December 13, 2013
Dear Friends,
It’s a cozy December evening at our house. We have the radio tuned to a station that plays non-stop Christmas music: a sprinkling of carols or gospel, but also the full mix of sentimental seasonal pop tunes that return year after year. In the other room, my twentysomething nephew and teenage son have taken a break from their uproarious enjoyment of a video game to work on a school assignment. I’ve been working on Christmas cards, and now am sitting down to write my “weekly letter.” (The quotations marks are because I missed last week in a run of meetings, and this may be the last one until the new year.)
We are looking forward to church on Christmas Eve, family gatherings, and all the traditions and wonders of this beautiful time of year. In the midst of spiritual preparation and holiday baking and all the rest, I’m also thinking of the many people whose lives this Advent are not filled with joy.
Thousands of people in the Philippines had their lives changed forever when they lost family members, homes, and livelihoods in the space of a few minutes of devastating weather. Canadians with relatives in the Philippines have felt the losses too, with the pain of being at a distance.
Families living in refugee camps in Syria and elsewhere are struggling to offer stability for their children after fleeing violence.
In Central Africa, hundreds of people, including children, have been killed through the violent conflicts between Christians and Muslims.
There will be empty places at Christmas tables in Lac Mégantic after the terrible rail accident in July that killed 47 people and destroyed the centre of their town.
The death of Nelson Mandela last week has left an empty place in the world, and in the hearts of so many people who found hope through his example.
These are just a few of the stories we know through the news. There are countless other stories of loss that people know in their own lives, the kinds of things that can make memories of happy Christmases painful.
But listen: the reading from Isaiah 35 for this Advent Sunday speaks daring words of hope in the midst of hardship.
The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. … then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water … And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.
Each year, our suffering world receives anew the promise of a holy child who brings hope and joy. This sacred birth inspires us to reach out to help the hurts of the world. We know that the wondrous infant born in a stable grows up to offer a vision of a better world, a vision that calls us to care for others and stretch beyond our places of comfort.
May God bless our Advent preparations. May the infant Jesus renew our hope. May the Holy Spirit inspire us to share our love with the world.
Peace be with you at Christmas, and always.
Nora
