ADVENT IN A TIME OF WAR

(Above, Drone attack at night, Daybreak and a ship on fire. Below that, anniversary roses on the kitchen window, in the distance, the ship on fire)

ADVENT IN A TIME OF WAR 

The Church has a calendar; there are seasons. They begin with Advent, the four Sundays and weeks prior to Christmas morning. The word Advent means “coming” or “arrival,” and by implication: waiting. The calendar is liturgical; it presents the church, and, of course, the preacher, with a selection of Biblical readings for Sunday sermons. Some of these carry a dual message: darkness and light, judgement and hope. Some point to the end of the world when, “the sun will be darkened, the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from the sky, the heavenly bodies will be shaken.” In a reading from The Gospel of Matthew, King Herod orders the killing of children under the age of 2 years old to rid himself of a would-be rival king. Against the good news in the proclamation of the birth of Christ and the coming Messiah, there are forces of evil. There is tragic news.

Life in the war in Ukraine is an Advent experience. The news daily is tragic, telling stories of evil, but also, times of hope. We live with a sense of anticipation, expectation, and dread. We fear the death of loved ones, family, friends, our own death as well. Orders are given to kill. Children die, and we wait, for drones and rockets, for an end to the war, for victory, for peace.

Both the readings from the Bible and the war stories of Ukraine are honest about the darkness. Both wait in anticipation and expectation for peace. In both, the forces of good and evil are locked in combat. Back and forth, it goes. 

In the Biblical story, the arc of Advent begins on the ground, a man and a woman with child on a journey, the narrative then lifting with divine meaning, with angels, and a star in the heavens. It ends again, grounded in a stable in Bethlehem.  

This war in Ukraine spans those same dimensions, first physically: from soldiers in trenches and a families huddled in shelters beneath the ground, to drones and rockets in the sky; then morally, ethically, and spiritually: from the depths of cruelty in executions, rape, and targeting civilians, to heroic acts of kindness and self-sacrifice. In the arc of Advent, we witness the worst and best in humankind, and the resolve of God, to be near, waiting, moving, bringing what God gives birth to in our world.

God is with those who live the narratives of a war in Ukraine. God is with us in our expectation, anticipation, and times of dread. God is with us in our waiting, in our fear and grieving, as well as in our moments of joy, trust, and celebration. I believe in hopeful endings. They may not always be happy, but they are hopeful. Life in Ukraine is life in Advent. It is life with the messages of darkness and hope, the eve of destruction and the birth of a new Ukraine. Even in a damaged world, even in a place of continued cruelty and killing, hope resides because God resides.

Grace and Peace,

Robert Gamble

(Below, Vice Mayor of Izmail presents This Child Here with the Mayor's  award for service to the community since 2022; Oli with kids at the center)