What it Means to Hope

Today is the first Sunday in Advent.

I remember being told that Advent was a season of preparation—preparation for the coming of the Christ child—much like Lent is the season of preparation for Holy Week and Easter.

But Advent is actually more than that.

Advent is, above all else, a call to full awareness.

That is why we sang, “Awake, Awake and greet the new morn” this morning.

Because, as Christians, we live in a time of perpetual Advent.

Only now, we’re not waiting for the coming of the Christ child.

We await the second coming of Christ.

That is what the gospel lesson for today is about.

It may seem an odd passage for Advent.

But, in this parallel context of waiting for the Christ child and waiting for the second coming, it fits.

So, we are called to be awake—and if you’ll forgive the alliteration—aware, attentive, and alert.

Awake to the injustices that are occurring around us.

Aware of signs and wonders we are witness to every day.

Attentive to the words of Jesus and the example that he set.

And alert to the Hope that this season of Advent brings.

The Hope of the Messiah fulfilled in the first coming of Christ.

Mary, the mother of Jesus, said, “For you, the Almighty, have done great things for me, and holy is your Name.

Your mercy reaches from age to age for those who fear you.

You have shown strength with your arm; you have scattered the proud in their conceit; you have deposed the mighty from their thrones and raised the lowly to high places.

You have filled the hungry with good things, while you have sent the rich away empty.”

She was speaking about promises to the Jewish people, fulfilled by YHWH.

We can also say it as promises kept to us, as followers of Jesus.

But this season of Advent is also about the Hope of the second coming of the Messiah.

We live in this time of waiting—waiting for the second coming of Jesus.

Where the Kin-dom is both already and not yet.

Where we are called to have hope—hope in the face of events that sometimes appear hopeless.

Hope that is not based in blind optimism.

But rather, hope that is based in faith and trust in God.

Hope that is sometimes juxtaposed against despair.

Because the Kin-dom is both now and not yet.

So, I would like to try to shed some light on this duality by sharing a few of my despairs and hopes.

I despair that churches care more about tradition than relevance and, in a staggering display of hypocrisy, care more about political power than adherence to the words of the One they claim to follow.

And yet, those same churches all lament the loss of young people.

However, I find hope in the group of 80 young people who gathered at the Synod Youth Retreat to explore their faith rather than play Minecraft or binge watch TikTok videos.

I despair that young people are being denied gender-affirming care, despite every major medical association saying it is “suicide prevention”.

But I find hope in the brave children who say, “My pronouns are ‘they’ and I am exactly who God intended me to be.”

I despair that “smash and grab” is no longer about criminals breaking a showcase to steal jewelry.

“Smash and grab” has become about breaking car windows to snatch, detain, and deport brown people.

But I find hope in the group of Midwestern pastors who are organizing a nationwide Palm Sunday action to drive change in the country—to mirror Jesus’ radical procession into Jerusalem and reclaim what it means to be Christian.

I despair that Spanish-speaking immigrant children are not going to school because they fear their parents won’t be there when they get home.

My heart breaks with the knowledge that this gap in their education will have a lasting impact on their entire lives.

But I find hope in the group of nine New Jersey pastors who throw their egos and their comfort levels to the wind to learn Spanish so they can communicate with their neighbors and serve them better.

I despair that, in the past year, 240 transgender people were murdered, 25 of them in the United States.

I lament that both numbers are undoubtedly an undercount and don’t include the those who died by suicide or those whose lives were forever changed by nonfatal violence.

But I find hope in the group of 40 people who huddled against the cold while we lit candles and read the names murdered transgender people out loud.

I despair that transgender servicemembers are being told they are not worthy to serve in the armed forces.

I despair that some who have already served are being denied their retirement benefits.

But I find hope in the twelve transgender young people who came to our Name Change Clinic and said, “no one gets to define me but me. I will be my authentic self whether you like it or not.”

I despair that our military is being used to attack boats in international waters without authorization from congress or transparency to the public.

I despair that we have become a nation that kills survivors of an attack instead of rescuing them and taking them into custody.

But I find hope in the six veteran members of Congress who stood up to remind service members that their duty is to the Constitution, not to administrations, and it is not only their right, but their duty, to refuse illegal orders.

I despair that babies are dying from whooping cough and measles because their government is pushing misinformation about vaccines.

And yet, I continue to have hope.

My hope lies in a love so deep that God became incarnate—as a helpless brown baby—born into poverty in an occupied nation.

My hope lies in the resurrection of Jesus—and the promise of his second coming.

My hope lies in the knowledge that God never disappoints—God’s promises are always fulfilled.

Hope reminds us that there is nothing in life we have not faced that we did not, through God’s grace, survive.

Hope is our collective memory of good in the past.

That is the foundation of our expectation of good in the future.

Regardless of how troubling—or how hopeless—the present might seem.

Hope sifts through the pieces of our broken hearts to find those memories of God’s promises fulfilled.

To those times when God miraculously brought good out of evil—brought joy out of grief.

That is the foundation of our hope for the future.

Our hope for the Kin-dom.

When the Kin-dom is no longer “not yet”.

When the Kin-dom is a promise fulfilled.

And we can say, “Awake, awake and greet the new morn” with brand new meaning.

And sing out for joy that the Kin-dom is here!

May this contemplation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus.

Amen.