We began Advent yesterday with one of my favorite seasonal poems, by one of my most favorite poets, Advent or otherwise, Madeleine L'Engle.
In her "After Annunciation," she coins the phrase "the irrational season" to describe the illogical and mysterious business of a young girl, approached by an angel, told that she was going to have a baby, and, oh-by-the-way, this baby would be the savior of the world and hope incarnate (no big deal).
And instead of thinking through how bonkers this all was, and giving herself one of many good excuses to say, "no," Mary instead says "yes."
And we, just as irrational, cling to this story, cling to the idea that hope will be born on earth and in our hearts, and that this hope will prevail over all destruction and all death.
And for me, especially this year, this is what Advent is all about.
Waiting for the irrational. Clinging to the improbable. Being stubborn about the illogical and standing firm on the side of the mysterious.
The dreariness and depression of Covid and racism and poverty be damned. We are people of hope. And we are people of active hope. We believe that there will be goodness and reconciliation and restoration. That's irrational enough. But we also believe that we can live these things into this present chaos, and make goodness and reconciliation and restoration happen, in fits and starts, right now. That's irrational, too!
Because we aren't living in a season of reason. (Ha, that rhymes!) We are living in a season of faith and trust and anticipation. We are living with hope, because that is the only way to conquer despair.
So we say "yes" to the irrational. "Yes" to the illogical. "Yes" to the mysterious and unbelievable and the curious. "Yes" to our belief that something is coming our way that is worth waiting for and worth sacrificing for and worth even looking silly for.
This is what hope is all about.