Second Thursday of Advent: Hide and Seek
We all, like sheep, have gone astray,
each of us has turned to our own way;
and the LORD has laid on him
the iniquity of us all.
He was oppressed and afflicted,
yet he did not open his mouth;
he was led like a lamb to the slaughter,
and as a sheep before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth.
—Isaiah 53:6-7
My eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness of our laundry closet.
When my sisters and I played hide and seek, we made sure every light was off for the game—even the bulb above the stove, perpetually overworked. I remember a chimera of anticipation moistening my neck. I was waiting to be found, and I heard no footsteps.
There is a childlike glee mixed with slight fear when playing hide and seek. I could not let words escape my mouth, and my breathing was shallow. I felt the thrill of finding the best spot and awaiting a “Ready or not, here I come!”
I knew that even if I wasn’t found, I’d have to relinquish my hiding place, but that was okay. It was all for the game. I loved sharing this bond with my sisters.
But childhood, like every perfect hiding spot, doesn’t last forever.
As we aged, distance grew between me and my oldest sister. At first I thought this was just the natural progression of aging. It was just childlike playfulness being swapped for “adulting” and life’s burdens. Right?
But then my sister hid one day and stayed hidden.
I watched helplessly as she went through so much turmoil and pain. I witnessed so many of her bad relationships. And all the time, I could sense the child in her, waiting to be found.
We used to go to church all the time as kids. There’s a picture of me and my sisters in the front row with our arms around each others’ necks, linking our bodies together. I would often reminisce about that picture and that link, believing I’d always find my sisters right next to me.
I imagined, even through our juvenile giggles and tantrums on that front pew, Jesus seeking us out.
But during high school, my sister stopped coming to church with us. She told our dad she saw an inconsistency in our home life and what we proclaimed in church. To be honest, I couldn’t disagree.
Still, every Sunday my dad asked our church to pray for my sister, and once a year, I told her the best Father’s Day gift she could give him was to go to church. She never did.
I remember a frustrated sigh reverberating along my chest, but I never wanted her to feel ashamed. I could tell she was cowering deeper into a dark corner.
But then, on July 2, 2023 she went to church with our dad for the first time in more than ten years, and after the service ended, she turned to him and said, “I want to get saved.”
The congregation prayed for her to receive salvation, and immediately, her body felt “all warm inside.” And we rejoiced!
On that day my sister was found, and it was clear Jesus was seeking her the whole time. To this day, she testifies about it with such certainty. She later told me that on July 1, the day before she came to church, she had a near-death experience. When she woke up in the hospital, she felt drawn to the altar. And she stopped hiding.
In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus says, “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost” (19:10). The reality is, we are all lost, wandering in exile until we are brought home.
Advent readings like Isaiah 53 remind us that we are lost and cannot save ourselves. You cannot save your child. You cannot save your mother. You cannot save your unbelieving spouse or your beloved sister.
You. Cannot. Save. Anyone.
This is good news! Because if it was up to us, we would fall short every time.
As we come closer to Christmas, we remember that salvation was made possible by the sweat and grunts of a woman, birthing a baby who grew into a man who would never fall short—whose saving work is eternal.
We have all gone astray. Sometimes we attempt to hide.
May we allow ourselves to continually be found by the One who is always seeking us!
—Ariana Suggs ministers to students at PennWest Edinboro through a partnership with Edinboro Ministry Council.
each of us has turned to our own way;
and the LORD has laid on him
the iniquity of us all.
He was oppressed and afflicted,
yet he did not open his mouth;
he was led like a lamb to the slaughter,
and as a sheep before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth.
—Isaiah 53:6-7
My eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness of our laundry closet.
When my sisters and I played hide and seek, we made sure every light was off for the game—even the bulb above the stove, perpetually overworked. I remember a chimera of anticipation moistening my neck. I was waiting to be found, and I heard no footsteps.
There is a childlike glee mixed with slight fear when playing hide and seek. I could not let words escape my mouth, and my breathing was shallow. I felt the thrill of finding the best spot and awaiting a “Ready or not, here I come!”
I knew that even if I wasn’t found, I’d have to relinquish my hiding place, but that was okay. It was all for the game. I loved sharing this bond with my sisters.
But childhood, like every perfect hiding spot, doesn’t last forever.
As we aged, distance grew between me and my oldest sister. At first I thought this was just the natural progression of aging. It was just childlike playfulness being swapped for “adulting” and life’s burdens. Right?
But then my sister hid one day and stayed hidden.
I watched helplessly as she went through so much turmoil and pain. I witnessed so many of her bad relationships. And all the time, I could sense the child in her, waiting to be found.
We used to go to church all the time as kids. There’s a picture of me and my sisters in the front row with our arms around each others’ necks, linking our bodies together. I would often reminisce about that picture and that link, believing I’d always find my sisters right next to me.
I imagined, even through our juvenile giggles and tantrums on that front pew, Jesus seeking us out.
But during high school, my sister stopped coming to church with us. She told our dad she saw an inconsistency in our home life and what we proclaimed in church. To be honest, I couldn’t disagree.
Still, every Sunday my dad asked our church to pray for my sister, and once a year, I told her the best Father’s Day gift she could give him was to go to church. She never did.
I remember a frustrated sigh reverberating along my chest, but I never wanted her to feel ashamed. I could tell she was cowering deeper into a dark corner.
But then, on July 2, 2023 she went to church with our dad for the first time in more than ten years, and after the service ended, she turned to him and said, “I want to get saved.”
The congregation prayed for her to receive salvation, and immediately, her body felt “all warm inside.” And we rejoiced!
On that day my sister was found, and it was clear Jesus was seeking her the whole time. To this day, she testifies about it with such certainty. She later told me that on July 1, the day before she came to church, she had a near-death experience. When she woke up in the hospital, she felt drawn to the altar. And she stopped hiding.
In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus says, “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost” (19:10). The reality is, we are all lost, wandering in exile until we are brought home.
Advent readings like Isaiah 53 remind us that we are lost and cannot save ourselves. You cannot save your child. You cannot save your mother. You cannot save your unbelieving spouse or your beloved sister.
You. Cannot. Save. Anyone.
This is good news! Because if it was up to us, we would fall short every time.
As we come closer to Christmas, we remember that salvation was made possible by the sweat and grunts of a woman, birthing a baby who grew into a man who would never fall short—whose saving work is eternal.
We have all gone astray. Sometimes we attempt to hide.
May we allow ourselves to continually be found by the One who is always seeking us!
—Ariana Suggs ministers to students at PennWest Edinboro through a partnership with Edinboro Ministry Council.