On the heels of Jesus’ birth story comes a story of violence and death. The narrative moves, quickly, away from glorious rejoicing to the slaughter of the innocents, in which every baby boy near Jesus’ birthplace was murdered.
Another slaughter of innocents happened this morning. It happened down the road from us, twenty miles away. My daughter’s school is in lockdown because a young man decided to murder as many children as he could on this chilly day with a bright blue sky. We are supposed to light the town Christmas tree tonight. We are supposed to be a community of good cheer and good will and instead we brush up against evil and fear and darkness.
Advent is a time of longing, of crying out for God to continue to break into this broken world and make it right. And so, with anger and fear and sorrow and the thinnest wisp of hope, we cry out. Come, Lord Jesus. Come into the horror. Make it right.