What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
What a cheery way to start advent eh?
It's funny. I always think of this poem on the first Sunday of Advent. This is the day that we light the prophet's candle. In a way, the prophets had a dream. They prophesied a Messiah. A saviour. A rescue from their slavery. This was a dream that not one of them would see realized. In fact, most of the Jewish nation is still waiting.
4000 years they've been waiting.
I have trouble waiting in line at the grocery store. I cannot fathom the patience that nation has learned.
This is the Sunday we remember the promise. For those of us who believe the New Testament, the promise has been fulfilled. The dream is realized. And we rejoice.
But today, I choose to remember. I remember those who believed. Those who walked by faith their whole lives. Those who trusted a God they could not see for a Saviour they would not know.
I rarely have that faith myself. I prefer the stuff I can see and hold and know. My natural tendency is to choose one of Mr. Langston's options. I stink sometimes.
Yet, I do believe in a God I cannot see. I believe there is a Saviour whom everyone can know.
I will have hope.
Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Hebrews 11:1