When I read about Jesus warning his disciples that there will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, distress among nations, and people fainting from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world,* I feel like I am reading the newspaper instead of words written two thousand years ago. Every day, it seems, I hear about hundred-year storms in places that only weeks ago were struggling with empty streams and rivers, about earthquakes and landslides and enormous fires, about dying forests and entire species of animals facing extinction. People are terrified of catching diseases that were unknown only a few years ago, arguing angrily with one another about facemasks and vaccination while hospitals still overflow with people who are too sick to breath on their own. As Advent begins again, and the days get shorter and shorter, I find myself wondering if the world is really about to come to an end this time.
And yet, even in this time of impending disaster, of hatred and anger on every side, of injustice and oppression making a mockery of our highest ideals, I am unwilling to spend my life reacting to signs that the end of the world is near. I do not want to give in to fear and foreboding, to add to the sum total of anguish in a world that is already overflowing with pain. I want to leave the world a more joyous place than I found it.
A few days ago, I stood on the edge of a narrow, desert canyon at dawn. At first, the sky above was as dark as the earth below, with only a sliver of pinkish light glowing across the vast horizon. A few minutes later, the first hints of blue appeared, as if a crack had opened separating the heavens from the earth. In ten more minutes, the upper darkness had thinned to deep blue, while the land beneath remained in deep shadow. A few minutes more allowed the light to reach the prickly pear cactus at my feet, making the outlines of its strange contours look like a paper cut-out. Soon, the entire eastern sky was aflame with red and orange stripes, and even the wispy clouds behind me to the west were a paler version of that ruddy light as the sky above lightened and the rocky land below began to take on color and form. Only then did the sun begin to edge above the opposite ridge, forcing me to turn away from the intensity of its golden glare.
When I catch myself looking for signs that the end is near, I remember that each night the sun sets, the world darkens, and I cannot see what is before me. Each morning, the everyday world is remade with radiant glory and anything is possible. In these short days of winter, the coming and going of the light reminds me that the joyous realm of God is already right here, right now, shining around us and among us and through us. I only need to be still long enough to feel it.
–Deborah Sokolove, Seekers Church
Questions:
- What leads you to feel fear and foreboding?
- Where do you look for signs of hope in the days ahead?
- How do you add to the sum total of joy in the world?
