The word, “advent” means arrival. In a sense, when some thing arrives, it is the announcement of a beginning. With an arrival, conditions change, whether minor or monumental.

If we are stuck in our ways, mired in some rut or another, we don’t expect much in the way of beginnings. The grays may seem interminable. A kind of perpetual dusk or even long night. Do we have a deep and abiding sense, then, of what the dawn will look like?

We practice many rituals to create rhythms of ends and beginnings. The first one that comes to mind right now is of an old, decrepit gray-bearded man represented as Father Time, he of the present year nearing its end. I don’t know about you, but the picture conjures up something far less than contentment of the way things have been in the last twelve months. It’s almost as if we’re stumbling broken to the finish line, just on the other side of which sits this cherubic little fellow brandishing the bright sash displaying the next year. That little fellow reminds us that we’ve made it through, as scarred as we might be, but that the next year promises things fresh and inviting.

Reflecting the other day on this particular season, I’m pulled to a certain kind of contemplation. Of course, this “season” is now all about a thing called “holidays” which my handy little dictionary defines as something festive where no work is done. So, obviously, we are led to rejoice that we get a vacation from work and can have a nice party! What’s not to like about that? No scrooge am I, and can always vote for a break from work to share good cheer with others.

Well, that’s all fine, of course, but not particularly meaningful beyond what it is. We all enjoy a fun trip to Disneyland and it would be nice if the feeling survived the car ride home.

Which brings me to Christmas, although that’s not really what I want to write about.

Briefly, Christmas, in its traditional sense, is a celebration of a birth of a promise. The intersection of the transcendent with the worldly. For Christians, both the birth and the promise are beyond electrifying. They turn everything else on its ear. For that reason, Christmas gets a lot of attention and, now, also for things having little or nothing to do with its religious origins.

As I was thinking about all of this, I was struck that so much of this season is about looking forward to a day (well, for students and teachers it’s about looking forward to two whole weeks!). Certainly, there are other festivities on the calendar and that is all great. But, the capstone event is the big deal, perhaps as it should be. What else is there in the lead-up other than parties and anticipation for the 25th?

For Christians, then, the advent season is about preparing for the thing that will transform everything. It is the recognition that such a thing deserves more attention than can occur in a single day or through all of the festivities. This sense of preparation is important. Monumental things sometimes need a good warm up.

But, what is it we’re supposed to take away from the message here? I believe the answer rests in the confluence of Beginning and Hope and what that confluence means for us each and every day.

If we approach our lives with the expectation that we will be surprised by something new and pleasant, than that expectancy creates a posture of hope. Of course, the opposite is also true. If we approach our lives with the expectation that we will be not be surprised by anything pleasant or else surprised by something new and unpleasant, then our posture will be one that may reflect misery.

I imagine many or even most people go through each day just trying to do what needs to be done, with hope that there is not terrible conflict and that there might even be a little fun or relaxation squeezed in. Each day more or less the same, with anticipation focused on weekends, vacations and special events. I imagine most people don’t wake up anticipating they will be surprised by something new and pleasant. Of course, life being as it is, there are days and there are days. Maybe I’m wrong but I don’t think by much.

I wonder what it would be like if we hoped for things to happen in our little worlds that bring even smidgens of joy. And these smidgens were portends of things to come?

What would those things be? Of course, the answer might be reflective of the kind of things that bring us joy.

I was having lunch yesterday with a new friend. I met him only recently. We discovered a lot in common although we’re separated by something like twenty years of age. (In case you’re wondering, I’m the old one.) We find that we might be beginning something, although we’re not sure where that will lead. But, it’s clear that whatever it is brings us both a sense of hope. Hope of a thing that deserves appreciation.

Currently, I live in that kind of life. I ask God regularly to show up. I know a man who has deep beliefs who wants God to show up with a large neon message. I don’t see it that way. I ask God to show up with a beginning that points to hope.

I ask God to put some thing or someone in my path that is reflective of who he is and what he wants for all of us. Maybe it turns out be a momentary thing and that’s fine. Or, maybe it turns out to be longer-lived and that’s also fine.

Some days are harder. Bad news arrives. Suffering is close at hand. The weight of things is such that it’s harder to muster something like the attitude I just mentioned. Pollyanna I am not.

Some days, doors close on good things. We may feel closer to endings than beginnings. That’s only natural. Nevertheless, there are always beginnings and there are always beginnings of good things. In the worst cases that beginning may just exist in a promise and seem a long way off. I recognize that some things qualify as hopeless. If they are big things, then that’s terribly rough.

But, sometimes, those closed doors which push hope far away, are actually just the dark night before a new dawn. I’m sure most of us can relate to that in some way.

Here’s one crazy thing about grace. When we’ve received grace, when we extend grace, it’s the exact ingredient that creates beginnings and fosters hope. When love is inserted into places unexpectedly, a sweet thing blooms and the fragrance is delightful.  A life lived where, daily, grace is a valued thing, appearing by surprise or by intention, is a life aligned towards hope. And, as we’ve previously discussed, a life without hope is a life destined for despair.

So, in these December days, I am especially resolved to wake up expectantly, eyes and heart open as much as possible to new beginnings.

As we focus on images of a baby in a stable and wonder if it could really be true, I fall on my knees, stunned by not just the enormity of such a miracle but that the same thing is available to us every day and every moment of every day. I regret that my pea brain can’t but barely begin to grasp all that such a thing really means.

Advent. An annual reminder that we often miss the point of things. We miss a reality that shimmers with brightness, that resonates with a sweet chord that can stop us in our tracks and call us to wonder at the possibilities. Advent and Hope. The Bread of Life. Amen.