HOPE: come, all who are weary

This Thanksgiving, after a day full of laughing, napping, and (of course) eating way too much food, my family piled onto my grandparents' couch to watch The Greatest Christmas Pageant Ever.

Based on the classic children's book by Barbara Robinson, The Greatest Christmas Pageant Ever tells the fictional story of a small town named "Emmanuel," which is known for its annual church Christmas pageant. On its 75th pageant anniversary, after the director tragically breaks both of her legs, a woman named Grace swoops in to save the day. Unfortunately for Grace, though, five of the local children (the "Herdmans") come to pageant auditions.

The Herdmans are not church-goers. In fact, they are mean, loud, completely unfamiliar with the Christmas story, and yet, they somehow threaten their way into the roles of Mary, Joseph, the wise men, and the Angel of the Lord.

The town of Emmanuel wants a polished Christmas story—one with sweet-smelling hay, peaceful farm animals, and a bright blue cloak for Mary. But the Herdmans are not the polished kind of people. The Herdmans come from nothing. No loving family. No promise of "a child is born." No real manners. But slowly, by participating in Jesus's story, the Herdmans discover the true meaning of Christmas... the true meaning of Jesus.

When it's time to perform, Imogene Herdman walks in, not wearing the traditional blue-and-gold Mary costume, but wearing a brown, old blanket from home. "She looks like a refugee," one girl notices. The entire church holds its breath as Imogene clutches the baby Jesus near to her chest, tears streaming down her little face.

Belonging. Family. Grace. Hope.

That is the Christmas story for Imogene Herdman, and with her help, that is the Christmas story for all of Emanuel.

A Face Full of Tears

It's my third year writing a blog about hope, and I won't lie... it never gets easier. This year, like every other year, we've experienced far too many things that feel "hopeless." Division, violence, injustice, economic hardship, professional disappointment, personal difficulty...

And yet, even in these seasons of hopelessness, a new season has begun—Advent Season. A season set aside for us to prepare our hearts and minds for the Christmas story. A season full of hope, peace, joy, and love. A season which reminds us of a little baby... A manger-turned-cradle, a bright star, a field full of shepherds, and two scared refugees, finding home in the lowest of places and giving birth to the Love of God.

I imagine, like little Imogene, that Mary's face was also full of tears.

I imagine, like all of the Herdmans, that Mary also felt hopelessness. Because as much as we fill this season with sparkly candles, shiny ornaments, and glittery crismons, this story is difficult. Painful. Scary. And if we miss its weariness—its authenticity—we will miss what makes the story so wonderful, so real.

Weary Hope

When I started this blog, I asked myself, "What do I have to say about hope?" And when I watched The Greatest Christmas Pageant Ever, I asked myself again, "What does the Christmas story have to say about hope?"

It's not much, but this is what I've got:

Advent People, if there is ever a moment when you are weary, you are not alone. Sometimes, sadness hugs us like a blanket and reminds us that we are human, reacting to being sick. Reacting to being tired. Reacting to another headline or another death on the news (our brains were not meant for this).

Advent People, if there is ever a moment when you feel behind, I feel it too. The rush of the world blends in with the rush of the wind, and if we aren't careful, we'll confuse its demand for God's call (our hearts were not meant for this).

But Advent People... if there is ever a moment—in your weariness, anxiety, and exhaustion... If there is ever a moment when you catch a spark of light (a flower growing in the pavement, a text from an old friend, a song that puts a stirring in your heart, a movie that moves you), hold onto it. Hold onto this glimmer because it is life. It is hope.

It's the hope that fueled Mary.

It's the hope that moved little Imogene.

And it's the hope that fills this Advent season, promising Love—Emanuel, God with us—in the most unexpected places.

...

Yes, the Christmas story is full of exhaustion and uncertainty... but there is something more, singing, Come all who are weary. Come, in anticipation, to a manger scene full of noisy animals, smelly hay, worn refugees, a crying baby, and an impossible act of hope. Come, as if for the first time, because a child is born unto you.

This Christmas season, may the impossible hope of Advent consume you, even if just for a moment. May you come to know that hope is more powerful than fear or darkness. May you, like Imogene, experience the Christmas story for the first time. And may you know, without a doubt, that hope lives on. Amen.