First Week of Advent - “Honey, we’re pregnant!”

Few statements carry as much emotion as the one that titles this piece, especially for those who have almost given up after years of disappointment and false hopes. So we can imagine the response of one couple, the biblical Abraham and Sarah, who against all odds not only become pregnant, but models of faith in the process.

It’s both a cliché and an understatement to say that God is a God of surprises, but it’s true. Theologian and novelist Frederick Buechner goes further and says that while we easily see tragedy of the stories of scripture, we must also see their comedy, when, as he says, “What shouldn’t happen, what couldn’t possibly happen . . . happens!”— like the resurrection, like the ne’er-do-well son welcomed home again, like the birth of Abraham and Sarah’s son Isaac, whose name means “Son of Laughter.” Advent should leave our faces streaked with tears of laughter at ourselves for thinking we had figured God out!

But Abraham and Sarah are Advent pillars not only because grace broke into their lives, but also because they trusted the God who made the promise. Saint Paul considers Abraham to be our father in faith not because of any qualifying deeds, but because he trusted that the promises of God would be fulfilled. We find God in surprising moments of grace, and we also find God in the experiences that call for patient waiting and trust.

Waiting is not the strong suit of many of us in our hurry-up culture. Everything is urgent. Hope is foreign to people who expect quick relief, cures, and solutions. We struggle to guard Advent jealously because popular culture short-circuits this season of hope: We are tempted to go directly to celebrating Christmas without getting in touch with the part of ourselves that is longing, hoping, and trusting.

Waiting is also difficult because we’re forced to admit that we are not in control—God is. A friend who recently became pregnant experienced an awed helplessness as the natural process advanced within her body. Her husband also could only wait with her, loving and supporting her and their unborn child, but unable to accelerate the process.

For all their drama, the words “Honey, we’re pregnant,” uttered by a tear-streaked, wrinkle-faced 90-year-old Sarah to wobbly, unbelieving Abraham, or by an amazed, teenaged Mary to an equally confounded Joseph, indicate not the joy of birth—not quite yet—but the amazing surprise of love, and the beginning of a season of waiting, when God-is-with-us.

Second Week of Advent - The Moment You’ve Been Waiting For

Something big was about to happen, but then John the Baptist had been expecting something unusual. He had heard stories about the time before he was born, how he had come onto the scene long after his parents thought children would be part of their lives. Both his mother Elizabeth and his father Zechariah, a priest, had received messengers—though his father did not at first believe what was happening—who made surprising promises that John would take after the prophet Elijah.

John “grew and became strong in spirit,” and in time he embraced his calling to be a prophet with a passion and headed out to the wilderness.

He even looked the part. With his camel’s hair clothes, leather belt, and a diet of locusts and wild honey, he was the spitting image of Elijah. And he had a prophet’s message: to call people back to God. “Repent,” he said—let your heart be changed, turn your life around—“for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” Go down into the waters of baptism and come up a new person. Know you are forgiven.

Then came the moment John’s whole life had been heading toward. He realized one was “coming after me” who was “more powerful than I.” He even started denying he was the prophet he acted so much like. I’m not Elijah, or the Messiah, he said. The real Messiah was on his way.

John didn’t recognize Jesus at first when he showed up at the Jordan River to be baptized. But when Jesus came up out of the water, the heavens opened and God’s presence came down like the Spirit of God that had swept over the waters at the creation of the world. And if anyone there needed any further persuading, a voice from above was heard to say, “This is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

John had completed his work. He had made straight the paths for the way of the Lord.

It’s Advent. Jesus is near. With the rest of the people of God you are out in the wilderness waiting for him to appear. How can you make straight the paths of your own life? Be open to a change of heart, to letting yourself be turned in a new direction. To what new roles—perhaps unexpected ones—does your life, like John’s, point? Could it be to bring some forgiveness and peace to yourself, your family, your friends, your coworkers, the world?

The answers may be hidden just beneath the waters, waiting to surface.

Third Week of Advent - The Impossible Dream

In the musical “Man of La Mancha,” when Dulcinea asks Don Quixote what it means to “follow his quest,” he responds by singing “The Impossible Dream.” Mary, who awaited the birth of Jesus some 2,000 years ago just as we do this Advent, could have written the song. She certainly lived it.

