Advent has always defied easy explanation for me. Partly it reflects the incomplete theology of my upbringing. When I was little, we had Advent calendars that included little gifts: candy, a piece of gum, or a nickel or dime. There was a promise that Baby Jesus would come at the end, but the meaning of all that wasn't too clear either. Mostly, Baby Jesus was a plastic doll cuddled by a nervous sixth grade girl; sometimes a real newborn if a mom in the congregation provided a little human for oohs and ahs of those assembled.
Surely, our understanding has evolved, I thought. Not so much. A quick search for Advent calendars led me to discover that one can purchase a Lego themed calendar, one with cute pet pictures, a wooden ginger bread house, or for $90 a calendar with 20 miniature bottles of Jack Daniels. But, of course, pinnacle of Advent-as-stuff calendars comes from Tiffany. For $150,000 or more you can purchase a four-foot white oak box filled with the jeweler's bobbles. Perfect for someone who has been very nice (or if you have been very naughty).
Although our immediate thirst may be slaked with a shot of Jack Daniels, our elemental thirst is for light. For years, I have imagined myself in the room where the ancient church leaders decided to celebrate Jesus' birth just after the solstice, even though the historical research suggests either spring or early fall the more likely date. Can't you just hear someone saying, "Let's connect that longing for light with God's light, the light of the world, new hope. Maybe people will pay attention."
Smart strategy. The merging of Jesus' birth with the widespread pre-Christian celebration of the Winter Solstice, connected the body's longing for light to the soul's longing for hope. Hope in the face of bad times. Like now.
Perhaps it is helpful to recall that that original Christmas took place during a time of brutal suppression and peace imposed by armed occupation. The peace offered in Jesus’ birth is pure love that last longer than empires and armies. Shalom. The hope offered, is hope even in the midst of darkness.
Our need for optical light, physic light, and holy light is so deep that, yes, we will fall on our knees seeking it. And we rejoice when it appears.
Meditate on that.
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If your soul is surrounded by darkness at this season, join us for “Longest Night” a service of healing and hope, on Sunday, December 19, at 7 pm, in the sanctuary.
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Banner Photo: CTK of the light forest by Pipilotti Rist, part of the immersive art experience, “Big Heartedness, Be My Neighbor” at the Geffen Contemporary at MOCA, Los Angeles.