Another Reflection on the First Sunday of Advent

So we lit the first candle on the Advent wreath, and the little narrative that was read reminded us that this first candle was the candle of hope.  Now your little narrative may be different, but for the sake of continuing this reflection let's say that hope is as good as anything for the first candle to represent.  Now I am not as much a curmudgeon as some of my family may think I am, and I really do, deep inside of my inmost self, want to hold onto the things of God and have the fullness of deliverance that He alone gives.  But I asked myself first, "What is hope?", and second, "Did anything that we do this morning in the sanctuary really give us (me) hope?"  Or did we walk out of church on this First Sunday of Advent saying the words but completely missing out on the reality?

Searching for a meaning I turned to Webster's first and found that hope (a noun) is a desire accompanied by an expectation of something or a belief that something will come to pass.  But that seemed pretty shallow, not at all the message I heard at church.  Webster's tried to make me feel better (more hopeful???) by informing me that the word used to be synonymous for trust or reliance in something, but that we don't use the word that way any more.  No fooling!  That's the problem, we say we hope for something, but we feel all empty and futile in our declaration   That was not what I was really looking for, so I turned to Hebrews and found that hope was intended to be the anchor of my soul, firm and secure.  I read further that it proceeds from the promise of God, something that He has eternally decreed and in which He cannot lie.  And furthermore, this anchor is grounded in the very center of the sanctuary of God where Jesus stands and ministers on my behalf, forever.  And that, I determined, was the reality of the word hope that was supposed to be portrayed by that first frail candle.

No offense meant to the Advent wreath, but a behemoth of an iron anchor set firmly and providing secure mooring I can understand.  I have to admit, however, that on this First Sunday of Advent, my personal level of hope seems much more akin to the flickering, feeble light of that first candle, frail and easily snuffed.  It would be easy to despair and give up, to think that none of the things we do week after week really inspire a hope that is supposed to anchor our soul.  We walk out the door and we find ourselves without secure mooring, being beat to death by life itself.  I find myself wondering do any of us really have hope?  What evidence is there that is is real?   But then I notice that something still compels me to put one foot in front of the other, I still move (perhaps slowly and unsurely but move nonetheless) towards something elusive that still lies before me and beckons in some unknown way to my soul.  And that reassures me that hope must still be present and active inside of me, even when I am unaware of it.  And while I still want more certainty, that seems enough to take away on this First Sunday of Advent.