Waiting for hope

On the darkness of Advent

Winslow Homer, Farmer with a Pitchfork, 1874

Part 1

“I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play
And mild and sweet their songs repeat
Of peace on Earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head
‘There is no peace on Earth,’ I said
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on Earth, good will to men.”

We are in the final stretch of Advent, and the sun has disappeared in West Michigan. Because we are huddled against the lake, clouds stick throughout winter. It can be sunny thirty minutes inland and cloudy here. Seasonal affective disorder thrives in a place like this.

Advent is a land stuffed with clouds and darkness; it is a darkness of silence; it is waiting for dawn, for light, for hope. In the midst of holiday jingles, Advent is the second verse of “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” Before we get to hope, we have to accept the darkness.

—

“And in despair I bowed my head
‘There is no peace on Earth,’ I said
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on Earth, good will to men.”

Eight years ago, my mom accomplished her dream: she was an adult discipleship pastor at the church we had attended since I started high school. She planned retreats and got coffee and developed friendships and led theology classes. She poured and poured and poured into these women and prayed constantly for God’s plan and their good.

And let me tell you, she was amazing.

But, unfortunately, things changed. I can’t get into details because it’s not my story to tell, but she had to leave that position three years ago.

My mom still aches to be a pastor again. Those wounds have not fully healed.

—

“And in despair I bowed my head
‘There is no peace on Earth,’ I said
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on Earth, good will to men.”

I’m writing this in the shadow of another school shooting, this one in Madison, Wisconsin. There are no words, and I have no intention of using it for a cute Substack about “Believing the good,” or “Positive thinking!” That crap has no place in Christianity. At the center of Christianity is an innocent man dying through extreme torture. If tragedy isn’t taken for what it is—an abomination and blight to humanity—then it has no place in the faith.

—

“And in despair I bowed my head
‘There is no peace on Earth,’ I said
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on Earth, good will to men.”

In a land stuffed with clouds and darkness, Advent reminds us darkness persists and must be acknowledged.

Part 2

“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
‘God is not dead, nor does He sleep,
For Christ is here; His Spirit near
Brings peace on earth, good will to men.’”

I attended church the Sunday after the election nervous for my pastor. He had to preach a sermon to a room full of tightly-wound Americans, some in exhilaration and some in devastation. I didn’t think he could succeed. But he made an excellent decision: he began with a poem by Wendell Berry, written in 1968.

“In the dark of the moon, in flying snow, in the dead of winter, war spreading, families dying, the world in danger,

I walk the rocky hillside, sowing clover.”

- “February 2, 1968” (New Collected Poems, 122)

This is an Advent poem. This is a poem that recognizes the existence of darkness while clinging to hope in the midst of it. In a land stuffed with clouds and darkness, this poem reminds us of the existence of the sun, no matter how small or seemingly trivial that appears to be.

—

“But we urge you, beloved…to aspire to live quietly, to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands, as we directed you, so that you may behave properly toward outsiders and be dependent on no one.”

-1 Thessalonians 4:10b-12

My mom graduated with her Masters in Biblical Exposition last May. She began her degree while working at the church out of a desire to be a more effective teacher. After she left—despite not having a clear goal—she decided to finish her degree. She became what I call a “Vigilante Pastor,” ministering to the women of Stillwater, Oklahoma independent of what church they go to. She hosts bi-annual spiritual retreats and still meets with women for one-on-one discipleship and volunteers in the women’s ministry at the local church she and my dad ended up at. She even started a Substack that is—if I may—simply beautiful.

And, in true Wendell Berry fashion, she planted a garden. It is big and wild and beautiful, and her goal is to give the flowers to a bride who cannot afford floral arrangements for her wedding.

In the darkness, she is sowing clover and waiting for the light.

—

“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
‘God is not dead, nor does He sleep,
For Christ is here; His Spirit near
Brings peace on earth, good will to men.’”

As I write this—in the wake of another school shooting—I am reminded of what Tom Junod—the journalist who got to know Mr. Rogers so well—wrote about him in the wake of Donald Trump’s first presidency and other, earlier shootings:

“[Fred Rogers] would say that Donald Trump was a child once too. He would say that the latest Twitter victim or villain was a child once too. He would even say that the mass murderers of El Paso and Dayton were children once too—that, in fact, they were very nearly still children, at 21 and 24 years old, respectively—and he would be heartbroken that children have become both the source and the target of so much animus. He would pray for the shooters as well as for their victims, and he would continue to urge us, in what has become one of his most oft quoted lines, to ‘look for the helpers.’”

According to Wendell Berry, little acts matter, like planting a garden for a future wedding. And according to Mr. Rogers, so does praying for both the victims and the perpetrators, which includes a fifteen-year-old school shooter.

—

“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
‘God is not dead, nor does He sleep,
For Christ is here; His Spirit near
Brings peace on earth, good will to men.’”

In a land of Advent, in a land stuffed with clouds and darkness, Christians get to sow clover in the places they inhabit, trusting that Christmas will arrive, and so will the great peace of Jesus Christ.

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