Even joy

musings on joy from a noted curmudgeon

Advent arrives each year with its womb and its waiting. Its hope and expectation and, worst of all, its joy.

And it was irritating me this year. Naturally, I thought my well-documented relationship with hope itself was to blame.

And then, of course, there is the whole childless thing. Advent is such an assault.

I wrote this last year on Epiphany Sunday, after making it through the whole darn season!

But this year, there was something else. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Obviously, there is the general state of the world and all its grief and suffering. But usually, advent is FOR that.

No, it had to be something else. So, after talking to my Advent Friend (you heard me), I started to think harder about what was going on. I looked at the thesaurus, thinking if I could make the weekly themes more palatable, maybe that would help.

— hope, peace, love, joy —

— getting closer to something —

And today I asked the cards, and wouldn’t you know it, they came through.

Okay, so let me tell you what you’re looking at. I am not a Tarot expert, but I do know that when I asked if Advent was for people like me and pulled this card it was a very obvious yes (this is a really sassy deck). And I ~am~ resistant to what’s in that cup!

The question itself is so telling. How can Advent be for me, someone who could never really understand? Someone who is on the outside?

Yes, this is for you. You belong, actually. We keep trying to tell you that.

Next question: “What’s in that cup, anyway?”

It’s joy. JOY, the subject of one of the only Mary Oliver poems that annoys me (joy is not meant to be a crumb — eyeroll).

I had written joy off as something that is just not for me. At best, I could find acceptance, peace, contentment. But joy? That wasn’t even on the table. And in this economy?! I mean, I have a Substack called A Field Guide for SORROW.

Jan Richardson, Circle of Grace

I’m still going to be annoyed by the imagery of Advent, and that’s okay. The season — and all it offers — is still for me. It’s still for us. It’s still for now.

Even hope. Even joy.