As I began to ponder what I might want to say about hope, I realized that in the aftermath of several significant losses this fall—the death of a friend of 47 years, the retirement of my beloved physician, and the devastating 2024 election—I would have to rethink what hope means to me.
I remember the hope of my childhood in anticipation of Christmas, hoping for a particular delivery from Santa. But that’s not the hope of Advent.
I listened to myself and various friends and acquaintances in casual conversation for a few days, and I heard the word hope used multiple times. Mostly the usage was fairly casual, pointed toward assorted desired outcomes or situations—about the weather, someone’s response to a gift, my response to the new physician I chose based at least partly on her smile, my anticipation of a long-awaited next book by a favorite author, etc. But that’s not the hope of Advent—not for me, anyway.
I came unexpectedly across a post by Brené Brown, saying that hope is not an emotion, but a cognitive-behavioral process that involves having a goal and a process by which to reach that goal. I very much appreciate her work, and I expect she’s right in some ways. But that’s not the hope of Advent—not for me, anyway.
My sense of Advent Hope has evolved over the years to have little or nothing to do with any specific outcome. It seems to me to be about waiting without knowing precisely what I’m waiting for, and is about the One in whom I trust, or rest, as I wait. The psalmist gets it: “I wait for the Lord. My soul doth wait for the Holy One.” The Prophets get it: “My hope is in God.”
Over the years of my life, as I look back, I realize that in some years I have been enthralled with the stories we tell (or sing), especially in Advent and at Christmas—but I admit that there have been and are years in which the stories don’t seem to land for me, in which I don’t feel ready to sing Christmas carols, in which I have no idea what to hope for. I am fairly confident that I’m not the only one who has that experience. But, thankfully, I also have had experiences of knowing God’s presence, which make it possible for me to trust, to wait, and to choose to enter Advent with ongoing hope in the One.
Prayer: Remind us, Holy One, and open us to the many reasons we have to trust in your goodness and love. Often we do not know how to pray, and sometimes the losses and turmoil of daily life make it hard to give our attention to your presence. But even then, even now, we choose hope. Hope in you. No matter what.
Vicki Runnion joined HBC in August, 2014. She has served in a variety of roles, most continuously in the sanctuary choir since 2013. She retired from Hosparus in 2020, and enjoys having more time for her own dog/s and dog rescue, gardening, writing, and reading, usually with several books underway at any given time.