Waiting.
Expecting.
Anticipating.
Hoping.
These words give description to the sentiment that the season of Advent seeks to call forth in the hearts and souls of those who profess love for Jesus.
A favorite time of year for many, and understandably so because we know the ending. We know for whom the weary world was waiting, expecting, anticipating, and hoping. So, for us, the season of Advent is one of rejoicing because, as the favorite hymn of this season relates, we live with a “…thrill of hope…” and, though weary, we rejoice.
There is another word, however, that is missing from our Advent descriptors; a word that looms behind the waiting, expecting, anticipating, and hoping. A word that described what almost certainly permeated the reality of Mary and Joseph so long ago.
Desperation.
Desperately waiting. Desperately expecting. Desperately anticipating. Desperately hoping that someone – anyone – would open doors for them.
The door of sanctuary.
The door of safety.
The door of comfort.
The door of food and sustenance.
The door of rest.
The door of love and compassion.
The desperation of someone opening any door for them, whatever the cost.
Our wait, expectation, anticipation, and hope, if we are honest, is interrupted by inconveniences that cause us frustration, not threats to the actual, physical well-being of those we love; threats that rightfully foster desperation. Frustration due to inconvenience is not the same as desperation for food, shelter, safety from violence, or fighting for one’s very existence. To equate the two dilutes the intimate connectedness and selflessness of the divine birth and death because it reveals our lack of desperation, our unspoken lack of need.
It mocks God, diminishes Jesus, and strips dignity from so many who bear the divine image of the Creator. In short, it lacks love and where there is no love, there is no Christ.
So, perhaps this season of Advent we should ask ourselves, individually and collectively, four questions to compliment the lighting of our four Advent candles.[1] It is in the spirit of John 18:37 when Jesus says to Pilate, “All who love the truth recognize that what I say is true.”
Does our Christian belief, no matter how passionately we believe and hold it…
- …contradict, or diminish in any way God’s unconditional love for everyone?
- …give us permission, no matter how small, to do anything other than a loving act?
- …tacitly permit us to exclude any of our brothers and sisters, no matter whom?
- …ask us, or allow us to do anything other than treat others as we would wish to be treated?
If the answer is “Yes” – even if it is just a momentary, flicker of a “Yes” that was quickly buried by our subconscious – then we have closed the door to the purity that is the love of God, in essence stating there is no room for the selflessness that God’s love demands of us.
If there is no room, then there is no love and thus, no Christ.
Right now, someone is desperately waiting, expecting, anticipating, and hoping.
[1] Drawn from “God is Love and Hell is Not.” By Tamargo and Sweeney.