Advent occupies the ending of our calendar year. Those four Sundays leading up to Christmas. A time of preparation. Getting ready.

We understand getting ready. Especially when it comes to Christmas. 

We need to decorate. Put up the tree. Choose the Christmas photo and send it to Shutterfly. Order the Apple Watch for Jackie. Coordinate the Christmas gatherings – although with COVID as this year’s uninvited guest, who knows who else will attend.

Go. Go. Go. Force more activity into an already crowded space. That’s our Advent reality.

But not its original intent.

Advent ends our calendar year but it begins the Church year. It’s a giant reset on the months gone by for those belonging to Jesus.

The past months no different fundamentally than years past. Different intensity, oh yes. More upheaval, perhaps. But the seesaw of joy and pain perpetually present. 

Suffering that never leaves. Celebrations requiring uncovering rather than living right out in the open. Hearts who despair more than hope when not grounded in their Creator.

That’s our reality.

Advent leaves that behind. Not forgetting but reframing. 

It intertwines our story with the One promised in chapter 3 of the Creation account. 

It winds through Isaiah and his proclamations of a child being born. 

It offers us a seat on the donkey as it trudges into the still night and simple life of the divine Baby. A Baby who rules in a whole other way. 

A reign of peace in the midst of chaos. Of fullness in the midst of empty. Of death that results in life.

Advent was never designed to stress us out. It’s supposed to calm us down. Its pace meant to be more reflective. More leisure. More undoing than doing, you might say.

Go slow this month. Allow the story to unfold before you. Allow it to be your story.