The Arrival - Advent Hope

…and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.
Romans 5:2-5

Have you ever heard of the term “Hopeless Romantic?” Well, that’s not really me; instead, what I am is a “Hopeless Hoper.”

A “hopeless hoper” is someone who refuses to stop hoping - no matter the odds. They tenaciously hold on to hope, not because they are naive, or even because they are stubborn (although I am incredibly stubborn!), but because their hope is rooted in something solid, steadfast, and unshakable.

They’re “hopeless” in the best way:
They can’t help but hope.

A hopeless hoper isn’t clinging to wishful thinking; they’re anchored to truth. Their hope is less about circumstances and more about the character of God. They believe God keeps His promises—even when the world gives them every reason not to.

Advent is a season built for hopeless hopers. It’s the time when the Church stands in the tension between promise and fulfillment, longing and arrival, ache and joy. Advent invites us to wait—not passively, but expectantly—like people who cling to hope even when everything around them feels uncertain. A hopeless hoper is someone who refuses to let darkness define the story because they know a Light has come—and will come again.

The Israelites who lived before the first Advent were hopeless hopers. Their world was marked by political oppression, spiritual decline, and centuries of silence from God. Yet woven through their longing was a stubborn, resilient hope in God’s promises—a hope Micah spoke into when he prophesied that a Shepherd-King would come from a small, forgotten town to bring peace, justice, and salvation. Nothing they saw suggested that help was coming.

But they believed anyway.
They waited anyway.
They hoped anyway.

And then, in the quiet of a Bethlehem night, Hope took on flesh.

But Advent does not merely invite us to look backward; it calls us to look forward. We are now the people living between Advents—those who celebrate Christ’s first coming while longing for His second.

As Christians, we are hopeless hopers. We read the news, feel the weight of suffering, see the fractures in our world, and confront the struggles within our own hearts. Yet still, we dare to hope. Not because circumstances look promising, but because the God who kept His first promise will keep His final one.

Advent is our reminder that biblical hope isn’t wishful thinking—it’s a confident expectation rooted in God's faithfulness. Romans 5:2–5 paints this hope beautifully: through Christ, we “rejoice in the hope of the glory of God,” and even in suffering, our hope is not shaken because “God’s love has been poured into our hearts.”

Advent hope grows in the waiting. It deepens in the longing. It matures through the ache.
The first Advent teaches us that God often works quietly, slowly, and in ways that defy our expectations. He comes in small towns and humble mangers. He moves in people like Mary—a teenage girl who said yes before she fully understood—and Joseph, whose obedience outweighed his confusion. The shepherds, startled from the night shift by angels, became heralds of a hope they could barely comprehend.

Every figure in the nativity story is a hopeless hoper: ordinary people who trusted God in extraordinary ways.

This is who we are invited to be today.

Being a hopeless hoper in Advent doesn’t mean pretending everything is fine. It means acknowledging the darkness while refusing to despair. It means holding onto the promises of God even when the night feels long. It means living with a heart tuned to Bethlehem and eyes lifted toward the skies, waiting for the One who said He will come again.
So today, let the candles of Advent speak: Hope rises in the dark. Light breaks through the night. The Savior who came is the Savior who is coming. And because of Him, we dare to hope—boldly, stubbornly, joyfully—as true hopeless hopers.