The Season of Advent
The liturgical year, with its collection of seasons, provides a rhythm for the Christian life. Advent is one of my favorite seasons because it reminds us to slow down, to be present to the lives we are living as we do something that is taboo in our modern society, wait. We sit in the tension of what has already happened; God breaking through into our world in the humblest of ways, a human baby while we live into the present where we proclaim and trust that God is with us here and now, even as we wait with hopeful anticipation for Jesus to come again.
In this section, you will find writings from Advent 2022 and Advent writings from 2021.
Advent 2022
That string of lights, illuminating a ship in the night, reminded me that the light doesn’t have to be the biggest and brightest to brighten the dark—it just needs to shine.
A couple of weeks ago, I was taking a walk as the sky became dark. I rounded a corner on my walking path and caught a glimpse of a string of lights on the Yorktown. It caused me pause and reminded me that I often take for granted light. It took the world around me getting physically dark for me to really appreciate the glimmers of light.
We complain when the light changes and the days become shorter, the nights longer. Yet, this year, I am finding that it feels comforting. One of my favorite practices is waking up in the morning, making tea, lighting a candle and sitting in a cozy glow before the chaos of the day begins.
I stood on the gravel path and looked at the lights shimmering on the boat as the day shifted to night and all I could think was “wow, isn’t that beautiful.” If it had been day, the lights would not have held the same glow or power.
The world is dark and the darkness too often overwhelms my tender little heart. I am, we all are, bombarded with the world’s horrors, the expanse of greed and selfishness, the pain that comes because we are human living in a deeply wounded world. I cannot lie to you and say that I haven’t wondered how to continue to hope, how to really believe that love might truly stand a chance against all the darkness.
But that string of lights, illuminating a ship in the night, reminded me that the light doesn’t have to be the biggest and brightest to brighten the dark—it just needs to shine.
Advent is a season of tender hope, of gentle light—in my faith tradition we have a practice of lighting an Advent wreath. There are four Sundays of Advent, leading up to Christmas; each Sunday has a candle with a corresponding theme (Hope, Peace, Joy, Love) that guides us towards Christmas. On Christmas Eve we light the fifth and final candle, known as the Christ Candle, it is a white candle placed in the center of the wreath.
This year, I enlisted my mother’s design talents and asked if she would make me my own Advent wreath. Today, I lit the first and second candles, the candles of hope and peace.
The tradition of Advent feels like a holy and gentle invitation into the hope that Christmas offers us.
The light that is emitted from candles is soft, cozy, warm and inviting. In the darkness of this season, I choose to light my candles, no matter how small the flame, and I continue to look for the joy, the love, the hope, the peace that I still find in this wounded world.
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overtake it” (John 1:5).