So, as we go through Advent, may we set aside our preconceived ideas, our fears, and our assumptions, as well. May we be open to sitting at the table together with those unlike us, maybe to share a meal, stories, laughter and even tears with our Palestinian and Israeli brothers and sisters. May we be watching to see what God might do in our midst, even through us, in unexpected ways.

The crimson of Christmas-to-come can carry a different meaning for the infertile. Hidden in the shadows of city sidewalks, behind the anticipation of the birth of the Child so easily conceived, Advent for infertile and low-fertility women can come with the silent dread of seeing a crimson ribbon where none should be.

Queer Bars are often the last place where strangers can be their whole selves, regardless of how society and families attempt to fragment them. These bars are where one does not have to mask their Queerness and Transness. They are where one can feel the pain and sorrow of loneliness and abandonment yet never be alone or discarded. These bars, open when the streets are all but empty, are a safe haven, a refuge, of hope within the Season of Advent. Queer bars are the nativity scene of the birth of Divinity in our time.

Harvest comes again and there are peppers and potatoes and apples to be picked by people the sustenance of the peoples. The movement repeats. However, there is an anticipation, an excitement about the possible. What will the Divine do in our midst? How might we be invited into participation in the struggles and celebrations of justice.

Now comes Advent, its own invitation into darkness but leading towards seeking the light, searching for a new sound, a song of renewal, a shared chorus of God’s good news among us.