As the nights grow darker and a new chill comes right alongside, I sometimes feel lost as I make my way. Left foot, right foot. It feels like the darkness is holding me. I feel it creeping in all around me. Left foot, right foot. Even in familiar territory I sometimes feel lost in these early December days. Left foot, right foot.
Alleluias aren't promised to us. On our most wise days, we know that deep in our souls. Alleluias aren't earned or acquired. An alleluia is a gift, a grace. More often than not these days come to us, as an unexpected and wonderful, just-in-time surprise. Alleluia. Alleluia.
Throughout my life, Advent has been the season of Alleluias. I've heard it sung in old, familiar carols. I've seen it in the twinkling eyes and on the faces of folks being kind and generous with one another. I've felt it in a gentle touch, or a long and welcome hug. Alleluias heard and seen.
Especially this year, I am awaiting the coming of an alleluia. awaiting one that can bring my spirit back and reconnect me with the deep promise of the season. Emmanuel. God-with-us. Love is greater than hate. Be not afraid. All these words I've heard my whole life, I'm waiting this Advent. O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.
So I'll keep walking and looking and listening - even in the growing-darker days. Especially in these days. Left foot, right foot.
Holy One, you are creating in and for each of us an Alleluia. In the big and small places around us, there is an alleluia ready to be sung. In this season, as we make our way toward Bethlehem may our hearts stay open for what is not yet, for what is coming. Alleluia and Amen.