Advent Begins in the Dark
Christmas is right under our noses. I smell the gingersnaps baking in the oven, yet my holiday pizzazz is sagging like the oversized ornaments on our plastic pine. It feels criminal to slouch when I ought to be…how should I say it, “rocking around the Christmas tree”? I ran across this quote by Fleming Rutledge that brings some validity to my mood, “Even as the season outside gets more exuberantly festive, those who observe Advent within the Christian community are convicted more and more each year by the truth of what is going on inside—inside the church as she refuses cheap comfort and sentimental good cheer. Advent begins in the dark.”
Advent begins in the dark.
Darkness has been our unpleasant sidekick ever since that first bite of disbelief back in the garden. The promised advent of a Savior has been the hope of God’s people through all sorts of troubles, including a world-wide flood, enslavement in Egypt, exile in Babylon, four hundred years of prophetic silence, and the mass murder of baby boys by a green Herod. All this waiting in pitch blackness leads us to Christmas morning. The Savior has come. There, cradled next to cattle and nursed by his teenage, virgin mom in the middle of nowhere, advent is fulfilled.
But not totally. There is another advent we wait for with tears. Jesus will come again. We celebrate the first and groan for the next. Although the Light of the World has come, darkness wars to win the day. So if you are like me, and this season makes you feel more homesick than jolly, take heart. Perhaps it’s not without reason that we feel more sad than sentimental around the dinner table. We are still waiting. And waiting can hurt.
The first advent of Christmas is worth the party hat. It’s right to eat pecan pie, toast the family, and apologize to the spouse we yelled at before the guests arrived. In doing so, we worship the long-awaited Savior. It’s also right to grieve as we wait for the next advent. Jesus’ first coming assures us that he will keep his promise of a second. We can wait for his return without fear of being left at the altar. He will soon bring us home for good.
In the meantime, we keep our advent calendars in hand. Not the kind with waxy chocolate trumpets and geese. No, our calendars are stuffed with tools for waiting, such as prayer, fellowship, the Bible, and the Spirit inside of us, given to make us alert and awake in a world of spiritual midnight.
Merry Christmas to you, however you feel. The chipper and the solemn will both meet the Light of the World when he comes again.