Seeing in the Dark with Advent Eyes

On Sunday, as the season of Advent began, I found myself singing Bob Hurt’s hymn, O How I Long to See: “O, how I long to see your day of glory dawning, when you will wash away every tear. O how long, how long will it take ’til the lion lies down with the lamb? ‘Til we turn our swords into plowshares, and peace like a river flows over the land?” (Listen here.) The song invites us to journey through the darkness of winter with prophetic imagination, holding fast to the promise of light.

In this spirit, I thought of Shane, a former university student with whom I have recently reconnected. Shane has taught me much about what it means to “see in the dark.” Both in and beyond the classroom, he has revealed how to navigate the world from within, drawing on sensory cues, memory, mental mapping, and a deep inner knowing. His cane, along with the sounds, scents, and subtle shifts in temperature around him, became extensions of his awareness. I have been impressed by Shane’s agile discernment of spaces, people, and situations, which allows him to imagine his way forward with remarkable clarity. He continues to bring an uncanny depth of understanding, wisdom, balance, joy, and humor to all he undertakes. Though only in his mid-twenties, Shane carries a wisdom beyond his years and a rare gift for heart-to-heart encounters.

A few years ago, on the evening before I was to teach the story of Jesus healing the blind man (John 9:1) in my New Testament class, I emailed Shane to check how he was doing with the reading and whether he would feel comfortable responding to it in class. At the time of Jesus, blindness was commonly believed to be the result of sin—either the sin of the person or of their parents—a belief that Jesus directly challenges. Shane assured me he was comfortable engaging with the story, so the next day I read it aloud and invited his comment.

His response was both unexpected and profoundly instructive. He said that if Jesus offered him sight, he would decline, because he did not experience his blindness as a deficit, but rather a gift. He felt whole as he was. In that moment, I longed to “see” as Shane did—to glimpse the wholeness to which he gave witness.

Advent is the season of Christ’s coming through the work of wholemaking—healing a fractured world and drawing all creation toward unity. It invites us to hope in the darkness, to perceive with wonder the mystery and presence of God hidden in plain sight. To see with Advent eyes is to see with prophetic imagination: to envision the world from within, both as it is and as it is becoming.

Teilhard de Chardin reminds us that Christ is the Omega, the horizon of love toward which the entire universe is evolving. Advent, then, is not simply about waiting; it is about participating in the birth of a new world. It calls us into collective consciousness and shared vision, to discern together the way forward toward justice, peace, renewal, and wholeness. For when we embody what we have seen, collective vision becomes collective action, hastening the emergence of Christ at the heart of evolution.

Prophetic imagination is never merely personal; it is relational and systemic. Throughout Advent, I invite you and your Christophany Group to fine-tune your collective internal GPS by aligning it with love—the deep energy of the universe and our guiding star, so that together we may chart a shared map toward transformation. For, as Ilia writes:

The divisions we face are real and urgent. But they are not ultimate. Beneath them runs the indestructible and irresistible energy of love, the attractive force that binds all things together, the presence of the divine milieu penetrating all reality. Our task is to grow in consciousness of this reality, to align ourselves and our institutions with it, and to consciously participate in the convergence toward Omega, the conscious unity of being in love, toward which all creation tends. (From “Love and Political Order”)

How might we cultivate and enflesh this vision in our Christophany Groups? You might begin with the following suggested practices:

• Attend to how our shared vision as a group expands beyond the individual contributions of its members.
• Notice moments when we glimpse signs of collective hope for a world being made new.
• Discern together how experiences of darkness might be reframed as openings for possibility. 
• Cultivate practices that nurture joy as a gift sustained in community.
• Explore small steps we could take together this season to move toward conscious unity.