Apparently, either my husband and I are non-traditionalists when it comes to Advent or really bad at following through. For the first twenty years of our married life, we had both high hopes and good intentions on December 1st. We’d buy an Advent calendar or put a wreath with candles on the table. Maybe even splurge on a book with a catchy title that promised to guide us through a meaningful holiday season.
For the most part, our good intentions start to wane around December 14. By that point, the boys had already opened all of the Advent calendar windows, there would be melted wax all over the dining room table, and the book, having failed to transform our month, was buried under the avalanche of catalogs.
Because we are not the kind of people who are easily discouraged, four years ago Christopher made an epic leap and created his own version of Advent. Each day, he wrote Scriptures on note cards and included clues that led the boys to a small—and on one day not so small—gift. It was a huge success. So much so that we’ve not done anything since then. Before you condemn or dismiss us, I think this is fairly normative for folks who make their living (i.e. pastors) by helping other folks celebrate key events.
Since our sons are now aged fifteen to twenty-one, the only holiday expectations I feel from them are as follows: put up a tree, give them a few well chosen gifts, and provide all of the materials for them to create original gingerbread houses.
I, however, have been hoping for something more. This year, Sarah Arthur’s beautiful compilation Light upon Light: A Literary Guide to Prayers for Advent, Christmas and Epiphany has been my more.
Each chapter includes an opening prayer. For example John Donne’s work:
Hear us, O hear us Lord; to Thee
A sinner is more music when he prays,
Than spheres or angels’ praises be
In Panegyric alleluias,
Hear us, for till Thou hear us, Lord
We know not what to say.
Also included are suggested Scripture readings, poems, sonnets and/or excerpts from longer texts, many of which might seem unlikely but are nevertheless stunning. This one caused my pulse to race.
“When gods die, they die hard. It’s not like they fade away, or grow old or fall asleep. They die in fire and pain, and when they come out of you, they leave your guts burned. It hurts more than anything you can talk about. And maybe worst of all is, you’re not sure if there will ever be another god to fill their place. Or if you’d ever want another god to fill their place. (by Gary Schmidt from The Wednesday Wars)
I find myself eagerly anticipating going to bed simply so I can indulge in that night’s offering. I’ve even slowed my blistering reading pace so that I can savor the beauty and the depth of these gifts. If I haven’t yet convinced you of Light upon Light’s merits, I will leave you with Sarah Arthur’s words from the introduction:
“Winter in the Northern Hemisphere is particularly suited for … prayer and reflection. We find ourselves more and more indoors, … our bodies slowing to the rhythm of the sleeping woodlands. Silence is not hard to find. And yet crashing into the midwinter quiet comes the most frantic event of the cultural year. Perhaps it is our fear of stillness, of quiet that drives us to anything but the ‘silent night’ of Christmas: we do not want to know what we might discover in reflection. More likely it is a consumer economy that thrives on a relentless pace: slow and contemplative people are not shopping people; silence does not sell. So the one time of year that we are given to pause and seek the One who seeks us becomes the one time of year that drives us nearly to self-extinction. And it is this season, of any, when we are least likely to pick up a book and read.”
Please, pick up this book and read. (It has almost sold out so don’t delay.)
To find more of Sarah’s work, go to her site.
Our family’s favorite children’s Christmas books from my post last year.