By Andrea Lingle

And Mary said,
‘My soul magnifies the Lord,
   and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour,
for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant.
   Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
   and holy is his name.
His mercy is for those who fear him
   from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm;
   he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
   and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
   and sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
   in remembrance of his mercy,
according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
   to Abraham and to his descendants for ever.’

Luke 1:46–55

God of Creation, we are tired, hopeless, and distracted. The day has contracted and the night has spread into the corners of our weary souls. When we brave the morning news, we are shocked into silence by the slaughter of so many innocents. We could have sworn those days died with Herod, but it turns out that his legacy lives on in us. As we open our inboxes, we are flooded with advertisements—five hundred and forty-seven received over Thanksgiving weekend. Our gratitude is engulfed by spend-lust. Somehow we know that we are being duped into believing that this is the great deal, the commercial conquest, that will ease the ache.

Don’t want to miss out on happiness…it being an inalienable right and all.

God of the billowing seas, we are rocked by life. It certainly isn’t what we thought it would be. We thought we would have all this fixed. We were so sure that all life needed was us: our will, our grit, our know-how. But it is all more difficult than we thought. The problems aren’t so much puzzles as quagmires. This isn’t the world of Sherlock, with tidy deductions all leading to the truth. This is a trash bag full of puzzle pieces from every conceivable puzzle and the toddler just spilled her milk over the whole lot.

Catch-me-if-you-can Spirit, is that why you came as a breath? Is that why you filled a womb with song? Is that why you started with expectation? Because life needs hope. Because we need the gentle darkness of gestation before we dare to believe in God-with-us.

Advent Whisper, do not call us too quickly into action. Hem us about with love at the pace of pregnancy. So slow and yet over and gone in a breath. Fill us with the courage to step out, step away, step back. Be quiet. Give us the wisdom to inhabit the lengthening night, quiet as a roosting bird. Advent is upon us. One, two, three, four weeks and gone again. Help us to wait, even as the days seem to pass like hours. Even as we check boxes and conquer lists, let the days be full of breath-caught moments, each swelling to infinity in the soul. May we breathe deep into the seat of our bodies the holy breath of Spirit. May the setting of the sun be a reminder that the Divine came slowly, swelling over the hip bones of a girl whose mouth was full of song.

Let us wait,

Amen