Even in the best of years, November is my least favourite month. The days get ever shorter, the temperatures drop ever lower. It weighs on my heart. I start to question when I last saw the sun. There’s a noticeable increase in the amount of funeral work that comes my way, each one a privilege, but a solemn one. During the seemingly endless round of grey days and long nights, dark thoughts and stubborn anxieties tug at the loose threads in my mind.

Perhaps that’s just me. I have a naturally melancholic temperament. You might love November for the beauty of seeing the sunrise during breakfast, the last of the autumn colours, the freshness of the chill in the air, and the crunch of the crisp leaves under your feet. On my good days, those are the things I love at this time too. But it seems to me that as this November ends, there are more reasons to lament the darkness than just the turning seasons.

Internationally, the wars we were praying about this time last year are still ongoing. In Ukraine, the forces of tyranny seem to have the upper hand at the moment and are likely to be boosted by the incoming Republican administration in America. The nuclear sabre rattling which Russia has indulged in for years has recently got a good bit louder. The West has decided to call Putin’s bluff – a decision I personally support – but the stake is potentially millions of lives. In the holy land, meanwhile, the conflict has significantly escalated in the last year. I am glad that Hamas and Hezbollah, brutal terrorist organisations with genocidal aims, have taken significant losses. But a stable peace, one where both Israel and the Palestinians can flourish in friendship, is further away than ever. It seems an impossible dream. Meanwhile, every day, brazen acts of antisemitism seem to be more normalised throughout the Western world. I know that there are any number of other conflicts and humanitarian catastrophes going on around the world which don’t make the headlines.

Here in the UK, parliament voted yesterday by a margin of 330-275 to bring in assisted suicide. It represents a fundamental shift in our society’s attitude to life and human dignity, a new low in our nihilistic pursuit of ‘choice’, a repudiation of our duty to care for those who suffer. Celebrity backers notwithstanding, we know from bitter experience elsewhere that the worst consequences will be born by the marginalised, by the vulnerable and despairing, by disabled people and by those who cannot afford better palliative care. It is sickening that this was voted through on the same day as the Children’s Hospice (Funding) Bill had its reading deferred. Granted, assisted suicide may yet be defeated at a third reading, and some MPs have cravenly hidden behind this, claiming they want to ‘continue the conversation’. As though that doesn’t mean that they are in favour of it in principle, so long as the terms and conditions are in order! Either way, the Rubicon has been crossed. Even if this bill fails, the vote yesterday will ensure that is merely the prelude to writing a ‘better’ one.

What can I say about the Church? The Makin report has laid bare the abysmal failures of the Church over many years to respond well to victims and survivors of John Smyth, to put their needs first and to pursue justice. For Evangelicals – we who have for so long prided ourselves on being the faithful, godly, ‘Bible-believing’ party in the church – it is only the latest in a string of devastating revelations of abuse perpetrated and enabled by high-profile church leaders. ‘As it is written, “the name of God is blasphemed among the Gentiles because of you”.’ (Rom 2:24) Because of us. Add to that the continued crisis caused by the Church’s departure from the biblical and orthodox teaching on sex and relationships and the picture is unremittingly grim before you mention collapsing membership or failing finances. The Church of England, the church I love and am committed to, seems to be dying.¹

But it all comes much closer to home than that. Even as I consider some of the different ways my heart has reacted to all these things – bitter, ungodly anger, self-righteous disgust, faithless despair – I know deep down that the darkness is not just ‘out there’, it is in my own heart. I know that I am part of a culture that thinks life is worth living to the degree it is pleasurable and I see the ways that warps my thinking and my choices. I know that I have been shaped by the culture of conservative Evangelicalism – the good parts and the toxic parts. The beam in my own eye is heavy. I am a good enough sinner without crises to try my soul!

I have loved Advent for about 15 years now. Throughout that time, it has felt edifying. But it has never felt more urgent than it does today. Now is a time for mourning. Now is a time for repentance. Now is a time to remember that a judgement is coming. Now is a time to seek mercy. Now is a time for longing. Now is a time for hope against hope. Now is a time to remember that it won’t always be this way. The judge is at the door. The saviour is coming.

Advent is like an old friend to me now. It can weep with those who weep and rejoice with those who rejoice. It can have a frank discussion with your conscience before Almighty God and reassure you that it will, in the end, be well. For the next twenty-four days, our prayer is ‘Lord, have mercy’ and ‘Come, Lord Jesus!’. Depending on where you are in life, it teaches you that you need mercy and reassures you that the Lord is merciful. It brings before your eyes the horrors of a world where Christ’s reign is ignored and assures you that he will come in due course. It does not deny or downplay the darkness, but it directs our gaze to the bright morning star which heralds everlasting day.

1. Obviously, you might not be part of the Church of England, and your denomination might not be suffering any such issues. I am glad for you. But if you stand, take heed that you don’t fall. ↩︎