(part of the “Waiting on the World to Change” Advent Series)
Isaiah 40: 1-5, 27-31
Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. 2Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.
3A voice cries out: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. 4Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. 5Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”
27Why do you say, O Jacob, and speak, O Israel, “My way is hidden from the Lord, and my right is disregarded by my God”? 28Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. 29He gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless. 30Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted; 31but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.
Today is the winter solstice in the northern hemisphere. It is the moment when the north pole (for the northern hemisphere) is tilted the farthest away on its axis from the sun. I think it actually occurs at 9:03 a.m. this morning if you want to put it on your calendar. Today is the day of the year when the light hours are the shortest and the dark hours are the longest. It’s always been interesting to me that our celebration of Jesus’ birth is placed just after the solstice. (Because, honestly, we’re not sure when it ACTUALLY happened. That day was just sort of assigned.)
This passage from Isaiah is the beginning of what most scholars call “Second Isaiah”. It was probably written toward the end of the Babylonian exile and is directed to those that had been forcibly removed from their home in Jerusalem several years before. Now, this was not what we typically know of as “slavery”. Most of the Israelites were allowed to have their own homes and come and go as they please. They were even allowed to work for a living. But it was a different culture and a different homeland. Everything that they had known before was gone. The society was different. The culture was different. They weren’t really sure how to maneuver in this new way of living and life around them was surely one of darkness. It would be easy for them to assume that God had deserted them, that somehow God had left them in a place to which they were unaccustomed and had just left them to fend for themselves. At the very least, their image of God probably had to be recast.
But around 539 BCE, Cyrus, the ruler of Persia, conquered the Babylonians and so many of those exiled were given the chance to return home. So, the exiles are filled with a message of trust and confident hope that God will completely end this time of despair and hardship. Speaking to a city and a way of life that is all but destroyed, the exclamation is made that the exile is indeed about to end. God is coming to lead the exiles home, bringing redemption and restoration. In essence, God is coming to show them a new and different way to live, a new and different to look at life even in the midst of darkness.
In this writing, there is no prophet even mentioned. Instead, here, it is God who is speaking. It is God who is promising a new start for the city and a people whose lives today lie in ruins. Out of the void, out of the ruins, it is God’s voice that we hear. Out of the darkness, a new day is dawning. “Comfort, O comfort my people…Remember, that every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill made low, the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. Then my full and final glory will be revealed.”
Now notice here that God does not promise to put things back the way they were before. God is not limited to simply rebuilding what was taken away. No, God is recreating, making new, lifting valleys, lowering mountains, and ultimately, when all is said and done, revealing a glory that we’ve never seen before in what is essentially a brand new Creation, a brand new “in the beginning…”. “See, I am making all things new.” “Comfort” here is not just solace or consolation; it is transformation. “The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.”
As I noted yesterday, we live in an “in-between” time. Old English would refer to it as “betwixt and between”. It is that time of liminality. We live in an overlap of time. The light is shining into the darkness but we are experiencing these long hours of darkness. I’ve been reading some of the Psalms and Scriptures of lament lately. It is those writings of grief for the world. It is those writings of grief for us. It is those times when we just want to shake our fists and scream at what is going on. It is those times when we are waiting for the world to change. We modern-day Christians struggle with that. Somewhere along the way we were told that we were supposed to be well-behaved around God. But I think God can take anything we dish out. And, to be honest, God is not a casual acquaintance. I would like to think that I am close enough to God to get angry sometimes.
This passage from Isaiah is an answer to those laments. It’s not saying that bad things won’t happen; it’s not saying that the world will be perfect. It’s saying that things are going to get better, that God is recreating us and the world even as we shake our fists and shout into the abyss. Living as a Christian means that we are constantly pulled and stretched between the poles of longing and lament, of hope and despair, of grief and resurrection. It is all part of our faith. We do not live in some naïve state of being with the belief that God will somehow remove us from the reality of the present. No, we are asked to be here, living in faith. We are truly people of joy and hope. That’s why the woes of the world hurt us so badly. That’s why we grieve. That’s why we lament, a holy practice of lament. That’s why sometimes we shake our fists and scream into the lamentable abyss. And God comes and sits with us, Emmanuel, God-with-us, and offers comfort and renewal, restoration and hope.
“With This Bright Voice” By Amanda Gorman (for 2025 UNICEF campaign) With this bright voice We speak— Audacious and audible.
What yesterday we might have called obstacles Today rise as opportunities That make us unstoppable.
