In the liturgical calendar, Advent is the beginning of the church year, the season of expectant waiting for the celebration of Christmas and for the coming of Christ again (and again) into our lives. This year, we are using Scott Erickson's Honest Advent to help guide us as we seek “something honest, something real, something with some human grit and a little less green and red in it.”

On first reflection, it seems strange to start with waiting. But today's scripture passage from Honest Advent, tells the story of the angel, Gabriel's, visit to Mary to tell her that she is pregnant with the Christ Child.

Advent begins with the Annunciation, the revelation of this mysterious miracle. But for Mary, that revelation wasn't one she had asked for or could control. She could neither stop it, nor rush it. By all accounts, her pregnancy was a normal one, and that means she spent about 40 weeks waiting for the arrival of Jesus. There are, no doubt, days that it felt longer to her.

As you begin this Advent, think about how "Christians all around the world—in churches and in homes, in refugee camps and on the streets, alone or together— [will] light the first candle to open Advent" this weekend, as writer and blogger Sarah Bessey puts it.

Find a time this weekend to pray this opening prayer that Bessey has written and light a candle to mark this first week of waiting (for surprise, for revelation, for change, for mystery, for miracle, for God-with-Us even in the strange places and the ordinary ones) in a whole season of waiting:

Creator, Savior, Spirit, here we are.

We’re trying. We’re showing up. We’re hoping that you will meet with us here or we’ll notice where you’re already at work.

We’ve bringing so much with us: exhaustion, anger, doubt, weariness, hope, joy, faith, sometimes all at once. And together we’re going to sit down for just a minute. We want to rest in your love. We want to believe. We want to experience that elusive thrill of hope again - or maybe for the first time. Crack open the locked doors in our hearts for the fresh wind of your Spirit to sweep in again.

We’re open to being surprised. We think.

Help us to open our hands and our hearts. Help us to bear witness to your steadfast love. Help us to know your grace and goodness, your welcome and your hope. Help us to turn towards the light. Help us to not grow weary in doing good. Help us learn how to dance in the darkness, to wait well, and to hear the thrum of love under all the tasks and tragedies of our days.

Basically, God: help. Help, help, help.

As we enter into this space, we light a candle for Hope.

May your stubborn hope catch light in our own hearts tonight. Amen.