Advent is a season of hope. During these darkest days of\nyear, we watch and wait.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In our human experience of suffering, we abide and keep a sober vigil. In moments of powerlessness, frustration, anguish, agony, or grief, we cry out for a redeemer and savior. We feel the depths of our emptiness and need, and we hope. We feel the ache acutely and cry out with heartfelt longing, Come, Lord Jesus!!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n That\u2019s the ideal, anyway. But let\u2019s face it, hoarding can\nfeel safer and easier than hoping.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At the mention of \u201choarding,\u201d we immediately visualize particular people, places, or things. I\u2019m not talking about the medically diagnosable condition of hoarding. I am using the word in a broader, all-inclusive sense.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Most of us are hoarders in one way or another. It\u2019s\nsomething we do to protect ourselves against feeling powerless, or against\nfeeling grief. It gives us a sense of power. It props up the illusion of being\nin control.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sometimes we hoard physical objects. We cling to what we no longer need; we clutter our living space. Throwing things away means feeling grief and loss. It is a death, and we don\u2019t want to die. Keeping an open and inviting living space feels naked and vulnerable. We don\u2019t like feeling powerless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But we also hoard by cluttering our schedules with unnecessary commitments. We feel less like a failure because of the things we say \u201cyes\u201d to – even though we inwardly resent all the things we \u201chave to\u201d do. We avoid the pain of conflict and live with the clutter and chaos of too many commitments.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We hoard by only tackling the tasks we feel confident about, while repeatedly avoiding the ones that would risk failure or expose our weakness. We may even push those undesirable tasks onto others, shifting the blame onto them, or criticizing the failure of their valiant attempts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We hoard when we hold onto comfort and ease, resisting needed changes. We want our churches to feel familiar to us, to be our own little nest. First-time visitors may feel uncertain, ashamed, or intimidated. We wouldn\u2019t know, because we talk to the same familiar people, ignoring what others are needing or feeling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We hoard when we suffer in silence rather than humbly\nreaching out for help and risking rejection. We cling to others, expecting them\nto meet our needs without actually asking. We do things for them in \u201cservice,\u201d\ncalculating that now they have to give us something in return. If I am\nentitled, then no one can reject me, right? In all these behaviors, we might\neven style ourselves a \u201cmartyr,\u201d but the real martyrdom is happening in the\npeople around us who have to put up with our behaviors!<\/p>\n\n\n\n We hoard with our addictive behaviors. We soothe ourselves with our screens, with our sugar, or perhaps even with impulsive cleaning and organizing \u2013 which may seem the opposite of hoarding. But it depends on why we are doing it. Is it a kindness to self and others, or is it avoiding and numbing what I don\u2019t want to face or feel?<\/p>\n\n\n\n We hoard when we surround ourselves with busyness, noise, or\ntalking. We resist silence and stillness. We cannot stand to slow down and\nactually feel our loneliness, our grief, or our anger. We would rather pretend\nthey are not there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But then how can we hope?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Every human heart holds the capacity to hope. As Augustine\nof Hippo said, \u201cYou have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is\nrestless until it rests in you.\u201d Within each of us is an insatiable desire, an\nintense longing for the living God. But will we allow ourselves to feel it?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hope can really hurt. To hope is to desire and not yet\npossess. That means that hope will include suffering. Hope will include grief.\nHope will include vulnerability, even feeling powerless. We don\u2019t like those\nexperiences. And we hate to wait!<\/p>\n\n\n\n Thankfully, God is a good Father who delights in us as his\nchildren. He sees our struggles and loves us as we are. He knows our tendency\nto hoard; he gazes lovingly at us even as we repeatedly and relentlessly\nprotect ourselves against him. We are so often like the dog hiding his head\nunder the blanket. God smiles, and calls us by name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Yet God honors our freedom. He desires us to desire him. He\nwill not force or coerce. Like a lover, he pursues and woos us. He gently prods\nus, inviting us to admit how naked, blind, and miserable we actually are (cf. <\/em>Revelation 3:14-20). We desperately\nneed Jesus, but we do not like to feel the depths of our need.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Jesus\u2019 coming brings true comfort, lasting peace, and abundant joy. Even in this world, he helps us to taste and see the goodness of the Lord. He blesses us with an abundance of love. Our hoarding hearts keep crying out, \u201cIt won\u2019t be enough!!\u201d and Jesus keeps assuring us, \u201cMy grace is enough for you; my power is made perfect in weakness\u201d (2 Corinthians 12:9).<\/p>\n\n\n\n Will we surrender our supposed control? Will we set aside our pseudo-comforts? Will we allow ourselves to grieve and mourn? Will we remember that we have here no lasting city, that we are pilgrims passing through? Will we abide in hope?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Come, Lord Jesus!!<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Advent is a season of hope. During these darkest days of year, we watch and wait. In our human experience of suffering, we abide and keep a sober vigil. In moments of powerlessness, frustration, anguish, agony, or grief, we cry out for a redeemer and savior. We feel the depths of our emptiness and need, … <\/p>\n