Micah 5:2-5a; Psalm 80:1-7; Hebrews 10:5-10, Luke 1:39-55
Year C
Václav Havel, a playwright turned Communist dissident in 1970s Czechoslovakia, refers to hope as an “orientation of the heart; it transcends the world as it is immediately experienced and is anchored somewhere beyond its horizons.” Havel’s hope sustained him, though he was imprisoned and his work banned, and eventually led him to become president of a more tolerant and open Czechoslovakia. We can learn from Havel’s example as we explore embodied Advent hope.
The lectionary passages for this fourth Sunday of Advent turn us toward a narrative pattern of hope. Hope is essential to our humanity, a fundamental ingredient to surviving hardship. Each passage for this Sunday turns us beyond what is immediately experienced, anchoring Christians in the hope of our coming Christ.
Micah, the eighth-century prophet, pens this messianic poem (Micah 5:2-5a) against a backdrop of Assyrian destruction of the Southern Kingdom of Judah and the deportation of God’s people from their homes. Their hope resides in a ruler, a savior, coming from Bethlehem, and from the Judean clan of Ephrathah, linking him to the ancestral line of King David.
Like the pastoral prayer led in our worship services, Psalm 80:1-7 raises the concerns of God’s people. The people need restoration. The people need God’s promised salvation. The people need God’s presence. “Let your face shine” (Psalm 80:3,7). Presenting their needs to God in prayer reflects their hope that God hears and God acts.
Preceding Hebrews 10:5-10 is a lengthy section citing Jeremiah’s prophecy that God will make a new covenant with Israel, a covenant of belonging and grace. “I will be their God, and they shall be my people” (Hebrews 8:10). This new covenant, as we read in this Sunday’s passage from Hebrews, is realized in the life and death of Jesus Christ. Christ is the embodiment of our hope, the fulfillment of God’s promise.
The scenes painted by Luke 1:39-55 reveal how hope is not only pondered in our minds but felt and experienced within our bodies. The baby in Elizabeth’s womb “leaped” when it heard Mary’s greeting. Elizabeth responds to her hope-filled baby with an embodied cry of joy. Mary’s body cannot contain her feelings — to speak is not enough, she must sing; her soul “magnifies” and celebrates the hope thrumming in her heart and from her throat.
With only a few days left until Christmas, we might pause here to consider how Advent hope breaks into our present experience. How is your hope embodied? Does it feel like the warm embrace of your spouse, the body God bound you to in the covenant of marriage? Does it sound like the tolling steeple bell or the pealing laughter of children at play? Does it smell like the smoke of the match you just snuffed after lighting your prayer candle? Does it look like the dancing flame of a single candle or the hundreds of candles lit on Christmas Eve? Hope breaks into our present experience in the same way Christ is born into our lives at Christmas — real, embodied, humming with heart. Hope is God’s gift to us, fresh from the womb, wrapped in swaddling clothes, cooing with love for us all.
Questions for reflection
- What thoughts, feelings, ideas or images arise as you read these lectionary passages?
- What does hope feel like? Physically? Emotionally? Spiritually?
- When has hope sustained you through a difficult time? Where was God present in that hope?
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