We respond In every strife In every struggle
God did not wait till the world was ready, till nations were at peace. God came when the Heavens were unsteady and prisoners cried out for release. God did not wait for the perfect time. God came when the need was deep and great. In the mystery of the Word made flesh the maker of the Stars was born. We cannot wait till the world is sane to raise our songs with joyful voice, or to share our grief, to touch our pain. God came with Love. Rejoice! Rejoice! And go into the Light of God. (Madeleine L’Engle)
Lyrics:
[Verse 1] I’ve seen more than I, I wanna see The people I love turnin’ on me But I know, I know, I know, I know there’s a A better day comin’ I’ve been dreamin’ that one fine day All my trouble gonna fade away And I know, I know, I know, I know there’s a A better day comin’
[Chorus] Woah-oh, woah-oh A better day comin’ Woah-oh, woah-oh A better day comin’
[Verse 2] And it’s harder holdin’ on to forgiveness To lay those ghosts to rest Oh, but the sun can rise out of the darkest night No anger, no bitterness Can fill the hole inside my chest Too long, too long, too long, too long have I Have I been runnin’ Ooh, that blue horizon ain’t far away I hear it callin’ out my name And I know, I know, I know, I know There’s a better day comin’ The sun’s gonna rise out of the darkest night It’s gonna change everything, woah-oh
(part of the “Waiting on the World to Change” Advent Series)
Romans 15:4-13 (Advent 2A)
4For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope.
5May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, 6so that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.
7Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God. 8For I tell you that Christ has become a servant of the circumcised on behalf of the truth of God in order that he might confirm the promises given to the patriarchs, 9and in order that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy. As it is written, “Therefore I will confess you among the Gentiles, and sing praises to your name”; 10and again he says, “Rejoice, O Gentiles, with his people”; 11and again, “Praise the Lord, all you Gentiles, and let all the peoples praise him”; 12and again Isaiah says, “The root of Jesse shall come, the one who rises to rule the Gentiles; in him the Gentiles shall hope.”
13May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
So, we’re still here even as we journey through this Advent season. We’re still here waiting on the world to change. But bad news keeps coming. People keep hurting each other and taking from each other and not listening to each other. We keep destroying each other. And, yes, we keep trying to find the things that need to be changed. We keep waiting for that change. And then Paul tells us to abound in hope. Sure, we’ll get right on that!
Hope is one of those words that we throw around a lot. “Hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ love and righteousness.” Just have hope. Always have hope. But what is it? We seldom talk about WHAT it is; we just say that we’re supposed to have it. So, we hope against hope that things will change. (And, I guess, we hope against hope that we’ll have hope, whatever that may be.)
Paul frames this passage around what he sees sparks hope. Our hope, according to him, begins in the past. It begins with what is written in the Scriptures, the stories, the history, the acts of faith. OK, I guess that’s a good enough beginning but it still doesn’t really tell us what it is. I mean, it would be really easy if hope came in some sort of ancient bottle that Barbara Eden would come out of in a cloud of pink smoke in a genie costume and grant our every wish. No, wait, that’s wishing. That’s not hope. Maybe it’s what we imagine for the future, the “perfect future” that is in our dreams. No, that’s dreaming. That’s not hope. Emily Dickinson said that “hope is the thing with feathers— That perches in the soul— And sings the tune without the words— And never stops—at all—” (Pretty, but is it helpful? I mean, it sounds like it’s going to fly away at any moment.) Dante wrote of hell as the abandonment of hope. (Well, that’s dark!) William Sloane Coffin said that “if faith puts us on the road, hope keeps us there.” (Closer…)
The truth is, hope is not just wishing that things would change. Hope has to do with rising to the challenge before us. Hope is participation in God’s work. Hope means saying “yes” to going forward, abounding, as Paul said, in hope by the power of the holy spirit. Soren Kirkegaard defines hope as the “passion for the possible”. That passion is what prompts us to hope not for things to be “fixed”, not for things to be easier, certainly not for some sort of lost Garden of Eden in our lives when we remember that things were better. Hope opens the door to what’s ahead and pulls us toward it, pulls us into it.
In a 2008 interview with Matthew Felling of WMAU radio in Washington, D.C., Dr. Gordon Livingston said that the greatest enemy of hope is nostalgia. He said that “it tricks people into believing that their best days are past.” (Which is why, I guess, there are so many people right now that dream of returning to what was and, dare I say, what will never be again.) He went on to say that “A more realistic view of history envisions the past as a theater of experience, some good and some bad, and opens up the possibility of growth and change. Our best days are ahead, not behind. Hope for the future.” I think that’s what Paul was trying to say. Hope is here, here for the taking. It is grounded in the past, in what we know. But hope is what goes forward. Hope is what makes us keep walking. Hope is what allows our faith to become realistic, gives us something to grab hold of. Hope is what enables us to look up and see what is just ahead. Abound in hope.
