Thoughts, Prayers & Art

Lately, every time I glance at the news, it seems like someone has spotted something strange in the sky—a mysterious light, an unidentified drone, or the ever-elusive “flying saucer.” I’ll confess, part of me wonders if one day it might be aliens, tired of watching us make a mess of things down here, showing up to ask, “Y’all need help or what?” But as entertaining as the hysteria is, it also stirs something deeper in me. Beneath the conspiracy theories, the fear, and the wild speculation, there seems to be a longing—a universal hope for something greater. And that has me thinking about Advent.

You see, Advent is the ultimate season of longing. It’s about waiting, watching, and hoping for the light to break into the darkness. And when I look at the fascination with UAPs, I wonder: Could it be that this modern-day obsession with “looking up” is really just an echo of the same longing Advent calls us to name?

But before we go there, let me tell you a story.

A Conspiracy of Cookies

A few years ago, I was at a holiday party with some friends. You know the kind—the kind where everyone pretends to like fruitcake but secretly eyes the chocolate chip cookies. At some point, someone noticed the plate of cookies getting smaller by the second. Suspicion immediately fell on the youngest among us who had chocolate smudged across her cheek like a badge of honor. But she swore up and down she wasn’t the culprit. “Maybe it’s Santa!” she said, wide-eyed. The adults chuckled, but then someone noticed a trail of crumbs leading out of the room.

Suddenly, it was a full-blown investigation. People followed the crumbs like detectives, looking under furniture and behind curtains, only to discover—drumroll, please—the family dog, lying under the dining table, happily devouring the last cookie.

What struck me about that moment (besides the hilarity) was how quickly everyone wanted to believe something extraordinary was happening. We were looking for a cookie thief, sure, but maybe we were also hoping for something magical. “Maybe it’s Santa,” we joked. Maybe it’s the reindeer or aliens. Maybe it’s—well, something more.

Looking Up for Answers

The truth is, humans have always had this tendency to look up and wonder. The magi followed a star, the shepherds stared at the skies, and now, people watch grainy videos of UAPs on YouTube and Tik Tok saying, “What if…?” It’s part of being human to long for something beyond ourselves. But here’s the twist: The hope we’re searching for isn’t found in drones, aliens, or even a cookie conspiracy. It’s found in a manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes.

When God wanted to respond to humanity’s deepest longings, God didn’t send a spectacle. There were no flying saucers or flashing lights. Instead, God sent a baby. Think about that for a moment. The Creator of the universe entered into our messy world in the most humble, ordinary way imaginable. That’s not just a conspiracy of hope—it’s a downright surprise party of grace.

Fear, Mystery, and the Good News

Of course, hope doesn’t always come easy. Fear has a way of creeping in, whether it’s the fear of an unknown object in the sky or the deeper fears that keep us awake at night. The Christmas story is full of people grappling with fear: the shepherds were terrified when the angels appeared, Mary was afraid when the angel Gabriel announced her calling, and let’s not forget poor Joseph, who was probably thinking, “Wait, you want me to raise the Son of God?”

But here’s the thing about God: Every time fear shows up, God meets it with a promise. “Do not be afraid,” the angels say, over and over again. “I bring you good news of great joy.” That same promise is ours today. When fear tells us to look up in dread, Advent invites us to look up in hope. When the world feels uncertain, Christmas reminds us that God has already entered the chaos—not with fear, but with love.

A New Kind of Longing

As we prepare for Christmas, I can’t help but think about all the people who are staring at the skies right now, captivated by UAPs and what they might mean. Maybe they’re hoping for answers. Maybe they’re searching for connection. Or maybe they’re just trying to escape the brokenness they see around them. Whatever the reason, it strikes me as profoundly human. We are creatures of longing, after all.

But Advent reminds us that we don’t have to search the skies for hope. God has already come to us—not in a spacecraft, but in a manger. Not as a distant mystery, but as Emmanuel, God with us. The transformation we’re looking for isn’t “out there”—it’s right here, in the presence of Christ, who promises to make all things new.

An Invitation to Wonder

This Advent, I encourage you to embrace the longing, the curiosity, and yes, even the humor of it all. Let yourself wonder: What am I really searching for? Where am I hoping to find answers? And how might God be inviting me to stop looking up in fear and start looking within in faith?

The next time you hear about a UAP sighting or a “conspiracy,” let it remind you of the ultimate conspiracy of hope—the good news that God is with us. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find yourself smiling at the mystery of it all. After all, if God can work through shepherds, magi, and even a cookie-thieving dog, who’s to say what wonders await us this Christmas?

So, keep looking up. Not for drones or aliens, but for the light that shines in the darkness. The light of Christ has come—and that’s the greatest wonder of all.