It’s advent. That time of the year when we ponder again the mystery of Jesus coming as a baby and long for him to come again. As anyone who has been around these parts a while knows, I love and adore advent. I love the build up to Christmas, the constant reminders of light in the dark, the weirdness of thinking about Jesus coming back again and the hope that is painted all over this season.
As someone with a small newborn my initial advent musings revolve around having my mind blown that the Maker of the world came and allowed himself to be squeezed inside such a tiny bundle of need. Such vulnerability, such fragile smallness. Such weakness.
I love the reality of such frailty, God coming as a man, knowing our pain, walking our road, experiencing life as a human. Showing us what he’s really like, letting the mysterious divine be unveiled and revealed to us.
I long for his return, to make the sad things untrue. I long for Jesus to come back and wipe away our tears. We have friends going through crazy hard stuff right now and we long for a world with no sickness and pain which Jesus’ coming will usher in. Advent feels even more precious and necessary this year as in the darkness and gloom we long and ache for the light.
Advent also challenges me to face up to whether I really believe Jesus will come back. Do I really believe in the reality of his coming? I think the answer is sometimes yes and sometimes no. At least in this season I have more hope of remembering and looking for the light of dawn.