Advent

December 5, 2020

I love Advent.

As a child, of course Christmas left me starry-eyed and bubbling over with excitement.  And because I was born within the week of the 25^th, my anticipation easily doubled.  Each year, our parents provided a bounteous spread – the unwrapped gifts and stockings from Santa, the wrapped gifts from family. 

But as I hit my teens and early 20’s, the wistful music of Vince Guaraldi (Charlie Brown Christmas) called up emotions I did not understand. Something was always missing – despite my family’s more-than passing acknowledgement of the “reason for the season.” Every year I carefully set up our family creche.  My mother even gave me a porcelain “Flight into Egypt” and went on to collect herself more than one Madonna with child. On the phonograph, we listened to Sandler & Young, whose holiday songs were more contemplative than Mitch Miller’s.

I knew the narrative and I wanted to believe, but I just could not get there, despite a couple of false-footed attempts.  I accepted that maybe God had sent a messenger in the form of a baby, but that’s as far as it got.  I witnessed too many examples of my college friends, many ardent Christians, taking a hammer of judgement to one another. 

Looking back now at some of the people I loved during those days, though, I see now a soft layering occurring, laying in an as-yet infirm foundation, as I loved, learned and got splattered with life.  But I just had not experienced enough of human existence to bring about any understanding or desire for connection with a creator. 

Then 1999 happened.  Within six months, my mother died, I endured two surgeries (one major and emergency), and Dad hastily remarried his high school sweetheart, of whom we had never heard. 

Over the next couple of years, Dad and I became completely and totally (but not irrevocably) estranged.  I was reassigned to the new VP for Administration by the Provost at W&M.  And Gary suffered through 2 major surgeries, a near-fatal bout with sepsis, three weeks in the hospital, and months of recovery, emerging from the scourge a wreck: forty pounds of muscle gone, his hearing lost (due to the antibiotics used to combat the massive infection), his lungs shot (though his smoking had not helped), a type 2 diabetic, and wearing a colostomy that was supposed to be temporary – except he refused, understandably, to run the risk of another surgery to hook his system back up.  For the first year or two, the colostomy became mine to manage.

Well, things just got better from there.  I had two more surgeries to deal with the endometriosis but in the meantime developed fibromyalgia, probably as a result of cumulative stress.  At work, I found myself “proudly” reporting to three bosses: two Vice Presidents and the Provost.  I think it was Billie Jean King who said: “Pressure is privilege.”

My boss, herself a new widow, endeavored to help me with an accommodation providing a four-day, 36-hour work week, the only problem being that the same volume of work still had to be accomplished.

Fast-forward to November of 2013, almost five years after Gary’s death on December 6, 2008.  I participated in a Williamsburg Community Church Open Door Bible Study of Advent.  We used a text written by Ann Marie Stewart that was fully developed and deeply comprehensive in its approach.  I learned so much from the four different gospels.  But I still had no understanding of what Advent really meant or could mean. I had no sense of its application, its relevance.  I was still stuck on wanting to believe. I was still stuck in reactive anger. I did not trust God, however much I relied upon him to answer my immediate needs.

I had joined a nurturing small group in 2009, but I struggled to be a “Christian” and to accept the theology that label required and encompassed.  I understood it on an intellectual level, often arguing and rejecting a good bit of it.  But last year, after our small group had disbanded, after years of study, prayer, reflection and insightful conversation, my heart finally reached a point of not just willingness but knowingness.

It happened at WCC’s 2019 Christmas Concert.  As we listened to the artful mix of sacred music and familiar carols, I felt like they were singing to me. All of the dots suddenly connected. All of the lyrics resonated. I realized the wistfulness perceived in Vince Guaraldi’s music was actually longing; I had reached the point in the cartoon of Linus’s monologue — and his moving recitation of Luke 2:8-14 from the King James. I found myself wanting to join the heavenly host, because I recognized joy.

But I have come to realize, that for me, the message is less about a theology for the salvation of humankind (though for most, this is its primary point – its “good news”), and more about building my relationship with, and gratitude for, God — and the resulting importance of personal transformation, particularly in the attitude of my heart. 

To me, Advent is about hope and trust, going back to Abraham, who died trustfully even though he held a “fistful of promissory notes” according to one biblical scholar.  And the promise of God’s love and presence, even in the most difficult of circumstances, if we actively seek him.  It’s about a willingness to appear foolish and not the most clever, in order to take the higher road and defy social norms.  To “love mercy and walk humbly.” And to let go of my personal anger – resisting its siren call and easy seduction – as giving in to that irrational flash has never lead to anything productive or beneficial in my life.

I love Advent.  The light in the darkness — like that recent full moon beaming down upon us.  Like the glowing spiral tree Tom placed in our backyard, as we prepare for a holiday season without family. It’s about making sure that some light glows literally and figuratively from our own windows.  It’s been a tough year.  Let us all be a light, not just to, but for one another.