Those gathered were encircled by panels from the AIDS quilt.  Some of the panels were in memory of All Souls members.  Their ages ranged from the single digits to the 80's.  Relationships included sisters, fathers, grandmothers, sons and friends. They listened, sang, hoped and waited. 

They laughed and cried to the stories of those whose lives were shortened by AIDS.  They spoke of tragedy and triumph, of delight and despair, of darkness and of a light that always seems to show itself.

It was a community who reveled in the fullness of life while anxiously awaiting a day when the pain and insidiousness of HIV/AIDS is no longer.

Amid the things flowing through my mind was a report in 'Scientific American' earlier this year reflecting on decades of AIDS research.  It included the acknowledgment by researchers that a thought to be soon breakthrough was now understood to be a good ways away.  What does it take to continue working in a lab for decades, only to realize you are actually much, much further from your goal than you believed?

Perhaps that is why we start Advent, a season of growing light, with images of darkness.  Light seems not simply the absence of darkness, but seems to be about its interrelatedness with darkness.  We strain to see and we wait.  We catch glimpses and we wait.  We have moments of enormous joy and we wait.

I find myself wondering about the goal of Advent.  Maybe it is not about waiting for a conclusion.  Maybe it is about learning to see as we wait.

Todd Donatelli