Our church is quirky and I love it.
It’s a place where people show up late, they won’t stop greeting each other during the passing of the peace even when the pastor’s screaming to get their attention, and just about anything goes.
We also do cool things in the liturgy. Our prayers of confession aren’t staid and silent, but often full of passion and hope. This Sunday, as we read the following words, I realized something:
In this place of confession we are shaped by hope:
In our brokenness, we know your blessing.
In our pain, we touch your promise.
In our longing, we discover your love.
You are making things new in our lives and this world.
I realized that God’s love is transforming, because God makes weakness holy. God doesn’t just give meaning to our suffering, but God enters into it and makes something new from the residue of despair, longing, and pain.
That’s why we Christians are people who live, especially in this season, with deep hope. We know that it is not up to us to change the world or its brokenness, but that God, despite appearances, is already redeeming all this messed up humanity and making things new.
It’s really hard for me to trust that on these dark days of injustice, but I imagine it was equally hard for the shepherds and the wise men and the Jews. This season I’m asking God to give me eschatological vision: to believe that in great longing, there is great love, that in pain, there is promise, and that in brokenness, we will know blessing.
This week I have been struck by how deliciously novel Advent feels, despite it being the 33rd year I’ve celebrated it, and the 2014th year the world has done so. I take this as evidence that 2014 years later, God is, indeed, doing a new thing. We may not perceive it, we may not see it, but I’m praying that God will help me to believe, and to trust that our weaknesses will be made holy once again.