Hope Waits

Hope waits through long, cold nights, for light to rise in the East.

It pours itself through color-drenched panes of hand-hewn glass.

It  gathers around  altars, breathing life into tongues of flame;

at home in the darkness, made beautiful by shadows.

Hope rises in the unmistakable scent of hand-kneaded dough,

watched over, waited on, covered, warmed, and faithfully tended.

Hope crackles in the fire, sparked within the wood of ancient trees,

divested of majesty to be warmth in frigid places.

Hope wraps itself in gifts freely given; in presence undistracted.

Hope clothes itself  in the holy vestments of comfort for the lonely,

solidarity with the suffering, healing for the afflicted, and confession for the burdened.

Hope blankets us with comfort, security, and peace.

It shelters us in safety when storms swirl around us.

But Hope does not leave us in the safe, warm, well-lit places.

Hope calls to us, “Rise, bear the light. Pour yourselves out into the world.

Bear the altar of Love out into the dark and shadowed places.

Knead compassion into the forgotten  places. 

Be yeast where there is not enough bread. 

Watch over those whom no one sees.

Wait on those who are regularly passed over. 

Cover those who feel exposed and vulnerable.

Warm those whose bodies and souls have grown cold on their journey.

Advocate for those who live without privilege, protection, or safety."

The Holy One comes at an unexpected hour and in strange places.

We live armed with certainty, wired to avoid vulnerability,

so hope must steal our attention like a thief in the night.

The God of unscheduled inspections shows up in plain clothes-- 

in the processions of barefoot pilgrims escaping wasted lands,.

in broken homes, broken hearts, and pillaged streets,

begging us to see that Love lives there.

The Prince of Peace is no stranger to the in-between places;

He dwells between despair and hope after a loss; 

between difficult decisions and resolution;

between broken relationships and forgiveness; 

between  inequity and justice.

Hope calls us to “put on the armor of light.” 

May we make of ourselves a safe space;

a place where both strangers and friends can feel at home.

May we feed the hungry, be a well for the parched, clothe the naked, befriend the stranger.

May we sit with those imprisoned behind bars, or caged by despair.

May we break in and enter the hardest, darkest places with unbridled love and embodied light.

May hope find us restless in our safety, unsettled by our peace,

and unsatisfied  with our comfort,  not because we don’t deserve it,

but because so many others live without it. Hope waits. Hope lives. Hope rises.