Around this time last year, I preached on the benefits of a long Advent. I mentioned it as college students do not have the luxury of a consistent Advent. Their classes generally end smack in the middle of the season and force them to uproot right as they get into the swing of things. But this year, I find myself longing for Advent well before it officially starts. Advent speaks to us in this present moment.
We recently experienced the yearly time change. Those working a 9-5 now find themselves leaving work under darkened skies. Add in the tumultuous political scene in our nation, the episodes of gun violence splashed throughout Hampton Roads, and a recognition of the economic challenges faced by our most vulnerable families, darkness seems to cling both physically and existentially. Advent tells the story of the Light, the Light that Shines in the Darkness such that the Darkness did not overcome it (John 1:5).
Advent comes from the Latin ad-ventus, which means “having come toward.” In Advent we are reminded of the God who has come toward us in the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and who will come toward us again in Christ’s second coming.
As the Song of Simeon, the closing canticle in our compline service, reminds us: Jesus is “a Light to enlighten the nations, and the glory of your people Israel” (Luke 2:32). A lone candle provides much light to a darkened space, and when amplified with a terracotta pot, can even provide warmth to a whole room. How much more is Jesus the light by which we can properly view this world? How much more is Jesus the person who brings warmth into our souls?
Advent is also the time when I am reminded of C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia. Many Episcopal priests have made an Advent study out of his works. I am particularly fond of Rev. Heidi Haverkamp’s Advent in Narnia: Reflections for the Season. It offers bite-sized daily reflections for each day in Advent. The reflections shift back and forth between bits of scripture and themes in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. For those who have seen a film adaptation of the book, the famed Narnia lamppost is a striking symbol.
Haverkamp writes, “This lamppost is a living thing. No one lights it, no one extinguishes it, and it burns without fuel. The White Witch’s winter hasn’t snuffed it out. It is a boundary, but also a promise that Aslan can make broken things new and alive. It is a beacon in the face of the dark, cold spell that lies on the land.”
For those unfamiliar, Aslan, the lion character, has many of the characteristics of Jesus. The lamppost was a broken bit of metal from another world that became planted in Narnia, growing with the magical world as it was sung into being by Aslan. Haverkamp wishes us to know that just as the lamppost serves as a beacon and a promise, so too do the lights on our Advent wreathes.
When you are tempted to allow yourself to be swallowed up by darkness this season, in whatever form it may come to you, I hope the image of the Advent wreath can shine in your mind. I hope it reminds you of the God who has come near to us in Jesus Christ and who promises to come physically near to us again. For “the Light shines in the Darkness, and the Darkness has not overcome it.”
