the Second Monday of Advent
Scripture Reading for Today:
Living in the Tragic Gap
For what do you most deeply long?
For the people to whom Isaiah spoke,
the people who were in exile,
their longing was clear:
a safe way through the wilderness,
and a path home again.
They longed to be gathered and held by their God,
clasped close to God’s heart,
gently led to places of goodness and joy.
That longing is also threaded
through Psalm 126:
O that God would restore our fortunes,
that the ground seeded with tears,
might bear the harvest of joy,
that our mouths might be filled with laughter
and the words we speak be words of joy!
Abundant sheaves,
a home of joy,
this was what the people longed for.
In this time of advent waiting,
we, too, find ourselves in places of deep longing.
We long to gather once again
with family and friends,
with our church communities,
without fear of sickness or death.
We long for safety and stability
for those who have lost homes, farms,
animals and livelihoods,
to the fires, floods and mudslides in B.C.
We long for a world where insects and birds are flourishing,
where temperatures remain stable,
and we know that our children’s grandchildren
will live with abundance and hope.
We long for a world where those sleeping in shelters,
or on the streets,
will have warm beds, nourishing food,
and a safe hug at the end of the day.
We long for a world where meaningful work
results in enough for food and shelter,
where everyone has time to play and rest.
We long for a world where those
lost in the mazes of mental illness,
will wake up to laughter and safety.
We long for a world where
Black, Brown and Indigenous people
are honoured,
where past injustices have been swallowed up
in generous abundance, care and welcome,
extended by all to all.
We long for a world where all of those
who are fleeing war, climate catastrophe and hunger
will be welcomed into abundant and safe communities.
In short, we long for a world where there is peace,
where we can live with joy with each other,
with all other creatures,
and with Creator.
The problem, of course,
is that our longing doesn’t make it so.
In fact, our longing sometimes makes it harder
to live in the face of brokenness and loss.
Because we have such deep hopes,
because we have scriptures that promise
a kingdom of justice and joy,
it is hard not to be overwhelmed
by the sorrow and tragedy that surrounds us.
In short, we live in what Parker Palmer
calls the tragic gap,
the gap between the way things are
and the possibility of a new world
that the scriptures place before us.
How do we live in that tragic gap?
How do we witness to that new world that we know is possible,
in the midst of the brokenness that surrounds us?
And how do we do so in a way that doesn’t trivialize
the suffering we experience,
or cause us to let go of the hope that we have?
The apostle Paul describes our posture
in the tension of the tragic gap
as one of groaning in labour pains.
This language of groaning is threaded
throughout the scriptures:
the same word describes the labour pains
that Eve would experience in childbirth in Genesis 3:26.
These are the same groans that rose up to God
when the people were enslaved in Egypt,
groans that God heard and which prompted God to act
for salvation (Exodus 2.24)
These are the same groans that rose up from the land,
as the wild animals began to disappear,
and the birds of the air began to vanish,
and the fish of the sea were perishing (Hos 4.1-3).
These are the same groans
that the psalmists give voice to
in the psalms of lament,
as they cry out to God to save them
from hunger, and poverty,
from illness and oppression.
Paul tells us in Romans 8
that the whole creation is groaning
in labour pains,
all of creation is groaning
as we wait for something new to be born.
And not only creation,
but we are also groaning,
as we wait for the redemption of our bodies,
for that day of resurrection,
when God will make all things new.
This tells us something about living in the tragic gap.
First of all,
living with grief, living with lament
is not something that we should suppress.
Living with lament
is a faithful response to the brokenness around us.
In fact, Paul says that “we who have the first fruits of the Spirit,
groan inwardly as we wait for adoption,
the redemption of our bodies” (Romans 8:23).
To live in the Spirit is to live with lament.
Having the Spirit doesn’t mean that we live
in some kind of spiritual high.
It means that we take seriously the suffering of the world.
It means that we bring the pain of the world before God.
In fact, Paul says, “the Spirit also intercedes for us,
with groans too deep for words” (Romans 8.26).
The Spirit herself takes up the groaning of creation,
and the groaning of humanity,
and joins with that groaning.
Notice that Paul doesn’t say that the Spirit translates our groans into words for God.
No, the Spirit also prays with groans,
because sometimes there is nothing to do but cry,
sometimes words are not enough to plumb the depths
of what we are experiencing.
And God knows that.
Secondly,
to live in the tragic gap
means to constantly say to the darkness,
“We beg to differ.”
It means that we hold this vision before us,
this hope that another world is possible.
We don’t always know what that world will look like;
as Paul says, “hope that is seen is not hope” (v. 24).
But we do have the longing within us,
a hope for that new heaven and new earth,
where justice will be at home,
that longing for healing and wholeness.
And that vision calls us forward,
captures our imagination,
causes us to say “Yes, this is what I so deeply want,
that I will hope for it with patience,
in the midst of the sorrow that surrounds me.”
This advent,
may we be able to embrace our place in the tragic gap.
May we be able to give voice to the pain
of creation and the vulnerable as we pray,
and may we be able to hang on to our longing
for God’s new world of peace, forgiveness and justice.
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