Hope holds with it the promise that God always answers our questions by showing up, not necessarily with what we ask for but with remarkable gifts that change our lives and the world. (Mary Lou Redding)
68“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them. 69He has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of his servant David, 70as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old, 71that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us. 72Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors, and has remembered his holy covenant, 73the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham, to grant us 74that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies, might serve him without fear, 75in holiness and righteousness before him all our days. 76And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, 77to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins. 78By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, 79to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”
This passage, the Benedictus, the Song of Zechariah, are the first words of Zechariah after he had been rendered mute upon finding out that he and his wife would finally have a son. Zechariah is the father of John the Baptist and the husband of Elizabeth, Mary’s cousin. These words, Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini, or “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord”, form Zechariah’s blessing of his son. See, Zechariah was the one who knew who his son was, knew that he was the one that would point to the dawn that was beginning to break on the horizon.
Zechariah voiced this beautiful passage as an affirmation of faith. He wasn’t unclear about his reality. He knew the way the world was. But he also knew who his son was, who he would become. He understood the purpose to which his son was called. He knew that his son was the one that could point to the Light that was just beginning to break through. So, in an incredible expression of faith, he understood that the claim of this season is not that God will fix things, not that God will put the broken world back together, but that God will go where the Divine is not expected, where God is not wanted, where most think that change or redemption is impossible. Faith is believing not that God will take away the darkness but rather that God will break through the darkness and the Dawn will come.
We are called to live the same. We are called to voice the Light into the darkness that others might see its dawning. Advent is a season lived in darkness; it is also a season that knows the Dawn is just over the horizon, “…the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”
Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark. (Rabindranath Tagore)
You who fear the Lord, praise him! All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him; stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel! 24For he did not despise or abhor the affliction of the afflicted; he did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him. 25From you comes my praise in the great congregation; my vows I will pay before those who fear him. 26The poor shall eat and be satisfied; those who seek him shall praise the Lord. May your hearts live forever! 27All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord; and all the families of the nations shall worship before him. 28For dominion belongs to the Lord, and he rules over the nations. 29To him, indeed, shall all who sleep in the earth bow down; before him shall bow all who go down to the dust, and I shall live for him. 30Posterity will serve him; future generations will be told about the Lord, 31and proclaim his deliverance to a people yet unborn, saying that he has done it.
This psalm is probably more meaningful in its entirety. The beginning verses (which are not included in our psalter for today) bear an agonizing pain by the Psalmist, one who is feeling lonely and desperate. The writer is surrounded by enemies and is sure of God’s abandonment. It’s kind of like how we usually think of the wilderness. You can imagine standing in the Judean desert with the winds whipping around you and the sands stinging your eyes. You just want it to end. You’ve resolved that you can’t go back but you want this desperation and pain to be over. You want to see something up ahead.
And then, almost abruptly, the threat is gone. The Psalmist is no longer surrounded by enemies but is aware of the surrounding community, a community of worship, a community of God’s people stretching out for generations. God has heard the cries of the children and despair has been replaced with blessing, lament has turned into praise. And the psalmist knows that God is everlasting, that even future generations will know of God’s presence.
This Psalm is also read on Good Friday. You can understand why. It is the story of one forsaken who ultimately encounters blessing and redemption. But it’s a good psalm for our wilderness journey through Lent. I mean, it’s hard to wander through the wilderness and always know that God is there, always know that you have not been abandoned. Sometimes we need to be reminded and, let’s face it, sometimes we just need a good old pity party before we are again able to remember God’s promise that the beloved Creation will never be abandoned. I think God knows that. We are made to be human. We feel pain. We feel despair. We feel abandonment. Stuff happens in our lives. Sometimes the wilderness seems to have no end.
And, then, just as suddenly as our despair overtook us, we are able to see again. Maybe the winds have shifted. Maybe the sands have calmed. Or maybe, we are finally ready to encounter the One who walks with us through it all. And God is there. And, like the Psalmist, we feel joy once again. But I don’t think joy comes and goes. It’s not like happiness. Happiness is fleeting. But joy is deep and abiding. It never really leaves once we have it. But sometimes, sometimes we have to be reminded of it. And it’s OK if we have to wander in the wilderness a little while to remember. God is patient even if we need a little pity party now and then. God is patiently waiting for us to remember yet again that we are a son or daughter of God with whom God is well pleased.
