In Memphis, summer occasionally slips back into view well into November. But rain now falls with resolve to say summer is no more. The rain falls with resolve to wash away what has been this year to pave the way for what will be after the cold breath of Winter comes and inevitably gives way to the breezes of budding Spring.
Yet Spring is distant in the moment of this grey, cold spell.
We wait. We hope.
There was a time when Jews could felt the grey they dreamed would give way to green. The rain of oppression poured heavy on them. The ache of oppression all too familiar. False hope would rise and fall in would be Messiahs and revolutionaries.
They waited. They hoped.
Oppression this day bears down on so many. Sadly, sinfully, those pressing down in ignorant or intentional ways are do so in the rhetoric of faith and objectivity. In the shadows of this faulted social system we see dimly--perhaps by choice.
For safety's sake we'd walk by or, perhaps better said, ask our nomadic neighbors to walk by our states as they seek a friend, refuge, and rescue.
Our own lesser desires hold us captive to technology and tangible lesser gods more often than we'd like to admit. Our possessions become our possessors in the endless trek toward suitable affluence.
We wait. We hope.
The rain bears down on so many at the birth of this Advent. Yet Advent reminds us grace is slowly finding its way through the cracks of our personal or systemic brokenness like water through worn roofs. Days like the last few misty Memphis one says through its constant pitter-patter the rain is baptizing this recent season of world events. It keeps showering stains of recent history.
Just as hope was birthed in the darkness of Mary's womb my prayer in this grey, rainy season is we have eyes to see and participate in hope's incarnation. May we allow it to wash over our frayed souls in preparation for the whispering of Spring winds shifting the this direction.