Finding Hope in the Darkness: The First Light of Advent
The first candle of Advent flickers to life in the darkness. It's called the candle of hope—a small flame that recalls ancient prophecies while pointing forward to promises yet fulfilled. This simple act of lighting a candle carries profound meaning: we live in the space between Christ's first coming and His promised return, holding onto hope in the waiting.
But what happens when hope feels distant? When the darkness seems too thick for one small flame to penetrate?
But what happens when hope feels distant? When the darkness seems too thick for one small flame to penetrate?
The Prophet Who Stayed Behind
The book of Lamentations offers us an unexpected companion for the Advent season. Written by the prophet Jeremiah—often called the weeping prophet—this collection of laments emerged from the ruins of Jerusalem. While other prophets were carried away into captivity, Jeremiah was called to remain, witnessing the destruction of the temple and the conquest of his beloved city. Everything familiar crumbled around him. Everyone he knew was being escorted away.
In that place of profound loss, Jeremiah didn't write a theological treatise. He poured out his heart in raw, unfiltered honesty. Lamentations chapter 3 reads like a journal of someone barely holding on, crying out to God from the depths of despair.
This reminds us of C.S. Lewis, who after losing his wife, wrote that putting words on paper was the only thing keeping him connected to sanity. In his book about grief, he wrestled openly with pain, faith, and what felt like God's deafening silence. He wrote honestly: "You can't see anything properly while your eyes are blurry with tears."
Jeremiah's eyes were full of tears too. But as we read through chapter 3, something remarkable happens—his vision begins to clear.
In that place of profound loss, Jeremiah didn't write a theological treatise. He poured out his heart in raw, unfiltered honesty. Lamentations chapter 3 reads like a journal of someone barely holding on, crying out to God from the depths of despair.
This reminds us of C.S. Lewis, who after losing his wife, wrote that putting words on paper was the only thing keeping him connected to sanity. In his book about grief, he wrestled openly with pain, faith, and what felt like God's deafening silence. He wrote honestly: "You can't see anything properly while your eyes are blurry with tears."
Jeremiah's eyes were full of tears too. But as we read through chapter 3, something remarkable happens—his vision begins to clear.
The Honesty of Lament
Jeremiah begins with brutal honesty: "I am the man who has seen affliction... He has led me to make me walk in darkness and not in light." He describes feeling trapped, forgotten, surrounded by bitterness. He even says God has "hedged me in so that I can't get out."
This isn't the sanitized spirituality we sometimes expect from religious texts. This is real. Raw. Human.
Many of us have been to that place where prayers seem to bounce off the ceiling. We've felt that door slam in our face when we cry out in desperate need. The Bible doesn't shy away from this reality. It doesn't gloss over our pain or pretend faith means constant happiness.
Here's the beautiful truth: lament isn't faithlessness. Lament is faith expressing itself through pain. When we bring our sorrow, confusion, even anger before God, we're not running from Him—we're running to Him.
This isn't the sanitized spirituality we sometimes expect from religious texts. This is real. Raw. Human.
Many of us have been to that place where prayers seem to bounce off the ceiling. We've felt that door slam in our face when we cry out in desperate need. The Bible doesn't shy away from this reality. It doesn't gloss over our pain or pretend faith means constant happiness.
Here's the beautiful truth: lament isn't faithlessness. Lament is faith expressing itself through pain. When we bring our sorrow, confusion, even anger before God, we're not running from Him—we're running to Him.
The Turning Point
Then something shifts in verse 21. Everything changes with one decision: "Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope."
Notice what doesn't change: Jerusalem is still destroyed. People are still in captivity. The temple remains in ruins. The circumstances haven't improved at all.
But inside Jeremiah, something fundamental shifts. He chooses to remember—not the "good old days" or the "way things used to be." That kind of backward-looking thinking only spirals us deeper into darkness. We can't move forward while staring in the rearview mirror.
Instead, Jeremiah remembers truth. He reminds himself of who God is, not what he feels. Sometimes hope begins with remembering that God has not changed, even when everything else has.
Notice what doesn't change: Jerusalem is still destroyed. People are still in captivity. The temple remains in ruins. The circumstances haven't improved at all.
But inside Jeremiah, something fundamental shifts. He chooses to remember—not the "good old days" or the "way things used to be." That kind of backward-looking thinking only spirals us deeper into darkness. We can't move forward while staring in the rearview mirror.
Instead, Jeremiah remembers truth. He reminds himself of who God is, not what he feels. Sometimes hope begins with remembering that God has not changed, even when everything else has.
New Mercies Every Morning
What follows are some of the most beautiful words in all of Scripture:
"Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."
These words rise like the sun after the darkest night. Jeremiah has seen the worst, yet declares that God's mercies are new every morning.
