Reader,

This series of Advent emails is admittedly countercultural.

In a season that bustles with activity, we’ve invited you to sit in silence.

In a season that glitters with flashing lights and bright colors, we’ve asked you to face your inner darkness.

In a season filled with echoes of “Happy holidays!”, we’ve dared you to wonder, “What if Jesus doesn’t show up?”

At times, it might feel like we’ve invited you to behave like the ascetics of old—devout men and women who pursued radical self-denial to the point of pain and discomfort. Some wore prickly hair shirts that rubbed their skin raw. Others deliberately isolated themselves, rejecting the company of others to become holy recluses. Still others whipped themselves, trying to physically drive their wayward hearts into godly submission.

But that’s not what this experience is about.

We don’t want to pretend that Christmas festivities can cover your pain and grief. If anything, this season accentuates the losses and scars you carry. We want to honor that, and honor you, by acknowledging that those things are worthy of attention, especially in the presence of the Christ Child. That’s why he came down here, after all.

Yet mindfulness on its own is not enough. Mindfulness without hope is great suffering.

Hope is the willingness to believe in a better future. It looks to tomorrow with longing and with faith that it will not always be like this. When we hope, we dare to open our hearts to the vulnerable possibility that perhaps our best days lie ahead.

Our losses, scars, and fears are all very real. But they are not the only thing that is real. That’s the miracle we get to celebrate this week.

When all looked lost, when the cycle of brokenness seemed all-powerful, our Almighty God entered the dimensions of time and space as a helpless baby—on a mission to bring salvation and deliverance to the world. In Him lies our hope.

On the surface, it sounds ridiculous. If he actually wanted to save us, why would he come down like that? There are many reasons, but one is that it teaches us the power of hope. There was nothing obvious or certain about God’s plan, and yet it prompted Mary, the chosen mother of Christ, to burst into song. Filled with the Holy Spirit, she perceived that this puzzling act of weakness was actually an unimaginable feat of strength.

As we approach Christmas Day, revisit the mindfulness questions we’ve posed in the first three weeks—but with a different slant. Ask yourself: “What else is real about my anticipation? My darkness? My doubt? What else does the Spirit want me to see here?”

The goal is not to write off or explain away your hurts and difficult feelings. Instead, ask our loving Father to reveal how He is holding you fast. Plead with Him to lift you up out of the depths and fill your hungry heart with good things.

This week's email is adapted from our new Advent + Christmastide Program. It combines reflections like this with daily pages to help you dive deep into the gifts of this season. If you haven't gotten it yet, download your copy here.​