Advent Longing

 

I watch the old man next door head off down the road with his German Shepherd. He’s looking thin. He’s walking slower. Fiercely independent, he resists all offers of help, bristles at any suggestions that they should perhaps consider moving somewhere smaller, on a bus route, and seems to have convinced himself that life in this world as it is will go on forever.

Classic ostrich syndrome, (although I’ve just discovered, courtesy of Google, that ostriches don’t actually bury their heads in the sand.)

The passage of time. Sometimes it speeds by, other times it crawls along, but of course neither of those statements is true: it remains steadier than the grandfather clock ticking away in the hall. Night follows day; season follows season; year follows year.

Never have I felt the power of the advent longing as keenly as I have this year. Humanity has made a complete botch of things. Global tensions, dreadful brutality, heartless violence. On a personal level, we have more friends struggling with illness, marriage breakdowns, children rebelling, mental and emotional exhaustion than ever. The darkness is deep and it is everywhere.

I hold fast to the promise in John’s beautiful gospel: the light came into the world, and the darkness as not overcome it. Neither the outer nor the inner darkness can extinguish the light of love. I am so grateful.

Come, Lord Jesus. Maranatha. Come, Prince of Peace.