Fierce Hope: An Advent Journey of Waiting and Wonderনমুনা

A few years ago, I read a Catholic liturgy that described Advent as “a time of devout and expectant delight.” That line stopped me in my tracks. I’d heard Advent described with words like waiting, longing, or anticipation. But delight? Never. Christmas, yes—but not Advent. Yet as I reflect on this season, I remember the joy candle on the Advent wreath, and how many hymns and liturgical readings are threaded with joy-tinged poetry. I started to wonder, could there be delight in the waiting?

Advent, it seems, is a paradox. On one hand, we wait in the shadows, and on the other, we strain toward the bright horizon of hope. To wait in the shadows is to sit with what is unfinished—unanswered prayers, silence, and uncertainty. It means not knowing how everything will unfold, and feeling the ache of that in-between space. And yet, even there, we lift our eyes toward the horizon. Like a flower unfurling, stretching toward the light, we grip onto God’s promise that He is not done. Delight is an expression of hope—choosing joy sometimes long before we see the fullness of the promise come to pass.

Two gospel women, Elizabeth and Mary, model exactly this.

Elizabeth, old and weary after decades of barrenness, finds her womb alive with promise. Mary, young and vulnerable, risks her reputation, her marriage, even her life, as she carries the Son of God. Both women faced uncertainty, risk, and loss. Imagine how easy it would have been to hunker down, live in survival mode, and cling to one another out of desperation or fear. Or, to grit their teeth, push through, pressing forward with guarded hearts and closed hands. But not these women. Delight broke through.

Elizabeth’s child leapt in her womb.

Mary burst into song.

For these women, fierce hope didn’t look like stoic endurance; it looked like delight and celebration. It looked like making room for joy in the messy middle of their story. No guarantees. No certainties about the future. Only the wild, defiant choice to rejoice right where they were.

We often associate hope with dark times, holding on through hardship or bracing against disappointment. And yes, hope is exactly that. But what if hope is also the doorway to joy? What if fierce hope doesn’t just survive the night, but makes space for singing in the middle of it? Advent reminds us that hope is not only endurance—it is expectation, song, and even laughter that dares to erupt before the story is resolved.

I can recall times when I sensed God gently inviting me to praise Him, to celebrate, to cultivate joy—in the very middle of what felt like the darkest night. It felt foolish, maybe even reckless. And yet, that is often the way of God’s kingdom. Joy in the midst of our uncertain circumstances is a hallmark of God's people. Because our hope doesn’t reside in our circumstances but in the One who is Emmanuel, God with us, in all moments.

What is the shadow or dark night you find yourself in right now? What are you waiting for, enduring, or carrying? And how might God be inviting you—even here—to create space for delight?

Advent is not just about waiting in the dark. It’s about letting hope give birth to joy right now. To delight before the miracle is complete.

Prayer
Lord, in the shadows of waiting and the ache of uncertainty, give me the courage to choose joy even before the story is resolved. Like Mary and Elizabeth, let my heart leap and my voice sing—confident that you are Emmanuel, God with me, even here.

Amen.