Waiting Together, in Hope

When have I ever felt “ready” (as in “prepared”) for Advent? Answer: probably never. A not-so-secret secret is that I don’t do much to make ready for this season of writing and reflection. The beauty, for me, is in the moment; the act of noticing and sharing what I’ve observed.

Author and podcaster Kate Bowler has a new social media series called “A Blessing and a Curse.” This morning, for the beginning of Advent, she wrote:

Not because the world is tidy or ready. (It isn’t.) But because this is how hope works:
One candle lit in the ruins.
One breath held in holy defiance.

This season is familiar ground for those who keep showing up.
Who wait for healing.
Who long for justice.
Who believe that even now, God is drawing near.

Welcome to Advent, friends.
The world is a mess, but God is coming, anyway.

Almost a decade ago, I read a Lenten blog by Addie Zierman about times when our whole lives, when the whole world, feels like Lent. Somber, weighed-down, incomplete. I don’t know about you, but that feels like 2025 to me. When we feel like the embodiment of Lent, we need to remember and proclaim the importance of Advent. The world is full of darkness. Current events are scary and confusing. Stories coming from news headlines can seem infuriating and debilitating. But this is when we need Advent the most. Light in the darkness. It is built into the very fabric of our winter holiday celebration to push back the darkness with light. 

The Advent season teaches us a lot about waiting. Advent waiting is full of expectation [see name of this blog!] and in many ways is an exercise in looking for the Light. This is not a passive waiting, but one full of curiosity, wonder, and hope. Waiting for understanding to bridge the gap between not-yet and “the fullness of time.” It is hard. But Advent teaches us it is not meant to be a frantic search. The Nativity story (as old as time itself) is stretched across four Sundays, causing us to pause and observe each theme and each character’s steady path towards the Christ-child’s feeding-trough throne. To pay attention. Here there is beauty and mystery, wisdom and comfort, if we only pay attention to the story before us.

I will end with a poem by Written to Speak author, Tanner Olson. He writes about this idea so wonderfully:

Advent begins quietly—
the way the fun slops into the sky
before we have the chance 
to say goodbye to the stars.
It starts small, soft, almost forgettable,
and yet something in us knows
this season is asking us to slow down
and pay attention.

We light one candle
to push back the dark,
to remind ourselves that hope
burns bright—
a spark that is just enough 
to keep us moving forward.
It comes in flickers,
in whispers,
in the gentle glow
of a God who has not forgotten us.

And maybe this is the hardest part—
the waiting.
The in-between.
The not-yet.
Trusting that God is working 
in the places we cannot see,
stitching together the things
we thought were falling apart,
breathing life where we assumed
there was only silence. 

But Advent tells us
a different story.
That even in the long nights,
God is doing more
than we can imagine.
That His timing is not absence,
and His quiet is not distance.

So we wait—
not with empty hands,
but with hands holding the truth
that light is on its way.

And we remember:
We are not forgotten.
We are not alone. 
God is filling our lives
with hope, peace, joy, and love—
often more than we know
what to do with—
as He invites us 
to slow down
and pay attention.

In this season,
we wait.
We hope.
We trust that God is doing 
Something more
than we can see.

Let us wait together, with hope.

Welcome to Advent

Dear friends (and those who may have stumbled upon this blog),

If you've joined me for any of the past sixteen years (wow!), then you are probably familiar with Advent. If you are a new reader, this will serve as an introduction:

In latin the word "adventus" means "coming." Within the context of western Christianity, Advent is the season of four weeks leading up to Christmas—the celebration of Christ's birth. It is a time of joyful expectation and preparation. The four weeks are marked by the four Sundays, on which the candles of the Advent wreath are lit.

The first candle is traditionally the candle of Hope, ushering us into the season with hopeful expectation and wonder. However, with so many church traditions comes a variety of names for each candle. Usually, they are organized around characters or themes as a way to unfold the story and direct attention to the celebrations and worship in the season. So, the sequence might be Prophets, Bethlehem, Shepherds, Angels; Expectation, Annunciation, Proclamation, Fulfillment; or Prophets, John the Baptist, Mary, the Magi.

Last year, I tried something new and used the broad theme of “all things new” to direct my reflections, breaking the four weeks into micro themes centering around courage, refinement, intersections, and curiosity. This year I’m going back to the basics. My Advent guides will be the traditional names of the Advent candles: Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love.

For four short weeks every year, we stop and see—with amazing clarity—God’s miraculous hand shaping the trajectory of human history. I have a hard time seeing this kind of perspective in daily life. Even with God’s sustaining grace, I am so often numb to the repercussions of Christ’s advent in my own life. This blog is an attempt to peel back the layers of those truths and meditate on the everlasting love God showed when he first sent us His son. 

And as we do that together, may our hearts be directed towards the greater Advent still to come. For we know this to be true: the infant Jesus we celebrate at Christmas has promised He will one day return. On earth again, we will see His fully divine power and might. 

So let us enter this season with expectation, ever blessed by those who have paved the way. I’m glad you have chosen to join me on the journey!