it a priority—it can begin to dispel the darkness in our lives. What’s more, if we get this Light into our heads and into our hearts; if we allow it to transform us, we find that we, ourselves become a light of hope. Soon our conversations begin to speak as much hope as the words of the prophets. Soon, our actions and way of life become a confession of faith; and soon, our lives become illuminated by love.

Just as a small candle flame can be used to ignite other candles; it is our job as people of faith—Advent People and People of God—to encourage and share this light of Jesus Christ. Even the smallest light can be blindingly bright, and even a tiny flame can dispel the dark. It can even be used to ignite still more flames. So, as the season darkens, and apparently so does our world, let your light so shine that people may see our good works and give glory to God. Simply put, be the light you are (no matter how small you think that light may be), so that the light of Christ can illuminate even the darkest places of the world.