Wilder than clay pots and torches, we get a virgin singing a lullaby over a manger. A baby cries in the night and hell trembles at the sound.
Sin doesn’t get the final say. Because of a little baby born in Bethlehem, grace always has the last word.
He is a refiner’s fire who draws close, bent on purifying and transforming us into priceless gold.
This season of mystery invites and awakens childlike faith. Not just to grasp the right answers. But to keep asking the right questions.
In the garden, sin silenced the melody. In Advent, Jesus writes a better song.
The Presence himself has made his dwelling among us, not descending in fire and cloud but in flesh and blood.
Yes, we sing to him from the overflow of our joy. But imagine a God so filled with love for his people that he sings to us from the overflow of his joy.
There is joy in knowing you are spoken for, joy in receiving love and giving it in return.
When it seems as if there is no hope, we remember it is precisely the thing we do have. We light a wreath of candles as defiance against the darkness.
God of the oppressed, God on the margins, draw me to where you are.
We know you are working behind the scenes, directing the play. But we need you to step onto center stage and take the lead role.
Wait and hope are the twin anthems of Advent. It’s interesting that in both Hebrew and Latin, the root word for “wait” can also be translated as “hope.”
