Waiting.  Trusting.  Hoping.  On this second Sunday of Advent, our liturgy invites us to cultivate hope. Hope, described by French poet Charles Peguy as the “little sister” of faith and charity, is a tremendously important virtue to name and claim. This is especially true when we live in times in which it is difficult to spark, sustain, and spread hope. All around us – whether globally or personally – many of those things for which we have hoped don’t seem to transpire. Especially when we dream big dreams, if we were encouraged to reach for the stars, grew up with great ambitions and grand projects about what our lives would look like by the time we were 30, or 50, or 65, we look back and count at least as many disappointments as successes. Some of our hopes have come true; but others have not.

Often, we are afraid to hope. Recently, a young woman came to see me after experiencing a deep betrayal from her life-partner: she was struggling to forgive and move forward in the relationship. We talked about hope, and she asked a powerful question: “How do I know that my hope is not just denial?” Although away from the church for many years, she was feeling drawn to God, to prayer. Precisely at this time when so many things in her life seemed “out of control”, she was coming into touch with the One who really is in control, whether we like to admit it or not.    

So what is hope? I have always liked the definition of Benedictine monk David Steindl-Rast: “Hope is the virtue that keeps you going when, one by one, all of the things for which you have hoped fail to materialize.”  Brother David cautions us against confusing “Hopes” – all the individual desires we have nurtured and clung to – with HOPE, that deep inner commitment that keeps us going.

Hope thus becomes an attitude of “expectant desire”: it is the trust that God is with us, and that God will give us what we need – whether we know it or not, whether we recognize it at the time or not – because he knows, far better than we do ourselves, what our needs really are.  Although we like to think that we are in control, God is in the driver’s seat. We take appropriate responsibility for doing what we can do – and then we acknowledge that there are some things in life that are beyond our control, and we put it all into God’s hands. As a friend of mine puts it: “We plan. God laughs!”    

Today’s readings are helpful in connecting us to this virtue of hope.  Our first reading is taken from a book of the Bible you may not be familiar with: Baruch. Traditionally linked to the prophet Jeremiah, Baruch writes out of Israel’s experience of exile and dispersion, expressing beautifully the challenge of maintaining a spirit of hope.  His voice is an Advent voice.  He invites Israel to “put off their garments of mourning and affliction, to clothe themselves in God’s justice and glory,” and to look toward the East: to the longed-for city of Jerusalem, but also to the rising Sun, to that place where new hope dawns each day. 

What does Baruch teach us?  That God wants to bring all the exiles home.  In a world where there are so many displaced persons, seeking a place of safety and refuge, yet also with a natural desire to return to the place of their birth, this is a powerful message indeed.  God wants to give his people a life more beautiful than what they had previously known, than anything they could conceive or dream of.  Today’s psalm echoes this message: even in our places of fear, abandonment or disappointment, we are called to say “God has done great things for us; we are filled with joy.” 

Not just to say it, but also to mean it, perhaps especially during those times when our joy is mixed with other feelings: sadness, boredom, loneliness, loss of control. 

We often think of St. Paul as a grim, testy, serious character – someone who rarely cracked a smile, let alone a joke.  Paul’s letter to the Philippians shows us an entirely different side of his personality. Paul is literally bubbling over with joy.  He is proud of this community in the same way that a grandmother dotes on a grandchild that can do no wrong.  Whenever he remembers them, he is moved to thanksgiving, joy, and prayer: to fond remembrance of their solidarity with him in the work of the Gospel.  Because of this, he prays for them. Not for riches, or success, or things; but for deeper, more lasting gifts: but that they grow in love, knowledge, insight, and discernment, bearing a rich harvest, bringing forth the Kingdom of God in all they say and do. 

What makes this bubbly Paul even more surprising is the fact that he is writing this letter from a prison cell.  Paul had lots of reasons to be sad, depressed, and self-preoccupied. But his love for Christ, and for this particular community, was so powerful that he could look with full confidence to the “day of Christ”, preparing for Jesus’ return in glory. Like John the Baptist in today’s Gospel, Paul is not self-focused, but Christ-focused. While John invites us to prepare by repentance, fasting and self-denial, making the crooked ways straight, Paul is caught up in the glory and praise of God.  He sees his faith not as something hard to be endured, but as a gift and a privilege.  As a joy.

As a pastor, I can relate to Paul. I have my bad days, times when I feel overwhelmed, burdened by the demands of ministry and of life.  But as I look at the people with whom I have the privilege of ministering here at St. Monica’s – as I look out at all of you and see the many ways in which you are doing God’s work here in the parish, at home with your families, in the larger community, I also rejoice.  Everywhere I go, at every stage of the journey, the Lord has brought me friends and colleagues, fellow workers in the harvest: through hard times and good, with tears of sadness and of joy.  How can you not be thankful for that?

Baruch wrote in exile.  Paul wrote from prison.  John the Baptist preached in the desert.  Jesus endured poverty and exile, hunger and fatigue, misunderstanding and rejection, the Passion and the Cross.  Yet each of them was capable of deep joy, of profound hope. Why?  Because they trusted in the goodness of God.  Because they knew that no matter what kings and governors and tetrarchs and high priests might think, God was in control.  That God could be trusted.  That God wanted his people to be free: free to live, to think, to grow, to build homes and families and communities and nations rooted in faith, hope, and love.  To be all that He had created them to be.

Advent calls us to cultivate this virtue of hope.  How will we do this?  First, we need to remember that our hope is in God, and not any particular worldly person, thing, or ideology. Also, hope is more than mere optimism or the power of positive thinking, an “always look at the bright side of life” attitude. Hope is a virtue especially appropriate and necessary for those among us who are prone to depression, or fear, or anxiety, or cynicism.  That no matter how bad things are, they can and will get better, because we are not alone. Hope is a gift that needs to be received, unwrapped, practiced, exercised.  Even with all of life’s disappointments, hope is not blind, or ignorant, or without basis: “We hope for the future because we possess the story of a glorious past of prayers answered and dreams achieved.”  

This Advent, let us make an effort to pay attention to the signs of hope that are already present in our lives, but that we too often miss. In the midst of lives hectic with work and family commitments, can we take a few minutes to check in with God, to ask God to help us discern what is of value, and to make our choices accordingly?  The more we are grounded in God, aware of his presence and grace, the clearer things will become: the winding roads a little straighter, the rough ways a little smoother, the mountains a little less steep. In the midst of life’s difficulties, we can choose to put divine love and trust, rather than human fear and chaos, into the driver’s seat of our lives. 

So through this Advent, let us take Paul’s advice to heart.  Practice loving yourself and others just a little more each day.  Take time to breathe. Take a quiet moment in the morning, in the evening, and immerse yourself a little more deeply into the love of God who loves you far more than you can imagine.  As Pope Francis opens the Holy Door for the Jubilee of Mercy this week, hear his invitation to be embraced by that mercy by welcoming his forgiveness in the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  Then, when you have a tough decision to make, remember that love as you choose the best course of action.  For love is the measure.  Love is our source of true and lasting joy. Love is the reason for our hope. Amen.