The Season of Advent has always been my favorite season of the church year. I love the haunting and anticipatory melodies of “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.”
I love the emphasis on hope that distinguishes it from the more penitential season of Lent. In fact, I think while Advent has often been co-opted by “pre Christmas” in the West, at least it has not been co-opted by the church in the way that Lent has been. (Another discussion entirely.)
Every year I see slogans like “Keep Christ in Christmas” and I think: Is this really a battle we need to fight? But if I could borrow from this for a second, I do hope we keep the “hope” and the “waiting” in Advent.
I cannot think of a better way to capture COVID and the year 2020 than, “… that mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear.”
Many of us are mourning in lonely exile here. Our family is doing so in a very personal way this year.
And yet I know there are others mourning loved ones who have died. I know there are health care workers who passed burnout several months ago. I know there are those out of work, mourning the shut downs and the loss of their job. So much grief. So much mourning.
And so little of this mourning is done with others. Instead it’s been lonely. So. Incredibly. Lonely.
So it seems out of sync when the next line of “O come, O come, Emmanuel” is “… rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel shall come to you, O Israel.”
I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like rejoicing.
At all.
But perhaps that’s the point. Sometimes it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah (H/T to Leonard Cohen).
Sometimes our rejoicing is defiance.
Sometimes our rejoicing is in *spite* of what is, not because of what is.
Sometimes our rejoicing is longing. Waiting. Hoping.
Not for a vaccine (though maybe that’s part of it).
Not for a particular election result.
Not for things to be “back to normal.”
But instead: for Emmanuel.
To come us us.
While we are mourning.
In lonely exile here.
Rejoice?
Rejoice!
Emmanuel…
shall come to you, O Israel.