If you were to come to my house, you might wonder if I am celebrating the Christmas season at all this year as decorations are extremely limited and packages are few. Boxes of Christmas decor sit unopened in the closet and only those items which were in easy reach were placed around the house. A four-foot lit tree sits upon a table in the corner; a wreath hangs above my fireplace; a snowman greets visitors at my front door and another in the garage; a family choir sings on an end table in my music room; the holy couple looks lovingly upon the infant Jesus in my den; and with only a few candles and other meager items here and there, that’s about it. No doubt, Christmas looks different for me this year. Indeed the outward display, or lack of, is just a representation of what’s going inside of me. My friend called it a “winnowing.”
But whereas the decorating, baking and whole Christmas shopping experience is at an all time low, there is one thing to which I have been committed: and that is Advent. Every morning finds me sitting in the dark before my candles … waiting. It’s not the traditional Advent wreath of years past, rather a slightly elevated and elongated wooden lipped tray that I filled with red “pebbles” and four white pillar candles. And tucked in the front is a favorite small Celtic cross my son brought me from Scotland a number of years ago. If this were my only “Christmas” decoration, it would be enough. In fact, it is perfect.
And so each morning finds me here, beginning with my readings from Phyllis Tickle’s “Divine Hours,” which calls me to prayer and a request for Presence. I call the day: “Today is December 19, 2023, the third Tuesday in the season of Advent,” and I light the first three candles. After completing the “Office,” I turn to a book entitled, “Light Upon Light,” a collection of Scripture readings, poems, prose and prayers. Whereas collected writings are different each day, the same Scripture passages are read for the entire week: a psalm, an Old Testament, a New Testament, and a gospel passage. And that really has its advantages of letting the Word soak in and take shape in me.
The thing about Advent is that it’s a period of waiting. A past waiting. A present waiting. A future waiting. And that shows up in no better place than in the Scripture readings for this season as the passages are filled with worship, with longing, and with promise.
The first week I read of roadways in wildernesses and rivers in deserts. Of waiting with perseverance. Of the Word in whom is life. I was reminded in week two that the works of His hand are truth and justice and that He has established His covenant forever. That He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap. That He visits the common and overshadows them, and plants holy Seed. This week, the third week, takes me to the rivers of Babylon where people weep, where harps are hung on willow trees and singing has stopped. Where longing for Jerusalem is their soul’s deepest cry. And where “it came to pass,” and the virgin gave birth.
This is Advent. This is the hope amidst our Christmas emptiness. Our Christmas chaos. Our Christmas longings.
Maybe that’s something you need to hear this season. I know I do.
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