We are entering a time of the year that is, I believe, the most laden with longing, expectation and hope. Christmas lists have already been started in hopes of a host of brightly wrapped gifts under the tree. Magazines full of decorating ideas and photos of banquets of rich food fill us with hope and determination that this year our homes will be beautifully adorned and our tables will overflow with gourmet delights.
There are other hopes and longings, less material. Perhaps this year when extended families gather, the reunion will not be marred by old arguments and tensions. Could this be the year, we hope, when a family member doesn’t get drunk, or another doesn’t embarrass with off-colour jokes or racist remarks, or a hostile silence doesn’t dominate the festive gatherings.
Some hope that the weight of loneliness will be less this year and that somehow the peace and joy of former years will return. Others continue with prayers of hope that a loved one will stay safe and secure - safe from drug overdose, safe from the dangers of life on the street, safe from the acts of violence in the neighbourhood, safe from bomb and other weapons of war.
What is it about this season that calls forth from us such longings, hopes and expectations? Well, in part, I think that we would all agree that marketing and advertising have a huge impact. Selling the Christmas Spirit is big business. Year by year we are seduced into believing that by purchasing the right gift, by preparing the perfect meal, by baking the most delicious cookies, by buying the most exquisite decorations or by attending the most festive parties and events, we will be fulfilled; we will experience what Christmas is all about.
But I also believe somewhere, deep inside, perhaps even without being fully conscious of it, we have absorbed the Advent promise of hope that we hear proclaimed in the words from the prophets and gospel writers of old, in the lyrics of carols, and in the liturgy of lighting the Advent candles. Their messages give us reason to renew our hope, that this year Christmas will be different. Their words give us reason to trust that already, even now, the shoots of something new are beginning to sprout.
Jeremiah’s message comes to us today from a time when hope in his homeland had all but dried up. Under attack from the Babylonian armies, the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of the temple (the centre of religious life) was imminent. Many key leaders had already been deported to live as exiles in Babylon. In other passages from his writings, Jeremiah speaks without hesitation that Jerusalem and the nation as they now know it is coming to an end. There will be no last minute miracles to save the temple or to protect the nation from being overthrown by foreign powers.
In the face of such devastation and catastrophic endings, how can Jeremiah dare to speak a word of hope? Speaking with the wisdom of God, Jeremiah points to a hope that is not dependent upon military might or the leadership of the current monarchs. The hope Jeremiah speaks of will spring up unexpectedly as a surprise of God. This hope will be like a new branch sprouting from the tree of the lineage of David. By this time, as much through historical events as through legendary tales, David, had become for the Hebrew people, a symbol of leadership that was just and good and faithful. In our day, we might point to people like Nelson Mandela or Gandhi as symbols of such leadership.
Jeremiah is saying that when the dust of destruction has settled and when the promise of hope seems as barren as the abandoned fields in the land, then a new leader with the legacy of David will come forth to restore God’s justice and righteousness in the land. Throughout the ages, Christians have linked this new leader, this righteous branch with the life of Jesus; hence Jeremiah’s words are included in our readings for Advent.
What strikes me most about the words of Jeremiah and the words of Jesus in Luke’s gospel is that God does not play by our rules. When it comes to hoping, I think that most of us have some kind of a threshold, that if passed means we abandon hope. Think about the times in your life when you gave up hope. What were the circumstances? What was the final tipping point for you? Perhaps it was the end of a dream, the betrayal of a trust, a tragic piece of news, a severing of a relationship, the death of a loved one.
But God seems to be undeterred even when we abandon hope. Just when the landscapes of our lives are barren and empty; just when we feel that our hearts are frozen solid by pain and disappointment, just when we think that nothing good will ever grow again our lifetime, then it’s time to be alert and look closely, for even now, God is sending forth new and tender green shoots of hope into our lives.
A few weeks ago, I spent a week reading and reflecting at my brother’s home in Beaconsfield, Quebec. During that time my sister-in-law, Linda had the time to tell me a powerful story of hope. One of the members of their congregation of Beaurepaire United was a remarkable woman by the name of Ebi. Ebi came from a small village in Kenya; a village without modern conveniences where there was little possibility for the education and opportunities that we take for granted.
But Ebi’s mother was persistent in her dream for Ebi’s future and through a variety of events; Ebi was able to pursue her education and eventually received her doctoral degree from an American university. Ebi married a Canadian and they settled and began to raise a family in Beaconsfield. But Ebi did not forget her village in Kenya. She encouraged her congregation in Beaconsfield to twin with her village to support and strengthen the health, the nutrition, and the education of her people. One of the key projects was helping to finance a corn mill, so that the women could grind their grain locally instead of traveling great distances to do so.
And then tragedy struck.
As is the case with many Africans, Ebi had contracted malaria, and suffered from recurring bouts of the disease. In a Montreal hospital, far from the tropics, Ebi died from the complications of malaria. Dead was the woman who had been such a bright life for her village and upon whom many hopes had been pinned.
The church and many community folk, in particular a group of local women who had worked with Ebi on these various Kenyan projects were devastated as well. They had lost a good friend and an inspiring leader. My sister-in-law, Linda was one of the group. She told me that even as they gathered to grieve; they felt an urgent call to keep Ebi’s work alive. And so last year in Advent, they began to prepare to go to Ebi’s village in February, to see how the work was coming on the corn mill, to bring over health care and educational resources, and to let Ebi’s people know just how much she had meant in their lives.
Last Christmas, Linda’s most treasured Christmas gifts were the contributions she received towards this trip and their work in Kenya. In February, she and the other women spent two weeks in Ebi’s village. While they were there they set up a library with brand new books in the local school. With the monies they brought, fabric was purchased and new school uniforms were made - in Kenya as in many parts of Africa, children cannot attend school without a uniform. They also purchased much needed school supplies. The nurses and other health care workers in the group ran a clinic and distributed the health care kits. And so as they lived and worked with the people in the village, new shoots of hope began to grow - it was clearly visible in photos of children absorbed and delighted by the colourful new picture books, in those proudly wearing a uniform without holes and tears, in the group shots of friendship among the women of two different countries.
Back in Canada, Linda says that the women’s group has been overwhelmed by the response of the larger community to their work. As they tell Ebi’s story and share the story of their partnership with her village, other churches and community groups are also inspired to seek out the shoots of hope that they can encourage to grow in their own lives and communities.
In this darkest time of the year, in a season of frost and cold, Advent is our gift of time to be alert and to prepare room for the God who even now is growing tender green shoots of hope in our own hearts and in a world in need of God’s justice and righteousness.
Let us pray:
Holy God, as the last leaves drift down,
and trees stand bare along the skyline,
as the ground hardens and grows cold,
you are quietly at work planting the seeds of hope.
Creator God, harrow our hearts
until we become the opened ground
into which your seeds of hope
take root and grow,
greening the earth with your justice and righteousness. Amen.
