Rediscovering Christmas

Rediscovering Christmas

The Gift of Waiting

Advent is not Christmas. It is a time of preparation for Christmas. Little Advent, little Christmas. Great Advent, great Christmas. I’ll explain.

Each of the seven characters in part 1 is meant to shape our Advent journey—a journey of patient hope and joyful expectation. Just as those long ago awaited the arrival of the Messiah in the form of a child, we now wait for the arrival of the Messiah in the form of a king. They awaited the Savior’s first coming. Now we await the second.

Coming from the Latin word adventus, Advent means “arrival.” And because the full arrival of God’s kingdom is still to come, we find ourselves in a similar place as the ancients: a people in waiting. But Advent isn’t that kind of waiting, where apathy, boredom, and despair set in (such as at a doctor’s office waiting room). Rather, it’s a kind of waiting that knows something significant about where the future is heading and how we may best position our lives for that future while living in the present. So we wait, but we wait with hope.

In the great tradition of the Christian faith, Advent—not January 1—is the beginning of a new year. It (usually) begins on the first Sunday in December and leads us to Christmas Eve.

Properly understood, Advent pushes against singing “Joy to the World” before Christmas Day. Mary had to wait nine months to birth Jesus; therefore, we should be willing to wait one month. In fact, Advent stands in opposition to much of what we experience on the radio and at contemporary evangelical church services. The season of four weeks wants to help us cultivate waiting, hope, and longing. And longing isn’t short. Longing literally takes a looooong time or it’s not really a longing, is it?

It Starts in the Dark

As the church proclaims the beginning of a new year, one of the gifts of this season is given to people who are sitting in darkness. This darkness may take the form of an unwelcome health diagnosis, financial strain, an end to a relationship, or a crisis of faith. The list goes on. The gift of the season lies in its capacity to make space for people who do not have life all together, wrapped in a bow of joy. The church authentically proclaims that the gospel is for the broken, the outsider, and the wandering soul in search of light. We often want to get to Christmas morning a little too quickly. We yearn to sing “Joy to the World” next to the shepherds and offer gifts of praise to God alongside the Magi. But first we are called to sit with John the Baptist in the dark of the desert. It is there that we get in touch with our great need. It is there that we might learn what our souls really hunger for. And instead of feeding on fillers, we make space for God’s presence.

Author Tish Harrison Warren suggested that “Advent is practice in waiting.” No wonder Advent is omitted in the church for many people today, as we live in a society that orchestrates life to wait as little as possible. For some, the idea of Advent is trendy. After all, people generally like lighting candles. But the true lived experience of Advent for a month is the opposite of what the digital age affords us. Instead of practicing waiting, we are deeply (mal)formed in habits of immediacy, impatience, and efficiency in today’s culture.

Mary, the mother of Jesus, modeled Advent for us. Her Advent—that is, waiting for arrival—was not merely four Sundays but rather nine months. She demonstrated for us what happens inside a person when they create space for something better. In the Advent season, the church, following the liturgical calendar, will often light a candle for the four Sundays before Christmas. These candles follow themes such as hope, peace, joy, and love. As we wait, our hearts yearn to be formed into these themes.

Advent waiting allows God time to do deep work in us. But we must not confuse waiting with an invitation to fall into apathy, laziness, or despair. We wait in hope, expectantly vigilant for God to complete what he has begun. Active waiting is the call of the church.

Firepit Spirituality

Author and pastor Brian Zahnd wrote, “Ours is a secular age. The sacred is pushed to the periphery. To keep the sacred at the center of our lives is a heroic act of defiance.” Zahnd was right. To faithfully live into the sacred calendar of the church requires effort. Society discourages waiting and offers devices of all kinds that habituate us into immediacy. Once the Thanksgiving decor is put away, the Christmas tree comes out. The celebration begins! Advent is omitted. We are ready for December 25 before December starts. Resist this urge. There is something waiting for you in the waiting. Guard the sacred as the center. Later, I will make some recommendations as to how you might do that.

Just the other day, I was writing at my friend’s farmhouse in the deep forests of South Carolina. As I was attempting to start a fire, the whirling winds frustrated the task, but shielding the embers from the winds allowed the flame to grow. It occurred to me that this is similar to what we face this season. Advent shields us from the hurried and demanding winds of life trying to blow out the flame of God within us. But we must guard that flame of hope, because waiting is difficult. We must shield and protect it, lest it be snuffed out by the demands of immediacy. We are waiting for the Light of the World (see John 1:9), and that light has called us to be a city on a hill (see Matthew 5:14, esv). The winds of life come in the form of busyness, ennui, consumerism, stress, food preparation, and numerous activities that slowly add up until exhaustion sets in. If you allow them, these winds will smother the flame that burns on Christmas morning.

Maybe the invitation of Advent is to slow down—to say no and be still, lingering in the night without the false light of screens. Maybe it’s to turn our hearts upward in worship and to light candles of hope in the comfort of our living rooms.

We wait again with the ancients for the child to be placed in the manger, but we also wait with the church for the return of the King. We wait, therefore, in both directions: past and future. And we do this in the present moment. Just as the arrival eventually came all those years ago, so the arrival will come again when Jesus forever sets up his reign on earth. Isaiah comforts us in our waiting. It is not in vain:

For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

(Isaiah 9:6)