Acknowledging Our Weariness

The first Sunday of Advent begins with weariness.

The weariness of a people oppressed and occupied for 400 years, waiting for a Messiah who hadn’t yet shown up. 
The weariness of an old man and woman who after twelve months times twenty years of disappointment, had long, long ago given up waiting for a child.
The weariness of prayers uttered yet still unanswered.
The weariness of aging bodies, aging minds.
The weariness of bleached coral reefs and tinder dry forests.
The weariness of bombs falling from the sky.

Our advent theme is “How does a weary world rejoice?” And we will get there. We’ll get to a king born in a manger and joy to the world. We’ll get to the twelve days of Christmas, and the wise men bringing gifts. We’ll get to feasting in a barn with hot mulled wine and challah bread. We’ll get to ice skating and hot chocolate on New Year’s Eve. We’ll get there. But we won’t get there by spiritually bypassing the weariness and pretending all is calm, all is bright. We won’t get there by listing the twelve daily habits of joyful people. We’ll get there by beginning with where we are—weary.

Over time
wind and water
will sand down the edges of a stone.

For humans,
our wind and water
is the grief of the world.

Stay here long enough
and pieces of you
will be pressed upon
by life’s never-ending stream.
It’s enough to make you weary.

—excerpt from “Wade In” by Rev. Sarah Speed

This Sunday, the first Sunday of Advent, is also the very first Sunday of a new liturgical church year. Why does the church year begin here? Because a spirituality that pretends the darkness doesn’t exist is no good to anyone.

In the beginning, there was just emptiness. A great void, waiting to be filled. Darkness covered the deep. The Spirit brooded. God breathed. A word was uttered. Let there be light. And life unfolded. How can this be?

In the beginning, there was just barrenness. A great void, waiting to be filled. Darkness covered the holy of Holies. Zechariah chanted. God breathed. A word was uttered by an angel. You will bear a son. And you will call him John. Life unfolded. 

In the beginning, the Jewish people lived in occupied territory, under foreign rule. Darkness covered their hope. And then, God breathed. An angel approached a young woman: And you shall bear a son. And you will call him Jesus. The word became flesh. Life unfolded.

We begin the New Year—and the journey towards the manger—in darkness. In barrenness. In oppression. We wait within it for the unfolding that we cannot yet see and we cannot yet understand. 

It’s the waiting of an old woman, great with child. Her body is getting wearier, heavier, aching more, day by day. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought she was dying. And then it happened—the searing pain, then, life newly born. 

This is our hope for this world: that in our collective weariness, our collective heaviness, our collective ache, that feels like and IS dying, that just maybe, amidst the searing pain, the face of God is being born in us, once more.
 

A Weary World: Vigil for Peace

Come together, on Thursday Dec 7, 8:00 pm 
In the Barn at Kingfisher Farm

Join with each other in the barn in a vigil for peace, with a rich, meaningful liturgy offered by Estuary Church. This will be hosted by Southpoint at Kingfisher Farm (512 172 St). Please carpool if you are able, dress warmly, and bring a light as the walk down the driveway is quite dark.

Other than this evening, vigils will continue to be held online in Thursdays to come. Information here.