My word for 2024 is springtime. It was a long-awaited word for me and when I received it in prayer late last year and had it confirmed in a few places, my spirit positively rejoiced at the possibilities. I wondered with expectation at which of the long-growing, long-prayed-for things I might finally see in full bloom. And now, as the year winds to a close, I find myself rejoicing in the spring that we did find1 at the same time as I reconcile some hard and disappointing places, too.
Like the Synod which held such promise but delivered little in the way of results. Like the recent American election which is already ushering in plenty of cause for concern. Like some personal hopes which felt so much promise and then sort of… disappeared.
Never one to give up hope, I have looked to the remaining weeks of 2024 as a crowning of the year, and I remember the promise of Psalm 65:11, which reads:
“You crown the year with Your goodness,
And Your paths drip with abundance.”
I hold tight to the truth that it’s impossible to predict an unseasonable and unlikely spring which might, well, spring up overnight. I gather in the goodness of my life as it is, I try my best to stay present in the day that I’m given, and I trust in God for the goodness of what I can’t see yet - things that might be on the way. After all, spring is the best teacher of the truth that just because we can’t see it doesn’t mean that it’s not happening.
This week, while listening to a podcast, a guest mentioned a scripture which jumped out and into my spirit, Isaiah 35:1-10.
“The desert and the parched land will be glad;
the wilderness will rejoice and blossom.
Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom;
it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.
The glory of Lebanon will be given to it,
the splendor of Carmel and Sharon;
they will see the glory of the Lord,
the splendor of our God.Strengthen the feeble hands,
steady the knees that give way;
say to those with fearful hearts,
“Be strong, do not fear;
your God will come,
he will come with vengeance;
with divine retribution
he will come to save you.”Then will the eyes of the blind be opened
and the ears of the deaf unstopped.
Then will the lame leap like a deer,
and the mute tongue shout for joy.
Water will gush forth in the wildernessand streams in the desert.
The burning sand will become a pool,
the thirsty ground bubbling springs.
In the haunts where jackals once lay,
grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.And a highway will be there;
it will be called the Way of Holiness;
it will be for those who walk on that Way.
The unclean will not journey on it;
wicked fools will not go about on it.
No lion will be there,
nor any ravenous beast;
they will not be found there.
But only the redeemed will walk there,
and those the Lord has rescued will return.
They will enter Zion with singing;
everlasting joy will crown their heads.
Gladness and joy will overtake them,
and sorrow and sighing will flee away.”
Notice here all of the unlikely blooming, the rejoicing of the desert and parched land, the flowering in the wilderness, eyes of the blind opening, lots of talk of bubbling springs and glad singing as we walk along on God’s highways. This is a picture of unlikely, sudden springtime. Providential restoration, improbable relief, a picture of all things new.
And this is the hope of Advent, the spring which we can’t see or make, but which we hold out hope for: the rose that e’er blooms when half gone was the night2. We place candles in the window, our own trembling flame making space for more capital L-light to come.
In the podcast I mentioned earlier, the guest was describing a house fire and the tedious process they undertook to save a damaged wall-hanging that bore the theme of Isaiah 35:10. This was the scripture to which she held tightly as the self-described theme of her life. As she and an artist friend re-painted the sign and as they worked hard to build back their home over many months, they continually dismissed the label of ‘renovation’ for the work they were undergoing. “Renovation is not what we’re doing. We are not making this wall-hanging or this house into something that they are not. What is happening here is restoration and resurrection. We are bringing back to life the things that already are.”
Working and toiling in the dark, they believed in the springtime resurrection that they would one day see.
In my prayer and contemplation this week, I’m feeling this kind of hope, the unseasonable springtime which causes my spirit to perk up and my eyes to raise. The kind of springtime that doesn’t make sense. And I’m wondering, friend, how about you?3
This week, Notre Dame’s bells rang out for the first time since 2019, and I carefully listened to each peal as it rang out. The 8,000 pipes of the Cathedral’s organ had been disassembled, cleaned and tuned, and the instrument was “blessed and awakened” in a kind of symbolic resurrection. And the whole thing sounded like chaos, truly, like regeneration, like the first moments of life. It was loud and boisterous and disorganized and kind of wild, really. It was the sound you might ascribe to the process of making all things new.
The kind of springtime you can’t see yet, but which you can hear coming.
The kind you first trust, then hear, then see.
In these dark days, in this crowning of the year, Oh God, let it be, amen.
Raised Catholic/My Little Epiphanies rewind:
Word of the Year 2024: Springtime - Raised Catholic 157 - transcript and link to episode
Let’s Talk About Lent (Springtime) - Raised Catholic 10 - transcript and link to episode
“Spring” - reflection from 2018
What I’m reading/listening to/recommending:
practice: noticing buds on bushes, trees, hearing birdsong even in December
song: Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming, by The Brilliance
song: Springtime, by Chris Renzema
podcast: That Sounds Fun with Annie F. Downs, guest: Lanier Ivester - advent makes space for our grief, Christmas makes space for our joy
Prayer:
God lift our eyes and lift our spirits in a dark season. Give us the gift of unexpected spring as only You can and help us to see it. For us and our dear ones, in the name of Jesus and wrapped in the mantle of Our Mother Mary, we pray, amen.
There really is so much I am grateful for this year.
Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming
From tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse's lineage coming
As men of old have sung.
It came, a flower bright,
Amid the cold of winter
When half-gone was the night.
Isaiah 'twas foretold it,
The Rose I have in mind:
With Mary we behold it,
The virgin mother kind.
To show God's love aright
She bore to men a Savior
When half-gone was the night.
This Flower, whose fragrance tender
With sweetness fills the air,
Dispels with glorious splendor
The darkness everywhere.
True man, yet very God,
From sin and death He saves us
And lightens every load
You know I’d love to hear about the fruit of your contemplation this season in the comments!
Just wanted to pop in and wish you a hopeful Advent. Mine is not going quite as I envisioned. We haven't even lit our Advent candles yet. I don't understand how life has gotten so busy and overwhelming this year. I mean, I do (kids approaching teen years) but I still have hope for slowing down and focusing on what really matters. During Advent and in general.
Possibly related to slowing down and simplicity (and Notre Dame!), I wanted to share this story I heard on the radio yesterday: https://www.instagram.com/reel/DDR88oyMrHO/?igsh=a250emY5OGpjeHQ0
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