Advent begins, and it feels familiar.
Comfortable. Traditions renewed.
Familiar garland. Familiar lights.
Familiar songs. Familiar food.
Every year, a sacred season
begins as autumn fades
and winter peeks around into
shortening, darkening days.
Advent begins, and prophets call, “Swords
into shovels! Spears into billhooks!”
And the words flicker into our ears
like a single candle lit against
the oncoming darkness of our hopes and fears.
Every year, the expectations of our
deepest and truest selves
are met, exceeded, extended, transcended
beyond earthly standards and big box shelves
into the music of God,
made known in humility, fragility, infinite capability
There is a song in the air, and that song is called hope.
We wait for you, long-expected Jesus. We prepare for your arrival with familiar sights and smells and flavors and sounds. Familiar ... and yet new every year. There is a song in the air, both familiar and new, a song that is and was and ever shall be, Amen.