Here is the God I want to believe in: a Father who, from the beginning of Creation, has stretched out his arms in merciful blessing, never forcing himself on anyone, but always waiting; never letting his arms drop down in despair, but always hoping that his children will return so that he can speak words of love to them and let his tired arms rest on their shoulders. His only desire is to bless. (Henri Nouwen, from “The Return of the Prodigal Son”)
Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. 26When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’ 27Then he said to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home.
28 After this, when Jesus knew that all was now finished, he said (in order to fulfil the scripture), ‘I am thirsty.’ 29A jar full of sour wine was standing there. So they put a sponge full of the wine on a branch of hyssop and held it to his mouth. 30When Jesus had received the wine, he said, ‘It is finished.’ Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit. (John 19: 25b-30)
Those midday hours on that day were merciless. I stood there feeling so helpless, wanting to hold him to cradle him like I did when he was a baby. At that point, I didn’t know what the outcome would be. I just knew that he was in pain. And I needed to get to him. But the guards were holding us back. There was nothing that I could do but pray, pray that this would end, pray that God would release him, pray that this would all turn out for some good. Little did I know how good it would be.
In that moment, the memories flooded back. I thought about that night when the angel came to me. At first I did not understand. I was afraid. But something in me compelled me to say yes, to say yes to something that I had no idea how to do. I thought about that long trip to Bethlehem. And then when we arrived, the city was packed with people and we had nowhere to go. It was so scary. But I never felt like we were alone. Someone traveled with Joseph and I. Now I understand. We were never alone. And I knew that I was not alone now. There, there on the cross was God. But in that moment, I prayed that it still all had a purpose.
None of it seemed real. At that point, I was questioning why. Why did all this happen? Why was I allowed to love him, to look into his eyes and love him if this was how it was going to end? I wondered if these people standing here with me even thought about the manger, even thought about that holy night. In hindsight, I know that God was holding ME—when I was holding him and even now.
I wondered if the world would ever understand what it did. And it began to rain and the wind began to blow. The skies turned appropriately dark and angry. And the world began to shake. Rocks and debris began to slide down the mountain behind us and the wind blew the temple curtain that separated the holy and the ordinary. In that moment, I thought hope was dying there on the cross. I realize now that that child I held that Bethlehem night so long ago was hope, a hope that would never die, a hope that would literally spill into the ordinary parts of our lives. At that point, I thought it had ended. I know now that our eternity itself was spilling in to our lives. I know now that that birth so long ago was never for naught. It was for this—to give hope to a world that could never give it to itself, to give hope to a world that sadly over and over destroys itself, to give hope to a world that doesn’t really understand that it has never been alone. I know now that hope was born in that manger. But hope came to be on that cross. I know now that I was pulled into a story that would have no end, that would birth newness and hope at every turn. How blessed I truly am!
At the center of the Christian faith is the history of Christ’s passion. At the center of this passion is the experience of God endured by the godforsaken, God-cursed Christ. Is this the end of all human and religious hope? Or is it the beginning of the true hope, which has been born again and can no longer be shaken? For me it is the beginning of true hope, because it is the beginning of a life which has death behind it and for which hell is no longer to be feared…Beneath the cross of Christ hope is born again out of the depths. (Jurgen Moltmann)
FOR TODAY: Dare to hope…in spite of everything else. Dare to hope for that which you cannot know. Dare to hope beyond what you can see.
(Advent 2A) 4For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope. 5May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, 6so that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. 7Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God. 8For I tell you that Christ has become a servant of the circumcised on behalf of the truth of God in order that he might confirm the promises given to the patriarchs, 9and in order that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy. As it is written, “Therefore I will confess you among the Gentiles, and sing praises to your name”; 10and again he says, “Rejoice, O Gentiles, with his people”; 11and again, “Praise the Lord, all you Gentiles, and let all the peoples praise him”; 12and again Isaiah says, “The root of Jesse shall come, the one who rises to rule the Gentiles; in him the Gentiles shall hope.” 13May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. (Romans 15: 4-13)
So why do we have these Scriptures? There are those that will tell you that you need to memorize as many as you can, amassing sort of a mental collection of passages to pull up as we need them. Well, good luck with that! I can’t even remember my grocery list unless it’s written down. There are some that depict that Bible as having all the answers. Oh come now! Have you read the accounts of the canonical Gospel writers? (Not to mention the non-canonical ones—yeah, there ARE more of those writers!) They can’t even agree on the order in which things happened much less why. And then there are those that assume that the Bible is the moral code, the list of things you should do and should not do. How boring would THAT be? (Yeah, behavior lists also make for profound and exciting reading!) But, here, the writer Paul says that the Scriptures were written that we might have hope.
