As I entered the supermarket, a sign posted on the front door caught my attention: “We apologize that the advertised beer and wine advent calendars are not available.” Our family has used an assortment of advent calendars over the years, but I’ve never seen one featuring beer. I checked it out on-line, and there they were: a Brewer’s U.S. of A. Advent Calendar, a German edition, an Austrian edition, and even a “Bad Santa” version, especially popular with the young as well as the young at heart. At $59.95, it is a bit pricier than the cardboard advent calendars of my childhood, with the pictures of candy canes and Christmas trees waiting patiently behind each door.
There are also wine advent calendars (choose naughty, nice, or one of each at $139.95), imported cheese advent calendars, a European chocolate advent calendar, and even an OmegaSnax advent calendar featuring salmon and sweet potato snacks for our canine friends. While I didn’t search for it, I’m sure there’s a Frozen II advent calendar, so that Anna and Elsa can help us get ready for Christmas too.
The word “advent” has its roots in the Latin word adventus, meaning “coming,” and historically has been used to describe the four-week period beginning on the Sunday nearest the feast of St. Andrew the Apostle (November 30), in preparation for the coming of Jesus. As such, the first Sunday in Advent is the first Sunday of the liturgical church year. Traditionally, Christians have marked the days prior to December 25 with fasting and increased times of devotion and prayer –no mention of dog treat advent calendars in the history books.
As a child, our family had a simple advent wreath in our home. and each Sunday evening during December, we lit a candle, sang a carol, and remembered a town in Bethlehem, a babe in a manger, and a star in the sky. This advent rhythm modeled in my formative years has led to my own annual journey through the days of advent, with selected readings and my own creative expressions of poetry, prose and music.
It’s tempting to whine as I did last week about how Christmas seems to stretch from Halloween to January, as holiday merchandise crowds the aisles of every store and our neighborhoods glow with glittering lights and an extensive assortment of inflatables. Why we need to see Santa in an outhouse is beyond me, but it is what it is. Christmas music has been flooding the airwaves for weeks, and the ever-present Santa, Rudolph, Frosty, Grinch, and the wished-for hippopotamus are blatant reminders of the secularization of Christmas. I checked out a top forty Christmas play list, and no mention was made of a divine purpose for the singing until hit #31, as Aretha belted out “Joy to the World.”
It’s also predictable that no matter how much we plan ahead, most of us experience our share of frazzled days and late nights, determined that this year will definitely be the very best Christmas ever – until it isn’t.
Stretched-thin days, the loss of sacred mystery, and a tendency to get overwhelmed – this is why I need Advent to temper the daze of the holiday season. I need to sing the ancient hymn, “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” I need to light a candle in the darkness. I need to pray the prayers uttered through the centuries, to speak words of hope and faith. I need to tell the stories of old, of angels, shepherds, and magi, of a senseless slaughter amidst the promise of peace on earth, and of elderly women faithfully waiting (Elizabeth, Anna).
Advent, in its purest form, doesn’t need the beer and wine, chocolate and cheese hidden behind doors1-25. Instead, Advent offers space for silence and light for darkness, a daily nudge to remember, to slow down, to wait.
We may differ in our understanding of the spiritual and its influence on our being, but as we enter Advent, might we each find sacred space to light a candle, sing a carol of faith, and allow the treasured story of old to unfold within us. “And it came to pass . . .”
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