Hope as Heartache

 The season of longing is here. We know what heartache is. We so long for COVID to end. We long for its restrictions to be lifted. We long for the chaos at the border to be addressed. We long for Tegrey to get the food its people need…that the religious terrorism that now rules Afghanistan be gone…that Haiti have order…that our congress can once again really function…that the scars of our racism give way to a new order.

 We stand with Mary as she longs to see the face of the mysterious baby that has come to make its home in her. We see our own baptismal call in the stark figure of John and he issues his wake-up call to set things right. We settle in with the barren trees and the leafless bushes and the cold of winter, and we wait. Love lights its lamp of faith and waits in hope.

 Hope is expectant. It is built on the assurance that counts on promise. A promise has been made. We can count on it. We can count on the One who has given his word. The darkness of the absence of God will not last. We wait…and whistle in the dark.

 Hope is light. It dances. It might even giggle. It knows something it cannot yet see, so there is that knowing little smile while it goes about the day-to-day. Was Mary humming while she did her laundry and baked her bread…?

 

I know you’re there.

 I see you up to your usual game of hide-and-seek.

 You hide and I seek.

 I am filled with longing.

 My heart aches for justice…

 I hope for healing for all of humanity…

 May my longing empty me out

 Making room for what you want to give.

 Clean out my stable-soul.

Bring in fresh straw so we can hide and play peek-a-boo,

 And you can again wrap me around your little baby finger.