For Paul, this hope comes through an awareness and acknowledgment of our shared story. Hope, then, is realized in community. None of us have a lock on the truth by ourselves. Truth comes as we journey through life with others experiencing and balancing our story together. Think of those that came before us 2,000 years ago. For generations upon generations they had hoped for a Messiah, hoped for the One who would lead them home. And their hope was part of their community, it was who they were. That hope provided the very foundations on which they built their faith. As each generation learned the stories and practices of their faith tradition, they also learned hope.
So hope is more than just a wish for the future. It is more than an awkward dream that things will work out, that things will turn out all right. Hope is found in the very depths of who we are. Hope springs from the well-worn words of the pages of Scripture that we read and carries us into the future. It is hope that takes us beyond where we are, that belies our fears and our need for the comforts and security of what we know. It is hope that reminds us that we are called to be more. It is hope that gives us life. That is the promise. The sign above Dante’s hell reads “Abandon hope all you who enter here.” Regardless of what your image of hell may be (Dante notwithstanding), as long as we have hope, we have life.
Advent is the season that teaches us to hope, that teaches us to let go of certainty and let go of that need to know exactly where we are going. Advent reminds us that even in the wilderness, even on those days when we do not think we can possibly go on, even when we forget who we are and feel a little alone, even when we momentarily lose our way or when we think the world has somehow slipped from our grasp and gone into a place that we do not want to follow, there is hope. To have hope means that we dare to get out of our own way. To hope is to open ourselves to God, to open ourselves to the God who leads us home. May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Hope is what sits by a window and waits for one more dawn, despite the fact that there is not one ounce of proof in tonight’s black, black sky that it can possibly come. (Joan Chittister)
FOR TODAY: In what way is God calling you to open yourselves to hope? What’s in the way?
Advent Peace,
Shelli
And a short programming note…Apparently some (or all–I don’t know) of the emails for the 11/30 (Wednesday) blog post did not go for some reason unknown to me and unknown to WordPress. If you did not get it, it IS there on the website. Sorry about the confusion! S.
8For once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light— 9for the fruit of the light is found in all that is good and right and true. (Ephesians 5: 8-9)
It doesn’t seem right to talk about darkness in the middle of Advent, does it? Maybe we could deal with it during the season of Lent, but not Advent. Advent is the season where we look toward the Light. And yet, much of Advent is about darkness, about the unknown, about the Light that has yet to come. And so we wait, in darkness.
We have a sort of aversion to darkness. We have somewhere along the way convinced ourselves that darkness is bad, “anti-light” if you will. And so we do everything we can to stay away from it. We fill our lives with light—the 75 watt variety. And we push the darkness away. But what else are we pushing away with our artificial light? After all, when you live in a city with street lights and porch lights and motion detector lights, how many stars do you see? Darkness is not bad; darkness is needed to see light. Light on light lets us see things, those things that the light illuminates. And we find ourselves lost in things. But darkness…in darkness we see the Light.
Remember the darkness of our beginnings. Creation began in darkness…and then there was light. Creation is found in darkness. Birth is found in darkness. Hope is found in darkness. Faith is found in darkness. Darkness gives us what we need to begin again. Darkness enables us to see the Light as it breaks into the world. In the darkness, we are able to see the Dawn.
So in this Advent darkness, be content. Embrace the present. Be content to wait—to wait in hope, to wait in faith, to wait for the Light that will soon dawn. Perhaps our places of darkness are where we come to be because they compel us to look for the Light and it is then that we will finally know how to see our way out of the dark.
Too many of us panic in the dark. We don’t understand that it’s a holy dark and that the idea is to surrender to it and journey through to real light. (Sue Monk Kidd)
Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. 26When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’ 27Then he said to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home.
(Advent 2A) 4For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope. 5May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, 6so that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. 7Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God. 8For I tell you that Christ has become a servant of the circumcised on behalf of the truth of God in order that he might confirm the promises given to the patriarchs, 9and in order that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy. As it is written, “Therefore I will confess you among the Gentiles, and sing praises to your name”; 10and again he says, “Rejoice, O Gentiles, with his people”; 11and again, “Praise the Lord, all you Gentiles, and let all the peoples praise him”; 12and again Isaiah says, “The root of Jesse shall come, the one who rises to rule the Gentiles; in him the Gentiles shall hope.” 13May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. (Romans 15: 4-13)
8For once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light— 9for the fruit of the light is found in all that is good and right and true. (Ephesians 5: 8-9)
Dancing to God 