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Tom has been having a difficult patch, and we meet at the church of IKEA as often as possible, because it is equidistant from our houses and always cheers us up. Yesterday I asked, ‘In your depression, and with so many people having such a hard time, where is Advent?’ He tried to wiggle out of it by saying, ‘You Protestants and your little questions!’ Then, when pushed, he said: ‘Faith is a decision. Do we believe we are ultimately doomed and fucked and there’s no way out? Or that God and goodness make a difference? There is heaven, community, and hope – and hope that there is life beyond the grave.’ ‘But Tom, at the same time, the grave is very real, dark and cold and lonely.’ ‘Advent is not for the naive. Because in spite of the dark and cold, we see light – you look up, or you make light, with candles, or with strands of lightbulbs on trees. And you give light. Beauty helps, in art and nature and faces. Friends help. Solidarity helps. If you ask me, when people return phone calls, it’s about as good as it gets. And who knows beyond that.
