ADVENT HOPE: Reveling in Darkness

by Nelson Boschman, SoulStream Partner.

You know that feeling when someone shares a song with you, or a poem, or a piece of art, and it seems composed, written, or painted just for you?

As Advent approached this year, a poem was offered to me that landed in exactly that way. It resonated so deeply that I wonder if it might reach out and grab you as well.

I invite you to read it, at least twice—slowly, perhaps audibly. Treat it like a mini-lectio if you wish. Notice what stands out. If you’ve got time, journal some of your own reflections. I’ll also share a few of mine.

Revelers
Lynn Unger

Call it a spare time—
dark afternoons
and the bones of trees
rattling against the sky.
We could use more hope,
or reason for hope. The sea
is rising, and bombs are planted
in the marketplace. It might
be better to just go to bed.
It might be better to
turn out the lights and wait
for the end to come.

The only other choice
is to dance. That and to sing
sturdy songs that have held up
across the winters,
drink wine the red of blood
that has not been shed,
feast, tell tales of heroes who
strode or stumbled through
their own bleak times.

When in doubt, revel in the darkness.
Each act of celebration is a spark.
Gathered together
they call back the sun.

One thing I love about poetry is its economy. Really good poems say a lot in just a few words. To me, this is a great poem.

Right from the jump, we have this string of images that paint a vivid picture in our minds: spareness, fragility, the growing dark. For the poet, this scene conjures a sense of withering hope—which she then invites the reader to consider, naming the global realities of climate change, war, and violence.

It’s hard for me to argue with the next lines, regarding what “might be better”. Especially as an Enneagram Nine. When faced with overwhelm and seemingly unstoppable conflict, my finely-tuned flight instinct simultaneously kicks hopeful optimism to the curb, and kicks into high gear.

Many of you know that this has been a year of transition for me. At the end of November, I stepped down from my pastoral role at a church I co-founded 15 years ago. It’s a big change; one I’ve welcomed and wanted. But it hasn’t always been easy. There have been moments when I’ve felt willowy, weird, and worried—for my vocational future, for the financial security of my family. These personal anxieties, coupled with those triggered by the state of the world, have at times caused hope to feel threadbare at best.

And yet, even threads of hope are better than no hope. As the poem suggests, hope-strands are made stronger even with the tiniest practices of celebration.

In my difficult moments, music has often been the conveyor of a deeper truth, or wondering, than I’d have been able to see otherwise.

Dancing helps me remember that to playfully move one’s body—in the way one wishes—is, in many places, an act of profound resistance. For this reason, when I dance, I feel connected to the entire human family.

Sharing wine and food around a table has always been one of my favourite ways to join those who choose to revel, often defiantly, amid doubt and darkness.

This Advent, may the songs you sing and the tales you tell anchor you in hope, and tether you to the ongoing work of justice and peace. May your feasting remind you that you’re never alone—that Love is here. And may each act of celebration draw you closer to the One in whom hope came Incarnate.

Nelson is an author and writer. You can read more here: https://www.nelsonboschman.com/