Scripture: “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.” — Isaiah 9:2
Beloved, let’s be real. It’s been a heavy season. Many of us had high hopes for what this year might bring, especially in the political sphere. We showed up, like we always do, with our ballots in hand and our hearts full of determination. And yet, the results left us questioning—not just the systems we’ve long fought to change but even our place in them. Disillusionment has set in, and I know I’m not the only one feeling it.
For Black women, this moment can feel like yet another blow to our already tender spirits. We’ve carried so much—generations of hope, strength, and sacrifice—yet here we are again, looking around and wondering, Does anybody see us? Does anybody care?
But here’s the thing about Advent: it meets us in our waiting, in our wondering, in the darkest corners of our souls. Advent doesn’t rush us past our pain or tell us to “get over it.” Instead, it calls us to sit in the stillness and remember this truth: A light has dawned.
The Power of a Promised Light
When the prophet Isaiah spoke those words to Israel, they were a people walking in deep darkness—exiled, oppressed, and weary. Sound familiar? Yet God gave them a promise: a Savior was coming, one who would break every chain and restore what was lost. That promise wasn’t just for Israel—it’s for us, too.
The birth of Jesus is the fulfillment of that promise, the reminder that even when it feels like everything around us is crumbling, God is still at work. The world’s systems may fail us, but His kingdom will never fall.
So, when you feel like hope is slipping through your fingers, remember this: the hope we cling to isn’t tied to election results, policies, or even people. It’s tied to a God who stepped into the mess of this world to be with us.
Reclaiming Hope in Our Stories
Sisters, I know it’s tempting to shut down right now. To retreat, to stop caring, to let the weight of it all bury us. But our ancestors didn’t survive on despair—they survived on hope. They carried songs of freedom in their hearts, even while their hands were shackled. They prayed over us, their future generations, believing that the God who parted the Red Sea could still make a way.
We honor them when we choose hope, not the kind that ignores the pain but the kind that stares it in the face and declares, “My God is bigger.”
Hope as Resistance
Let me tell you something: hope is a radical act. In a world that tries to convince us to give up, holding onto hope is a form of resistance. And the beautiful thing about Advent is that it reminds us we’re not hoping alone. We’re joining a chorus that stretches back through the ages, from Mary’s “My soul glorifies the Lord” to the songs we sang in our own pews growing up.
This week, I invite you to light a candle, even if it’s just a small one on your kitchen counter. As that flame flickers, let it remind you that Christ’s light still shines, even in the darkest of times. Pray over it. Cry if you need to. And let yourself feel the weight of His promise: A light has dawned.
A Prayer for the Week
Lord, we come to You weary and worn. We’ve seen so much, carried so much, and sometimes it feels like too much. But we thank You for the promise of Your light. Thank You for seeing us when it feels like the world doesn’t. Help us to root ourselves in the hope of Your coming—not just as a baby in a manger, but as the Savior who will one day make all things new. Teach us to trust You in the waiting. Amen.
This Advent season, let’s lean into hope—not because it’s easy, but because it’s what we’ve been called to do. You are not alone, sis. The light has come, and it is shining for you.