The Hebrew word for "steadfast love" is chesed—a loyal, covenant love that doesn't quit, that holds to its promises no matter what. This isn't the kind of love that says "if God really loved me, nothing bad would ever happen." This is the love that says, "I will not leave you. I will hold to my covenant. I am not going anywhere."
The word for "mercies" carries the tenderness of a mother's love for her child. Every morning, God's compassion meets us fresh, like manna in the wilderness—providing sustenance for just one more day.
Yesterday's grace was for yesterday's troubles. Today's mercy is for today. If you woke up and drew breath, God hasn't run out of mercy for you yet.
"Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."
These words rise like the sun after the darkest night. Jeremiah has seen the worst, yet declares that God's mercies are new every morning.
The Hebrew word for "steadfast love" is chesed—a loyal, covenant love that doesn't quit, that holds to its promises no matter what. This isn't the kind of love that says "if God really loved me, nothing bad would ever happen." This is the love that says, "I will not leave you. I will hold to my covenant. I am not going anywhere."
The word for "mercies" carries the tenderness of a mother's love for her child. Every morning, God's compassion meets us fresh, like manna in the wilderness—providing sustenance for just one more day.
Yesterday's grace was for yesterday's troubles. Today's mercy is for today. If you woke up and drew breath, God hasn't run out of mercy for you yet.
When God Is Enough
Jeremiah makes a profound declaration: "The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him."
This language recalls the Old Testament inheritance system. Each tribe of Israel received land as their portion—except the tribe of Levi. God told them, "You shall have no inheritance in their land... I am your portion and your inheritance" (Numbers 18:20).
When Jeremiah says "the Lord is my portion," he's saying, "I've lost everything else, but I still have God, and He is enough."
Sometimes it takes losing everything we thought we needed to realize that God is all we really need. When our hope rests in circumstances, we'll always be shaking. But when our hope is in Christ, we can stand firm even when everything around us crumbles.
This language recalls the Old Testament inheritance system. Each tribe of Israel received land as their portion—except the tribe of Levi. God told them, "You shall have no inheritance in their land... I am your portion and your inheritance" (Numbers 18:20).
When Jeremiah says "the Lord is my portion," he's saying, "I've lost everything else, but I still have God, and He is enough."
Sometimes it takes losing everything we thought we needed to realize that God is all we really need. When our hope rests in circumstances, we'll always be shaking. But when our hope is in Christ, we can stand firm even when everything around us crumbles.
The Season of Waiting
The passage reminds us that hope and waiting go hand in hand. "The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord."
Advent is fundamentally a season of waiting. We're not waiting for Jesus to come the first time—He already came. We light the candle of hope because His first coming gives us confidence in His promised return. We live in the in-between, in the already-but-not-yet.
Waiting doesn't mean passive anxiety. It means active trust. It's the kind of peace that says, "I don't need to see the whole plan. I know the One who holds it."
The night may be long—it will last exactly as long as God ordains. But morning is coming. And when it comes, mercy will be there to greet us.
Advent is fundamentally a season of waiting. We're not waiting for Jesus to come the first time—He already came. We light the candle of hope because His first coming gives us confidence in His promised return. We live in the in-between, in the already-but-not-yet.
Waiting doesn't mean passive anxiety. It means active trust. It's the kind of peace that says, "I don't need to see the whole plan. I know the One who holds it."
The night may be long—it will last exactly as long as God ordains. But morning is coming. And when it comes, mercy will be there to greet us.
Light in the Darkness
Jeremiah began his lament in despair: "He has led me into darkness." But he ends in worship: "The Lord is my portion; therefore I will hope in him."
That's what hope does. It lifts our eyes. It leads us to worship, even in the ruins.
Perhaps you feel like Jeremiah this Advent season. Maybe you've lost someone and are facing the first Christmas without them. Maybe you're wondering why prayers seem unanswered. Maybe you're just trying to survive the holidays rather than celebrate them.
Advent isn't only for those who feel joyful. It's for all of us—especially those in darkness who need hope.
The promise stands: His steadfast love never ceases. His mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning. Great is His faithfulness.
That's the hope of Advent—the light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it. Even in the darkest night, God's mercies are waiting for the dawn.
That's what hope does. It lifts our eyes. It leads us to worship, even in the ruins.
Perhaps you feel like Jeremiah this Advent season. Maybe you've lost someone and are facing the first Christmas without them. Maybe you're wondering why prayers seem unanswered. Maybe you're just trying to survive the holidays rather than celebrate them.
Advent isn't only for those who feel joyful. It's for all of us—especially those in darkness who need hope.
The promise stands: His steadfast love never ceases. His mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning. Great is His faithfulness.
That's the hope of Advent—the light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it. Even in the darkest night, God's mercies are waiting for the dawn.