Jesus is Coming

I spent my first seventeen Christmases in a large Catholic parish in Jackson, Tennessee. St. Mary’s spared no expense in decorating the sanctuary for the Christmas season. As a child, my favorite tried-and-true piece of décor was a large nativity scene depicting a conspicuously Caucasian Mary and Joseph, animals that were likely not indigenous to western Palestine, and… an empty manger. On Christmas Eve, as the youth choir sang, the altar boys would proudly carry in the porcelain Christ child and lay Him in the manger. At last, after weeks of waiting, the nativity scene was complete. Jesus had come.

As we approach the second Sunday of Advent, you may feel the anguish of the still-empty manger. Though Advent is a season of preparation and anticipation, it is also a season of waiting and silence. As we behold the world around us, the interruption of Shalom is evident at every turn: parents losing children, angry wildfires consuming homes, sanctuaries shattered by gunfire. God’s people clench their fists and weep bitterly, lighting candles inscribed with hope, love, joy, and peace. And the question remains—what do we have to offer to a city without peace? Could there possibly be joy in this disease-ridden world?

Advent rolls into our reality like a thunderstorm, shaking the world to its very foundations. We whisper expectantly, “Jesus is coming,” singing hymns that promise a God who dwells with us. Advent does not promise that grief will be undone, sorrow destroyed, or pain forgotten. Instead, during Advent, the whole earth swells with the consolation that God Himself exposed His heart to our grief, our sorrow, our pain in the Incarnation. As we gather this Sunday, I pray that as you behold the still-empty manger, you will look ahead to the empty tomb and remember with joy—Jesus is coming.

Grace and Peace,

Bree Snow