Imagine how young Mary—probably no more than 15 or 16 years old—must have felt upon receiving the news that the impossible was about to take place within her, that she would give birth to the Savior. How could she tell her betrothed, Joseph? What would her family think? Who would believe her?

“Do not be afraid, Mary,” the angel says to her. “Nothing will be impossible with God” (Luke 1:30, 37). We know the rest of the story. The impossible was indeed made possible, not only at the birth of Jesus, but in the many miracles he performed, and most of all at his Resurrection. If God could accomplish all this, imagine what God can do in your own life. Advent is the season for imagining what is possible, for dreaming new dreams, for hoping beyond hope.

But it is also the season when hope can be hardest to find, dreams hardest to believe. The days draw short, the nights are long and the air turns. Expenses may loom at a time when resources are scarce. Separation, grief, loneliness, and depression are no strangers to the season. Hope may be in short supply during this time. We need Mary’s inspiring example of courage and trust in the face of uncertainty more than ever.

Mary can’t guarantee us a smooth ride, however. Look at her own difficult journey: first, she had to travel to Bethlehem late in her pregnancy (Luke 2:1–6). Have you ever tried riding a donkey? Now imagine doing so nine month’s pregnant! Later, she had to flee to Egypt with Joseph and the baby when their lives were in danger (Matthew 2:13–23).

Nor can Mary promise us a season free of anxiety and worry. Imagine how she must have worried about what was ahead for her beloved child as his messianic destiny was revealed to her, first by shepherds who left her pondering the news in her heart (Luke 2:16–19), then at the Temple by the prophet Simeon, who spoke to her of the sorrowful times ahead: “A sword will pierce your soul too” (Luke 2:22–35).

What Mary can offer us is a remarkable and inspiring example of courage in the face of adversity, patience in the face of uncertainty, and hope beyond hope that the impossible is indeed possible.

Mary stood with her son as he was crucified (John 19:25–27); she stood with his fearful followers who huddled after his death (Acts 1:13–14). She knew that the story wasn’t over yet. And she was right.

Our story isn’t finished, either, no matter what challenges or wounds burden us this season. All things remain possible with God. This is the miracle of Advent. We can once again dream the impossible dream—and reach the unreachable star.

Fourth Week of Advent - Repentance Is the Royal Road to Spiritual Renewal

During Advent we honor the descendants of the House of David, a royal line of nobles and cads who point the way to the Messiah. King David himself is a fascinating mix of courage and cowardice. He slew the giant warrior Goliath with a single slingshot when he was still a boy, but as king he succumbs to venal desires with deadly consequences. His later sorrow and repentance are well documented in the Book of Psalms.

Poor David—he was doing so well for a while, uniting Israel and making it a mighty—but then he lets power go to his head. He sees the beautiful Bathsheba and decides he wants her for his own, even though he knows she is the wife of Uriah, one of his most dedicated soldiers.

When he learns that Bathsheba is pregnant with his child, David tries to get Uriah to sleep with Bathsheba so that Uriah will think the baby to come is his. But Uriah, who is preparing for battle, refuses to be with his wife. David decides his only recourse is to have Uriah killed during the battle by one of his henchmen. It is a sordid tale in which the cover-up is worse than the crime.

Why, when he could have had any young maiden he wanted, did David choose someone who was off limits? How could he betray someone who served him so loyally? Perhaps 19th-century historian and moralist Lord Acton offers the best explanation: “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

In a time when we moderns are sickened by waste and greed on Wall Street, David’s arrogance seems all too familiar. No matter how much some of us have, we want more—and worse yet, we think we deserve more. How does one get off this treadmill of selfishness and one-upmanship?

Psalm 36 outlines David’s problem: Sinners close their eyes to God and “live with the delusion their guilt will not be known and hated.” But in reality, sinners live in misery: “My frame aches because of my sin” is the lament in Psalm 38. The solution offered—one that John the Baptist and Jesus affirm centuries later—is to repent and turn one’s heart and mind to God. The descriptions of David’s anguish and guilt are reassuring. Guilt is a sign that one still has a conscience— a connection with God that, though frayed, is not completely severed. Advent is a good time for each of us to examine our own consciences and ask ourselves, What gnaws at me? Which of my actions do I know to be dishonest, hurtful, or demeaning to others? What can I do to restore my relationship with God and others?

For more soul-searching questions and faith-filled answers, read the Book of Psalms.