Today is the first Week of Advent, the Sunday of Hope.
And if there is anything it seems like our world is starved for right now, is hope.

Not optimism. Not positive thinking. Not seasonal cheer stapled onto anxiety. But real, grounded, embodied hope.

Philosopher Gabriel Marcel once wrote, “Hope is for the soul what breathing is for the body.”
If that is true, then we have a world gasping for air.

But Advent, the birth and arrival of Christ, steps into that suffocating atmosphere with a single word:
“Hope.”

  • Not because everything is going well.
  • Not because people feel strong.
  • But because God steps into hopeless places.

That’s the backdrop of Luke 1.

A Seemingly Hopeless Setting

We meet Mary—a young girl, likely 14 or 15, living in an obscure village. No status. No power. No influence. No platform. From a long-oppressed people living under a foreign empire.

If anyone seemed disqualified to carry the hope of the world, it was Mary.

And yet—God begins the story of redemption in a place that looks hopeless.

Christian mystics often say God is most visible not in moments of spiritual fireworks, but in the ordinary, the unnoticed, the quiet corners of life.

Meister Eckhart once wrote, “God is at home. It is we who have gone out for a walk.”
Meaning—God is already moving where we assume nothing holy could happen.

  • That is Nazareth. (John 1:46 “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” Nathaniel to Phillip)
  • That is Mary.
  • Sometimes… that is us.

So the angel appears and speaks the most unexpected words to the most unexpected person:

“Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.”

And Mary is perplexed. Because hope always sounds strange to people who have lived too long with hopelessness.

God Interrupts the Lie of Hopelessness

Hopelessness is not just a feeling; it is a lie.
A lie that whispers:

  • “Nothing will ever change.”
  • “You don’t matter.”
  • “You’re alone.”
  • “Your story is stuck.”
  • “Your future is finished.”

But the angel challenges every one of those lies:

“Do not be afraid, Mary… for you have found favor with God.”

N.T. Wright says that whenever God speaks into history, His first word is almost always: “Don’t be afraid.” Why?

  • Because hopelessness feeds on fear.
  • Fear that God is distant.
  • Fear that the world is too broken to heal.
  • Fear that we are too small to matter.

But Advent announces that the God of creation has not abandoned His world.
Hope is not an escape from reality.
Hope is God stepping into reality.

Mary asks, “How can this be?”
And the angel responds: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you.”

Translation:
You don’t manufacture hope. You receive it.
Hope is not the outcome of your strength but the overflow of God’s presence.

John Wesley said that the Christian life is empowered by “the inner witness of the Spirit.” Not simply believing about God, but experiencing God with us, in us, and through us.

This is what makes Advent hope different from wishful thinking.
The world says, “Try harder.”
God says, “I am with you.”

Hope Becomes Flesh

At the center of Luke 1 is one of the deepest mysteries of the Christian faith:
Hope does not float above the world—it becomes flesh within it.

Mary becomes the first dwelling place of Emmanuel.
The Word does not skip human vulnerability; He enters it.

Christian mystics describe this as the “indwelling Light.”

Julian of Norwich famously declared, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”
She didn’t say this from a comfortable life. She wrote during plagues and suffering.

Her hope was not circumstantial—it was incarnational.

Mary’s “yes” shows us that hope is not passive.
Hope is not waiting for someone else to fix the world.
Hope is cooperation with God’s redeeming work.

“Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.”

That is not resignation.
That is courageous participation.

Mary teaches us this:
Hope is born when ordinary people dare to believe that God can do extraordinary things through them.

Advent Hope Is Meant to Be Shared

John Wesley famously insisted that Christianity is always social, never solitary. He said, “The gospel of Christ knows of no religion but social; no holiness but social holiness.”

Meaning—hope is never meant to stay inside us.
Hope is meant to become visible, tangible, embodied in the world.

N.T. Wright says that the people of God are to be “signposts of new creation.”
We don’t just speak hope—we live it in such a way that others can see the future God is bringing.

So what does that mean for us in this Christmas season?
If hopelessness is a lie, then hope must become an action.

Advent calls us to combat the lie of hopelessness by:

  • showing up in places others avoid
  • loving people others overlook
  • giving when others are taking
  • forgiving when others hold grudges
  • advocating for the vulnerable
  • practicing generosity that surprises the world
  • offering presence to the lonely
  • becoming calm in the chaos
  • embodying peace in the conflict
  • refusing cynicism
  • speaking life

Advent Christians are hope-bearers.
We bring Christ’s hope into schools, workplaces, homes, neighborhoods, grocery stores, and quiet moments of human pain.

You may be the only voice of hope someone hears this season.
You may be the only reminder that God is still moving.
You may be the person through whom God chooses to break the cycle of despair.

Like Mary, you may feel small.
But hope often begins in small places.

Becoming Hope in a Hopeless World

Becoming Hope is about opening ourselves up.

Charles Taylor, who is a Canadian political and social philosopher, describes modern society a being marked by a “buffered self”—a self isolated, sealed off, and disconnected from transcendence. That isolation breeds hopelessness.

Advent calls us back to an “open self”—open to God, open to others, open to the possibility that the world is more enchanted with grace than we imagined.

Hope is not abstract. Hope takes shape. Hope takes risks. Hope steps out.

Imagine if every one of us entered the Christmas season asking one simple question:

“Lord, who needs the hope You’ve given me?”

Maybe it’s a neighbor.
Maybe a coworker.
Maybe someone in your own family.
Maybe someone in this room.

Hope moves us from sentiment to service.
From passive waiting to active compassion.
From “someone should do something” to “Here am I, Lord—send me.”

When we act in hope, Christmas stops being an event and becomes a movement.

The God Who Is With Us

The angel’s last word to Mary is the word we need most:

“For nothing will be impossible with God.”

Not because we are strong.
Not because life is predictable.
Not because the world is stable.
Not because the circumstances are perfect.

But because God has entered the story, and He is not leaving.

Hopelessness says, “This is the end.”
Advent says, “This is the beginning.”

Hopelessness says, “You’re alone.”
Advent says, “God is with you.”

Hopelessness says, “Things will never change.”
Advent says, “Christ is making all things new.”

You don’t manufacture hope. You receive it. And that acceptance and awareness is life altering.

Gaelen’s treatment and knowing his father was with him and not going anywhere was everything. He was brave, would rest, and was even joyful in suffering like Julian of Norwich.

A Call to Hope

So on this first Sunday of Advent, I want to invite you to embrace Mary’s posture:

“Let it be to me according to your word.”

Let it be in our lives.
Let it be in our families.
Let it be in our communities.
Let it be in Volusia County.
Let it be in every hopeless place we carry in our hearts.

And as we say yes to God, may we become carriers of hope—
living reminders that Jesus has come,
Jesus is coming,
and Jesus is with us.

So may we go into this Advent season as people who refuse the lie of hopelessness—
and who embody the hope of Christ wherever we go.