In the history of nations, as well as in the story of each individual human life, symbols of great distress become symbols of great joy, when that distress is relieved.
The ultimate instance of this two-sided symbolism, when what could have been the worst disaster becomes the greatest triumph in a pivotal moment, is the cross: it is a symbol of shame and horrific pain; but after the resurrection, it is the symbol of liberation and forgiveness.
The word ‘Advent’ means ‘arrival’ and points simultaneously to the birth of Jesus, two thousand years ago, and to His future “advent” at the end of time. For this reason, Jesus followers speak of living in the “already” but at the same time in the “not yet.”
Between these two advents, Jesus arrives many times, in the hearts of individuals, and in the grand events of history. The notion of preparing a way for the Lord (Isaiah 40:3) applied first when He rescued the captives from Babylon, then for the start of His public ministry at the time of John the Baptist, and later for His celebrated entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday.
Preparing the way for the Lord continues every year during the season of Advent, and every day in the hearts of individuals. Finally, the way is being prepared for the His arrival at the end of time.
Advent was originally a season of fasting, but in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries has become also a time of celebration. Both are appropriate; both are contained in the concept of Advent.
God is so great, filling time and space, that He encompassses opposites - or what seem to our finite minds like opposites. (One might say that God is a Hegelian.) Jesus rides on a donkey (Zechariah 9:9), symbolizing peace; He also rides on a horse (Revelation 19:11), symbolizing war.
The dialectic continues as we read that God is “mighty in battle” (Psalm 24:8), but brings a peace which means that men will not “train for war anymore” (Isaiah 2:4).
Crowds wave palm branches for Jesus, a symbol of royalty (John 12:13); but Jesus is also a servant (Matthew 20:28).
Lent, which leads up to Maundy Thursday, and therefore up to Passover, again embraces these opposites. The observation begins with the misery of being slaves in Egypt, with the harrowing experience of the “angel of death” moving about, and with narrow escapes at several points during the Exodus narrative. But anguish and fear turns to joy as the celebration puts these events into a retrospective, and the celebrants thank God for the gift of freedom.
God’s liberating action is not limited to the Exodus from Egypt. He freed the captives from Babylon. He frees people from sin and its consequences. Liberating language permeates Scripture: “I will set your prisoners free” (Zechariah 9:11).
Psalm 118 is part of a Passover liturgy. The Hebrew language allows for a marvelous understanding: “This is the day which the Lord has made, and we will rejoice and be glad in” Him. The common translation of being “glad in it” is correct; we can often be glad “in” a day. But it is also true, and sometimes preferable to say, that we can be glad “in” God.
Some days are filled with suffering and pain, and it is unlikely that we would be glad “in” those days. But even in such days, we can be glad “in” God. This is another dialectic of opposites: we can have peace even when we are grieving - a peace that will ultimately lead to joy - a “peace that passes all understanding” (Philippians 4:7) - a peace that comes only from God.
In the life of each human, there are phases of captivity. The metaphor of captivity includes economic, psychological, relational, and other types of imprisonment. We cry “Hosanna” begging for liberation; we cry “Hosanna” celebrating that liberation. At a pivotal moment, our cry for help turns into a shout of praise.
