Our service this morning - quite a colourful array at the front.

The candle of Hope. A little tree with a 'hope' decoration. The leftovers from communion. And the coloured scarves - red for Rahab, green for Ruth and blue for Mary.

We also sang this song, which I first came across more than a decade ago, and which we sang to the tune 'Sally Gardens'...

There is a line of women, extending back to Eve
Whose role in shaping history God only could conceive
And though, through endless ages, their witness was repressed
God valued and encouraged then through whom the world was blessed

So sing a song of Sarah to laughter she gave birth
And sing a song of Tamar who stood for women’s worth
And sing a song of Hannah who bargained with her Lord
And sing a song of Mary who bore and bred God’s Word

There is a line of women who took on powerful men
Defying laws and scruples to let life live again
And though, despite their triumph, their stories stayed untold
God kept their number growing, creative strong and bold

So sing a song of Shiphrah with Puah in her hand
Engaged to kill male children they foiled the king’s command
And sing a song of Rahab who sheltered spies and lied
And sing a song of Esther, preventing genocide

There is a line of women who stood by Jesus’ side
Who housed him while he ministered and held him when he died
And though they claimed he’d risen their news was deemed suspect
Till Jesus stood among them, his womanly elect

So sing a song of Anna who saw Christ’s infant face
And sing a song of Martha who gave him food and space
And sing of all the Marys who heeded his requests
And now at heaven’s banquet are Jesus’ fondest guests.

John Bell (c) John Bell, WGRG, Iona Community

Today is the first Sunday in Advent, and we will light our first candle, the candle that represents hope.

On Friday afternoon, at our drop in for vulnerable adults, M led our devotions and focused our thoughts on hope, and the idea of the rainbow, God's covenant promise, as a symbol of hope. It was a lovely, and moving act of worship.

Having begun my Advent pondering earlier than usual, with the Celtic Advent, I have already been thinking what it means to speak of Advent hope.

Hope in the deepening darkness of a northern hemisphere winter, as the daylight continues to decrease, that soon this will change, that light will return.

Hope in the metaphorical darkness of bereavement, illness, relationship breakdown, job loss, financial struggle, that things will get better, that 'the light at the end of the tunnel' has not, after all, 'been switched off'

But what is hope? Hope is tenacious (stubborn), resilient (stubborn), determined (you guessed it...).

Hope is a refusal to give up even when it feels that everything is hope-less. When the answer to prayer seems never to arrive. When the struggle feels endless. When disappointment or despair drive us to the brink .

Hope is a small word. It is also a weighty word.

Hope, for me, is well summed up as 'tracing rainbows through the rain'. 

Today, we will light the candle of hope, and we will remember Abraham and Sarah, a couple who left their home on what must have seemed a fool's errand, trusting in the God who makes rainbows to fulfill seemingly impossible promises.  A journey that lasted the rest of their lives. A journey in which disappointment, despair and disaster were all experienced. 

I am reminded of a line from another old hymn that speaks of the challenges of real life and says 'that through it all hope's star shall shine, and I shall have my song to sing.'

God of hope, who, when all seems overwhelming or even hope-less

Fill us afresh with hope, glimpsed in the colourful defiance of a rainbow

Shining like a tiny star in the darkest of dark nights

And journey with us, wherever you lead us

Until we reach the place of your promise for us.

Amen

Today's reading focuses on resurrection from the dead, and uses the example of a Celtic saint praying for a young man to be restored to life from death, something that evidently happened after a couple of hours.

From time to time, I hear of people rising form the death in African and Asian countries, usally not accompanied my medical verification.  Occasionally, I hear of someone who has been medically certified as dead waking up in a mortuary or funeral director's premises, though usually they die (again) soon afterwards. Earlier this year I heard of a church in the UK praying for a much loved member to be raised from death - and their struggle when the answer was self evidently 'no'. And all that before we start contemplating CPR, it's efficacy and justification. It feels as if we are in danger of opening an enormous can of worms.

So I go back to a sermon I preached about three years ago (it has to have been that long, because it was when we were still in our own premises) and the fact that resurrection is a translation of anastasis, 'getting up'.  I spoke of 'little resurrections' and used the chorus of the Chumba Wumba song 'Tub Thumping' as a sort of antiphon: 'I get knocked down but I get up again, ain't nothing gonna keep me done." Or, in the words of another song, 'pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again'.

Whether any of this connects with what I was meant to be pondering, who knows, but here is the prayer from the book:

Risen Christ, living within me, may I know the power of your life moving through me.  May the resurrection power, which raised you from the dead, raise me from the death which can so often overtake my soul.  Not only this, but may I know that power living. Amen. 

The post arrived whilst I was busily typing up my assorted bloggages. 

I opened a white envelope to find this little tag, and a letter from the FD who conducted Mum's funeral - an invitation to remember her name on their Christmas tree.  It's a thing lots of FDs do, some making quite a song and dance of it, and its something I know is valuable. I appreciate this simple approach, a message, an offer to pop in to hang your tag and have a cuppa as you remember.  And done with no pressure, affirming that what's right for you is right for you. I like that, too.

So I wrote a brief message - Mum hated mushy slushy and I can't do it anyway - and will post it back to them to hang on their tree.  I think she'd have liked that.

Anyone who knows me will also know that one of the people I admire most in the whole world is David Kerrigan.

This year, he has written the BRF Advent book which it comes highly recommended, and rightly so.

I have just read the first day, and I am hooked!  There is still time to buy this book in hard copy or electronically and find a real blessing in an accessible, honest, common sense, theologically sound, companion for the Advent journey.

Back in 2010, whilst undergoing cancer treatment, I was terrified.  David prayed for me, a woman he then knew only 'online' in a church in Bethlehem whilst he was on a BMS trip.  I have never forgotten that gift of grace, the hope it brought and the fresh possibility of peace beyond understanding.  David tells me off when I say he is wise and wonderful, because his wisdom and humility mean he knows fine well he has clay feet.  But that's the point, isn't it - we are frail and finite humans, searching for truth, hope, love and peace.  And David is someone I want to travel alongisde.