We return to Advent to remember the reasons for our expectant hope. At Christ’s first coming, He emptied Himself of His rightful, enthroned equality. Instead, He clothed Himself in humble servitude and chose to dwell in and among humanity. I was reminded that His birth fulfilled God’s great promise to save mankind from their sins. He was the answer to their long, expectant hope.

Though He came as a baby, He didn’t remain an infant forever. He grew in wisdom and stature, living as a man among mankind. He endured hardship, was tempted yet did not sin, died, and rose again. He became the sacrificed Lamb-King. I am stunned and awed to consider Jesus Christ, who was slain before the foundation of the world! (Revelation 13:8).

Now, He has risen and ascended, embodying the fulfillment of what generations longed for. The glorious, triumphant King has shed His cloth-swaddled infancy and is now glorified, radiant, and powerful.

In my Gospel readings, I was drawn to Luke 21, where Jesus counseled His disciples about the challenges to come. He described two states of expectation:

“There will be signs in the sun, moon, and stars, and on the earth dismay among the nations, in perplexity …, men fainting from fear and the expectation of the things which are coming upon the world… Then they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. But when these things begin to take place, straighten up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near” (Luke 21:25–28).

At the time, Jesus’ disciples already lived under Roman oppression, and soon they would face Nero’s brutal reign, marked by persecution of the faithful. Jesus painted a picture of a world burdened by fear, dismay, and uncertainty. Yet He also offered a different posture: to stand tall, lift up our heads, and find hope, knowing that our redemption is near.

Expectation is at the very heart of hope. For hope to exist, it must be fixed on something—a clear object of desire. Hope arises from two sources. 

First, it stems from our most vulnerable emotions. To hope, we must be able to want or desire, which makes us acutely aware of the possibility of disappointment. This vulnerability is what makes hope feel so fragile.

Second, hope is rooted in belief. What we believe—and why—invites hope to take shape. As Romans 8:22–25 reminds us:

“For in hope we have been saved, but hope that is seen is not hope; for who hopes for what he already sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it.”

True hope is unseen. We long for what is not yet here. This fragility of hope is also why misplaced expectations can produce dread and fear. Even as we groan and wait, we must fix our hope on what is steadfast.

Into this groaning creation, our Savior came. He embodies the fulfillment of our longings. As the prophet Haggai foretold, “The desire of all nations shall come, and I will fill this house with glory, saith the LORD of hosts” (Haggai 2:7 KJV).

Where Romans says that hope is unseen, it also reminds us that “with perseverance we wait eagerly for it”(8:25 NASB95). That is the nature of want or desire. That perseverance comes from the driving expectation placed in God’s fulfillment. Puritan pastor Richard Sibbes wrote about where we place that expectant hope when he said, “Disappointment always follows when we mistakenly expect fulfillment from things that cannot truly provide it.” But, how human is it that we are disappointed in a child, a friend, a plan, or ourselves?  I draw so much strength in my hope from this passage, which I have committed to memory. 

Lamentations 3:21-26 (NASB95)
This I recall to my mind,
Therefore I have hope.
The LORD’S lovingkindnesses indeed never cease,
For His compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
Great is Your faithfulness.
“The LORD is my portion,” says my soul,
“Therefore I have hope in Him.”
The LORD is good to those who wait for Him,
To the person who seeks Him.
It is good that he waits silently
For the salvation of the LORD.

Filling my mind with the hope of Jesus fulfilling my deepest desires is becoming the focus of my heart—but it’s a fight. This hope isn’t mere optimism or positive thinking; it’s a deliberate redirection to Him.

When I allow my thoughts to dwell on His answers, His presence, and His promises, my fragile soul opens to the thrill of true hope. As Romans 15:13 says, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”

Come, Lord Jesus!

I leave you with these lines from “O Holy Night”:

“Long lay the world in sin and error pining
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees!”