Not too many weeks ago, I lit candles to remember those who had gone before on All Saints Sunday.
Now, during Advent, I find myself lighting candles for much the same reason.
Somehow, as I watch the wax pool, as I watch the smoke rise, I hope that my silent prayers of hope and help for this world reach the God who I know sees and hears.
As my newsfeed dumbfounds and angers me, I notice my clenched fists. I see within myself the temptation and tendency for violence to breed violence, hatred to breed hatred... but we are not children of violence and hatred. We forget. We forget that the subject of the verbs in the Magnificat is God and not us. We forget to remain open to the in-breaking of God, looking for God in the midst of the ash heap, where God surely dwells.
I wait for the world in which God's righteousness dwells, because it is increasingly clear that human notions of righteousness are so different from God's.
This year, the Advent waiting holds the weight of Lent. It is a simultaneous waiting and confession. It is a confession that I do not believe that I can save the world, though I would love to don a superhero cape and work behind the scenes to live in a world where all can breathe, where all can walk without fear of suspicion, where the color of our skin is representative of God's love of diversity and people who believe differently than me is representative of God's joy in bringing together that which was separated and bringing out of nothing relationships that looked as if they would never be.
I wait for the strength that comes to the powerless (2 Cor 12:9).
I wait for the world in which God's righteousness dwells (2 Peter 3:13)
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.
Now, during Advent, I find myself lighting candles for much the same reason.
Somehow, as I watch the wax pool, as I watch the smoke rise, I hope that my silent prayers of hope and help for this world reach the God who I know sees and hears.
As my newsfeed dumbfounds and angers me, I notice my clenched fists. I see within myself the temptation and tendency for violence to breed violence, hatred to breed hatred... but we are not children of violence and hatred. We forget. We forget that the subject of the verbs in the Magnificat is God and not us. We forget to remain open to the in-breaking of God, looking for God in the midst of the ash heap, where God surely dwells.
I wait for the world in which God's righteousness dwells, because it is increasingly clear that human notions of righteousness are so different from God's.
This year, the Advent waiting holds the weight of Lent. It is a simultaneous waiting and confession. It is a confession that I do not believe that I can save the world, though I would love to don a superhero cape and work behind the scenes to live in a world where all can breathe, where all can walk without fear of suspicion, where the color of our skin is representative of God's love of diversity and people who believe differently than me is representative of God's joy in bringing together that which was separated and bringing out of nothing relationships that looked as if they would never be.
I wait for the strength that comes to the powerless (2 Cor 12:9).
I wait for the world in which God's righteousness dwells (2 Peter 3:13)
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.
No comments:
Post a Comment