Advent is a time of waiting, of anticipation, and of hope. For many, this season is one of peace, love, and joy. Yet, for countless queer folks, the Advent of winter becomes a season marked by fear—fear of being seen, fear of being ignored, and perhaps worst of all, fear of being discarded. Family gatherings and holiday traditions, which should bring comfort and warmth, can often amplify rejection, loneliness, and the cruel insistence of conformity to heteronormative expectations. Added to this weight is the anxiety many carry as we approach a new presidency, where policies and rhetoric continue to threaten the dignity, safety, and rights of marginalized communities. In this tense and uncertain time, we long for spaces of peace, inclusion, and hope. Advent is a season of hope, yet I find myself moving through this time with exhaustion, longing, and fear.

Advent is traditionally a time of waiting, as Mary waited for her baby Jesus to be born.  For me, it is also a time of quiet reflection as my energy lessens as the darkness comes earlier in the day, and lasts longer.

This Advent season finds many of us tired, and fearful of the future.  For some of us, it feels as though we are waiting for the other shoe to drop, for more bad news that comes in a daily onslaught.  For those of us who care about our immigrant friends, it is heartbreaking to hear of their fear of being detained and deported, of families breaking apart, of jobs lost and poverty worsening, of children being abandoned and entire communities on high alert.

I love this image of Mary. She is real, full of joyful relief and a touch of rage at finding tween Jesus. This Mary is never enshrined in stained-glass windows or lifted up in high art. There is no cathedral named Our Lady of Teen Mom. The Mary of art and culture is perfect, like superhuman perfect: her skin, no matter the hue, is without bump or blemish and she has zero need for the anti-acne, anti-wrinkle moisturizer. We most often see her after giving birth in a manger, yet there is no mess, not one hair out of place. There seem to be no hormones out of balance or worry or anything but her being calm, cool and collected … even when a kid with a drum shows up to solo. The images of Mary make her not only the Queen of Heaven, but the queen of breastfeeding …

As we enter this season of Advent, and our minds turn to celebrating the birth of Jesus, the image of “Christ in the Rubble” in Manger Square in Bethlehem last year looms foremost in my mind.  Rev. Munther Isaac, pastor at the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Bethlehem, lamented last year over the deaths in Gaza and preached “If Jesus were to be born today, he would be born under the rubble in Gaza. If we, as Christians, are not outraged by the genocide, by the weaponization of the Bible to justify it, there is something wrong with our Christian witness, and we are compromising the credibility of our gospel message.”