Christians are in the Advent season. It is the season of preparation and expectant waiting. The watchword is hope, and these days, there is a lot of hoping going on, though much of it is more humbug than hope. Retailers hope for good sales numbers. Shoppers hope to find a deal on the latest and greatest gift, and we all hope that everyone will be satisfied on Christmas morning.

Churches hope too. They hope the Christmas Fair will be successful, and the choir will get enough practice, that the pageant will have enough parts, the pews will be full, and the preacher will have something new and inspiring to say (preachers hope that too!). Yes, indeed, there’s a lot of hoping all around. I think, however, what’s going on is more wishing than hoping.

Advent hope is different. It is more than wishing for good things to happen. It is more than optimism. It is more than believing all will turn out for the best. Advent hope is firmly rooted in unvarnished reality, and stares clear-eyed at the world around. It looks beyond the hard present to what is possible in the days ahead.

In the words of writer Pamela Hawkins, “Hope opens something in the human heart. Like shutters slowly parting to admit a winter dawn, hope permits the strands of light to make their way to us even when we still stand in cold darkness.”

It is this hope we hear echoed in the readings for the Advent season, grounded in a belief that God is present even in, or especially in, the darkest times. Thus, Isaiah can speak to a people walking in the darkness of exile and say that they will see a great light, that a shoot will come from a dead stump and the wolf will lie down with the lamb.

Mary, unwed and pregnant, can sing defiantly that her soul will magnify the Lord, and rejoice in God, her savior, who will fill the hungry with good things and pull the powerful down. Angels appear in the night sky and sing to shepherds living under the heel of Roman oppression, bringing glad tidings. It’s hope grounded in a future vision that overturns the status quo and challenges the structures of empire – fear and oppression.

This hope is not limited to a liturgical season in the Christian calendar, nor does it fall within the confines of any particular religious tradition. It transcends the boundaries of specific beliefs but it does require we be willing to imagine, to dream, to articulate a vision for a future based on justice and love for one another and for our planet.

It demands we not take “No it’s hopeless!” for an answer. This is not easy, but it is vital.

The late Rev. Dr. Peter Gomes of Harvard University wrote that having this future vision was essential. In his words, “the courageous thing, the faithful thing, the hopeful thing is to say that there is a future worth waiting for, worth living and working for, worth praying and dying for, for in that future is not more of the same.”

We strive for this future vision not because we are sure of success in our lifetime, but because it is good, it is right and it is just.

As the year winds down, the light dims and life at times seems fragile, but Advent invites me to open my heart and pull back the shutters promising a dawn even in a bleak midwinter.

I read the Advent texts and remind myself that I am not preparing to reenact something that happened ages ago, but preparing to be attentive and encouraging to the ways in which small bits of the vision are visible now.

I see hints of Advent’s promise within my own congregation. I see it in the way they treat each other with care and love in spite of differing points of view. I see it in their many acts of kindness and compassion, in their decision to be Open and Affirming of all people, regardless of who they love, and in their generous response to a crisis, be it close to home or far away. I see how some have befriended refugee families, offering a gesture of welcome and support in a foreign and, sometimes, hostile place.

In ways too numerous to name, they embody Advent hope, pushing back against despair and darkness.

On this spinning planet light is always dawning. As Gomes also wrote, “We are able to bear the present darkness because we believe in the coming dawn,” and in that dawn, “we will be able to tell the difference between hope and humbug.”

The Rev. Janet Dorman is the pastor of Foreside Community Church, UCC, in Falmouth and can be reached at jdorman@foresidechurch.org.