The signature of the season is darkness. The calling card of the season is ever
deepening cold. Advent is upon us. It arrives on the wings of winter. The symbols of the season are more ancient
than civilization. The year is dying out
in the night and every symbol speaks of endings. And so the church begins its liturgical year
in the mood of waiting in the cold and dark for the birth of God’s light.
Of course, this is not just about the weather. We all live each day throughout the year with
cold and darkness and death inside us.
We know our own places of sadness and silence, whispering fears and
nameless dreads, where we stand on the brink of the grief of all people. And in the dark, we wait. We wait for some word of hope against our
despair, for some shout of joy that can penetrate our most enduring hurts, for
some shaft of light that can get to the bottom of our deepest wells of
gloom. And what we long for is not just
some human word, darkness speaking to darkness; one more word of counsel or advise
or rosy reassurance. What we need is
infinitely more than that. What we need
is something transcendent, something eternal, something beyond the reach of all
the death and beyond the power of all our fears.
And so the cry of the season is “Come.” O come Emanuel. O come thou Dayspring on high. O come all ye faithful. O come let us adore. Come thou long expected one. Come upon this midnight clear and save us
from our long dread night.
This is why this is the most beautiful season of the year. We juxtapose our deepest aches with our
greatest celebrations. We feel our
losses more poignantly while reaching out to others more generously. As it grows darker, we light up our houses
with twinkling trees and strings of light everywhere, with candles and
stars. As it grows colder we warm
ourselves with Christmas cheer, with gifts and charity, with hearty laughter
and all the family and friends that we can muster. At a time when we feel ominous silences
within us, we fill the air with music of joy and songs of peace. We deck the halls with all the love that is
in us. We put the children among us
right at the center of everything and when their eyes sparkle with wonder, so
do our hearts. We talk of elves and
flying reindeer and magic and grace. We give
and give and give.
God is in this. This
is the way God comes into our lives and touches us. Somewhere in the course of this season,
whether it be in a child’s grin, or in a familiar old song, or in the garish
lights on a neighbors house, or in some tale of generosity, or in some quiet
moment remembering some Christmas past; it will come to you. You will hear the angel voices. Or you will feel the warmth washing over
you. Or you will be blinded by the light
or lifted by the joy. In whatever way it
happens, if you listen, if you watch, if you wait, the transcendent moment will
come. Something new will be born in
you. The hopes and fears of all the
years will gather in you and God’s joy will sound. Wait for it.
May all the blessing of this season find there way into your
life,
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