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This morning, I waited.
My eyes were open just before 5:00, as they often are these days. I waited to hear steam moving through the radiators. I got up, and waited for water to boil, then waited for it to pass through coffee grounds in the conical filter.
Joe and I looked out the window, through the leafless trees at the horizon, and waited for the first hint of orangey light on the “shortest” day of the year.
“For Christians, this is the season of waiting,” I remarked. “It’s Advent.”
Advent means “a coming into place, view or being; arrival.” It is the time of waiting for the birth of Jesus, or in the parlance of the orthodoxy, the Nativity of the Christ. Spanning 24 days before Christmas, Advent is the beginning of the liturgical year in Western Christianity.
It has always seemed odd to me that so many rush into Christmas, even those who claim the holiday as a practice of deep faith. They seem to miss the point of Advent: preparing for the arrival. Trees and lights go up just after Halloween. The 24-hour cycle of Christmas music and movies seems to start in early November. Shopping is completed on Thanksgiving weekend. By the time Christmas arrives, everyone’s sick of it. Dried out conifers begin lining streets on December 26th.
Christmas officially ends at Epiphany, on January 6. By then, for most, it’s a distant memory. Instead of waiting for the holiday, and celebrating for its full 12 days, everyone seems to jump the gun — as if it’s a race — and drop out before the end. Exhausted.
As I sipped, I thought about putting up a simple tree in the living room. Maybe Saturday. There’s still plenty of time. And I kind of like the wait.
In Peace,
Rev Denis
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