Snowy mornings make Advent tangible to me. When the stars align, it may lead to tiptoeing downstairs into the dark, still-cold morning quiet and lingering in prayer. The rarity of being the only one up, or the overcast morning shadows in a state with lots of sunshine, reminds my body that these are treasures and deserve savoring. For all their peace, they are often accompanied by early morning mitten-searches, but the arrival of snow is received joyfully on this end of winter.

Which is a place to begin when it comes to joyful anticipation

We know, of course, that this wording will inevitably be sprinkled into our Advent homilies: “wait in joyful hope,” we will hear. Outside we’ll nod at the familiar sentiment but perhaps chafe internally at the mixed messages—to be both waiting and joyful. Yes?
Over the years we have learned from seasoned Advent travelers that the journey is intended to be taken slowly, plodding through the season alongside the Holy Family. And yet, when we know the celebration coming over the horizon, it can be a real struggle to temper our instinct to skip ahead to the party—especially in a year like this one. After all, we do not have the legacy of the Israelites whose prayerful trust in God bore great fruit over the span of generation after generation.

To put it mildly, we are not a culture of patient people. We don’t raise them and we tend not to have time for those with time to spare. Laughably our legacy might be having the shortest attention spans on planet earth– patrons or patronesses of instant gratification–as we grow more and more accustomed to being entertained, fed, and connected virtually through devices.

So what does Advent mean to a people like us, in a time like this?

Queen Esther might remind us that we were born precisely for a time like this (Esther 4:14). She might add that even our small, faithful efforts to savor the in-between without rushing to the ‘finish line’ provided sustenance to us or those who observe our doing so. From a woman who was certainly a minority in her royal household, she likely knows a bit about going against the grain. She is the perfect example of small, faithful efforts providing sustenance to people beyond our own front door. In this way, Esther is my cheerleader and she can be yours, too!

Real world application

In our area school has been canceled for the duration of the year, and based on the latest local emergency homeless shelter update, caring for those without homes this year with our parish will be done at even greater distances. Instead of community meals eaten together, all pre-packaged meals will be dropped in hotel parking lots, where guests will be able to prepare single-serve meals alone in hotel kitchens. While this may be a welcome upgrade from sleeping on church basement floors, I can’t help but feel that something is being lost in caring for folks (and schooling kids) from a distance, despite its safety.

This year we are in an unpracticed place of gratitude, and not because the Giver of good gifts has ceased to be generous.
What that likely means is that the arrival of those gifts has taken on a new look and we’re feeling hard-pressed to name their goodness. Turkey and pie may grace our tables, online shopping can continue to meet our wants/needs, and there is an accompanying emptiness in our celebrations. In large part it feels as though this has come from this experiment of ‘distancing’ and we’re right to note the disparity.

Mother Teresa famously reminded us that “If we have not peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
I wonder if this uncomfortable experience of delayed or distanced celebrating is tinged with the truth of Mother Teresa’s hard-won wisdom. Perhaps it’s been the first time in a long while that we have had such a personal reminder of that important truth. The ramifications of this prophetic truth have a wide reach. If you need to be convinced, mentally track each person on your block and ask yourself if anyone has checked in on them recently. The isolating pinch is personal, its reach is wide.

The weary world

When my mind wanders to the dawning season of Christmas card updates for the year—I’ve wondered what pithy meaning I or anyone else is making of this debacle and how that is going to play out on gold foil cards. I expect lots of references to masks and toilet paper, perhaps top ten canceled events, but joking aside, what meaning is there to be made? How much am I willing to skip past, and what is there to be gleaned from sticking with it?
Despite our fondness for the season of Light in the darkness, the season of Advent is not for the faint of heart. It never has been. It has always provided more than enough reason for the skeptic in us all to doubt. In that way, this year is no different. We feel worn down and cynical of anything else—good or bad–that could possibly happen this year. And, regardless of our circumstances, Emmanuel (God with Us) is reason enough for this weary world’s rejoicing.

More than ever, we all need reminding that we know the end of the story, and it’s worth stretching the celebration out for as long as possible: The Light shines in the darkness & the darkness did not overcome it (John 1:5)

The weary world needs your light. Perhaps you were born for such a time as this.

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This post is part of a blog hop by Spoken Women, an online community of Catholic women nurturing their creative callings. Click here to view the next post in this series “Joyful Waiting”