Not What We Had Planned
“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them. He has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of his child David, as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old, that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us. Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors and has remembered his holy covenant, the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham, to grant us that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies, might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness in his presence all our days. And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways to give his people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins. Because of the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to shine upon those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”—LUKE 1:68-79 (NRSVUE)
Zechariah and Elizabeth thought they were well past the age of childbearing, but now the angel Gabriel announces they will have a baby. What a scandal. What a miracle. Not to mention, Elizabeth’s unmarried cousin Mary is unexpectedly pregnant too. Imagine Elizabeth and Mary’s shared joy as they place their hands on each other’s growing bellies, delighting in the surprise and wonder of what God was up to. These were not the plans they had anticipated for their lives. But here God comes to fulfill a promise not just for them, but for the whole world, “because of the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us” (Luke 1:78)
There is a tender little Italian Christmas song that celebrates this perfectly, Tu Scendi Dalle Stelle, written in 1744 by Saint Alphonso Liguori. With childlike simplicity it sings to the baby Jesus:
You came down from the stars, O King of heaven, to a cave in the cold and frost.
O divine baby I see you trembling here.
Ah how much it costs you to love us like this.
You who are creator of all the world.
(“From Starry Skies Descending.” English translation of “Tu Scendi Dalle Stella.” Alphonsus Liguori. 1732. n.p. translation).
What an opportunity we have during this season to sit in wonder and delight at what God has done and is still doing. The coming of Jesus is a fulfillment of a promise that the hungry will be fed, the hurting and suffering will find comfort and compassion, and justice will reign. The mighty reversal of the world has just begun, and during Advent, we are reminded to look for these promises being fulfilled, even if we only catch a glimpse.
Wherever you are in the world, whether you are looking up at the Big Dipper or at the Southern Cross or at the moon sticking around during the daytime, let’s be together in this pause. Let’s look long, and let the stars speak to us of the wonder that is coming. The beauty that will be. The promises that are still to come—promises that might look entirely unlike anything we might have planned.
PRACTICE ADVENT TOGETHER
Gather your family together over dinner, invite over some friends, or FaceTime some of the kids in your life. Turn down the lights, gather around the Advent wreath, and light two of the purple candles.
REFLECT
1. When was the last time you felt joy and excitement that made you leap for joy?
2. Where are you struggling this Advent season? (Be willing to listen and affirm someone’s struggle without trying to fix it or point out the good in it. Just say, “That makes sense to me; that would be hard” or “I am so sorry.”)
3. What do you hope the world will look like one day?
RESPOND
How can you bring joy and hope to the world this week? Can you share kindness with a stranger? Perhaps buy someone coffee, learn their name, and listen to their story? Can you take the time to go shopping and donate gifts to someone in need, maybe find a local non-profit that is sharing hope this season?
A Blessing for Open Arms
Blessed are you with open arms to welcome God this Advent, willing to invite its promises into the center of your longing.
Blessed are you, even now in the waiting.
Open to receiving what is beautiful though clothed in such precarity.
Blessed are you, agreeing to stand still long enough to let your eyes adjust to the darkness until the starlight begins to appear, the dawning of God’s promises.
In that gentle light, find a corner of your heart where hope can stay protected.
A place from which we can nurture a little gratitude, a little compassion, enough to go around.
Some for God and some for yourself.
And some for the next unsuspecting soul that wanders into your light.