Flickers of Hope

Christ is coming, Christ is always coming.

Yesterday, with the flaming end of a coffee stir stick that we ignited with one of the kitchen's burners, we lit the first Advent candle at our church. The lavender candle flickered throughout our service, at this point just one small flame to start the season. In my haste and procrastination, I couldn't find large solid columns of purple candle for the season. So, instead we have tiny sized candles sitting inside of glass jars.

Nothing about them is impressive. We joked when the first one was lit, sarcastic remarks about how it "really lights up the room" and other such quotes. The dancing light certainly couldn't dispel all shadows, but it would make it so we could see.

The first Advent candle represents hope, and it seems to me that it is really appropriate. Dropped into a dark, shadowy, swirling world, hope gives us the ability to see.

Not with sharp clarity. We don't know why Child Protective Services seems particularly hard on one of our congregants and friends. We don't know why the single mother in our church can't seem to get over her nagging kidney malfunctions and now has lung disease added to her problems despite her insistent choice not to smoke. We don't know why the bills don't seem to work out right after hours adjusting our budget. We don't know why.

But we can see light.

And during Advent, that's all we are given right now. Hope. No other candle's flame has joined it yet. Perhaps in our darkest circumstances, that is where we have to start. And perhaps that is where we have to stay for awhile. When their is no solution in sight, we hope.

Christ is coming, Christ is always coming.