The four weeks leading up to Christmas are a big deal to Christians. Called the season of “Advent,” they offer a chance for contemplation and expectation as we look toward the arrival of Jesus. Just as Samhain and All Saints’ Day bled together into Halloween, Christmas and Advent have their own tangled origins, with many customs from the Roman Saturnalia, Germanic Yuletide, and other winter solstice festivals finding their way into the celebrations. A Roman New Year of sorts, Saturnalia was a multiple-day party marked by feasting, gift-giving, and raucous revelry, and Christmas absorbed many of its more family-friendly aspects. Yuletide has less certain origins, but many of its customs (burning a multiple-day log, paying respect to the last sheaf of grain, eating a special boar, etc.) had to do with survival through the cold northern European winters. I can’t help but wonder how these Yuletide traditions have affected Advent (the season of waiting and expectation), and the link seems clearest in this first week of Advent: hope.

The Christmas displays have been up since October at the big box stores. The Black Friday rush has come and gone, replaced by a steady flow of Christmas shoppers. Red and green are everywhere, and bells ring on street corners as charities build up their financial stores for the coming year. Festive music hums from every speaker system, which means, for every soul-stirring “Carol of the Bells” rendition, I have to put up with at least three repetitions of “Wonderful Christmastime“. And of course, amid all this celebration, there’s also pain.

The days are getting shorter, and the weather is getting colder.
The end of the year is within sight, so we can’t help but reflect.
Perhaps this year has brought change and frustration,
and now, as we’re inundated with public displays of merriment,
the grief and disappointment and outrage grow harder to suppress.
There are people who won’t be joining us this Christmas,
whether due to death or disagreement or distance,
and their absence is tangible.
With the turmoil of the past year,
there is great uncertainty in the political landscape,
and the religious landscape isn’t faring much better.
So much feels wrong with the world around us,
so much feels wrong with the world inside us,
but in all this darkness, there is still a light.

Throughout the Bible, hope always shows up where it’s least expected.
As Job sits there picking at his sores,
as Hannah prays desperately at the temple,
as David watches his world fall apart,
as Elijah hides in a cave,
as Paul sits in prison,
as Israel awaits its messiah,
as a persecuted sect called “The Way” await that messiah’s return–
in the darkest times, where hope should be farthest off,
this is where hope sparks and roars to life.

In this first week of Advent, we cling to hope–
hope for reconciliation,
hope for new opportunities,
hope for a better tomorrow,
but especially, hope in Christ to return
and set this whole disordered creation right
and wipe away every tear
and heal every hurt.

Hope always shows up when things are at their darkest,
so we celebrate it with the first candle of Advent,
the first light that will usher in the other three.