Our Shared Longing and Hope
“Blessed are you who believed that what was spoken to you by the Lord would be fulfilled.” - Luke 1:45
In the first reading today from Song of Songs, the lover comes leaping and bounding, giddy and joyful saying “the winter is past!” Despite it being the “holliest, jolliest time of year,” and Christmas being less than a week away, I find it difficult to connect with that imagery, not to mention, winter is just beginning today on this winter solstice, the longest night of the year.
For many of us, this season brings up past griefs, may come with new griefs, or we may feel a sense that many of our hopes and dreams are yet unfulfilled. Some of us may want to skip past hard feelings, wanting to get to the joy, or we try to fake it ‘til we make it. Some of us may spiritually bypass our own sorrow and suffering believing we are obligated to be cheerful as proof of our faith. Yet we can’t be fully human and authentic – we can’t be like Christ – if we don’t feel our grief and learn to be with others in their own.
My partner and I both lost our grandfathers in October, about a week apart. Several of my friends are grieving their parents’ deaths that took place around this time of year or have a parent who is in the process of dying. And for many, even if losses didn’t occur this time of year, it’s a time punctuated with the reminder that our lost loved ones aren’t here to celebrate with us.
As I’ve gotten older, the magic of this time of year has seemed to give way to life’s complexity and longing. And perhaps it is a spiritual deepening and maturing of what our Church means when we sing “O come, o come Emmanuel” – we long for Christ’s healing, consoling presence to enter into our darkest nights, our pain, our grief.
In today’s Gospel reading, there is a grace for me in Elizabeth’s exclamation to Mary: “Blessed are you who believed that what was spoken to you by the Lord would be fulfilled.” She reminds us that in our longing, in our vulnerable hoping in the face of the unknown, that we are blessed. Not just that we will be blessed, but that we already, presently are. God sees our faith and faithfulness, even when it seems like our prayers have yet to be answered. For me, knowing that I’m not alone in my grief or longing helps me to feel a sense of blessing. It also helps when I struggle with hope to look back at graces and gifts I’ve received. It awakens a felt gratitude that softens my heart and opens it up to continue hoping in what is yet to come.
Moreover, I think Elizabeth’s benediction to Mary isn’t just about God’s promises to her individually, but also the fulfillment of God’s more expansive promise to God’s beloved people. We collectively grieve, wait, and hope. We share in each others’ longing and pining. Ours is a shared hope and a shared blessedness.
Who do you hold in your heart right now that is moving through grief or that you, yourself, are grieving? What are some of your yet unanswered prayers that you continue to hope for? Can you recall times when you have felt your prayers were answered before? How might remembering those times help you in your present hoping or longing?
Jessica Gerhardt