1st Sunday of Advent
R. Lord, make us turn to you; let us see your face and we shall be saved.
Written by Megan Ourso
Anybody else experiencing growing pains? I had an experience recently where I was driving home from dropping some friends off at the airport, and it was dark and rainy, and I was in the throes of discouragement and letting the Lord have it. I shared with the Lord all I was feeling, and the most prominent thing was being afraid to have hope in some areas of my life that I know, I know, He recently had done some planting.
“Why would you plant these things if they weren’t going to last?” I asked Him. “This hurts.”
Hope is a theological virtue, a supernatural gift from God that we cannot come to attain by our own human nature. Which makes total sense to me, because it does not come naturally lately. Lately, if I am being honest, hope feels dangerous. I hold it at arm’s length. The pattern I am used to is getting my hopes up, believing that the things that are too good to be true might happen, and worrying at every moment that they will fall, crash, and burn. And sometimes they do, and I find myself mourning a future that is not here, a scenario that is not truth. And I blame God for it, especially in this season where the things I desire— friendship and connection, to discover my vocation, love, peace— are big, good things. It is almost like the little things have been burned away and the desires I am left with now are the ones that will break me.
The Lord and I revisited this conversation the following Sunday during mass, and I had this abrupt realization:
“I can’t do it.”
I realized I cannot save myself, or heal myself, or fulfill my own desires, or tend to the garden of my heart in a way that brings lasting change, or even give myself hope.
This thought was not one of despair or even relief. It was just an acknowledgement of the truth, the very real truth that I need a Savior.
In a society where independence and self-reliance are seen as strengths, we are afraid to appear as weak or a burden. I see it in myself. The thought of asking for help and admitting I have needs, even with my family and closest friends, feels a lot like death sometimes. For some reason I also project this feeling on the Lord. As St. Teresa of Avila said: “This self-reliance was what destroyed me.”
The realization that I need a Savior is the beginning of hope. I cannot place hope in myself. I am a finite human being destined for an infinite God. He is the only One Who I can implore to “take care of this vine, and protect what your right hand has planted.”
This first Sunday of Advent, the candle we light symbolizes hope. The light brings hope into the darkness of this world, into the darkness of my mess and yours. Hope has a Name, and a Face, and when I speak the Name of Jesus and look to His Holy Face, I am safe. To truly rest in that safety, I cannot hold Him at arm’s length.
What or who am I choosing to hope in? How can I slow down this Advent season to intentionally turn to the Lord? Is there an image or painting of Jesus that speaks to me that I can incorporate into my prayer time?
Megan Ourso works as an appraiser in southeast Louisiana. She has always been fascinated by stories and is an avid reader and writer. She loves this time of year and is probably watching White Christmas and drinking a peppermint hot chocolate. Follow Megan on Instagram.
Pray with today’s psalm.