I almost missed the beginning of Advent this year; that’s how unprepared I was. November was caught up with illness, then injury, then heartbreaking and unexpected tragedy. Two days before Thanksgiving, I had only done half my shopping and my house was an utter wreck. That’s when a careful inspection of my (secular) calendar revealed to me that the First Sunday of Advent was before St. Andrew’s feast this year. So, I stumbled into the season of preparation an utterly disheveled mess.
It wasn’t just my environment that felt chaotic and out of control on the Sunday after Thanksgiving — it was my soul. The liturgical year just past was full of uncomfortable things I’d never experienced before, leaving me feeling disoriented and bumbling around in unfamiliar territory. I admit that I am not scuttling about, trying to put things in order even now. While I can and will certainly use this first week to pull my house together, my soul is another story. It lies desolate, and I know better than to think that the perfect Advent devotional is just what it needs to be revived before the Midnight Mass Gloria.
Mary didn’t power through on her way to Bethlehem. She let herself be carried on the back of humility, and she trusted that the man leading her was in step with God himself. Jesus came to us in the midst of chaos and uncertainty. He was born into the sorrow and confusion to take away the fear of sorrow and confusion.
There is no question that I feel more battered and weary than I ever have. I feel powerless over the storm, yes — but even more powerless over the wreckage left in the wake of the storm. I cannot let my feelings be in charge. I need to hoist myself up on that donkey, heavily burdened by out of sorts feelings, and surrender to being led to the stable. (How interesting — I never noticed how fitting the double meaning of “stable” is until today.) Feelings must allow themselves to be led by faith. And faith must be firmly rooted in truth, lest it twist in the winds of the storms.
I can let Advent take root quietly in my heart, one softly sighed act of faith at a time. I can be grateful for all the Advents that preceded this one, all the clever activities, all the beautiful books, all the moments lit with beeswax candles shining through orange-spiced garlands. They have led me here. Warm and bright and full of hope and joy, they have filled me with their goodness in years past and left me with a whisper of heat and the faintest scent of heaven itself in this present moment.
I believe. I can make that my Advent prayer this year, just one small phrase over and over to affirm and make present the reality that a Savior was born to bring peace to this world, to conquer the darkness, to forgive even the unforgivable. That he came for all of us. And he came for me. I believe that God is with us. Lord, help my unbelief.
Foss, whose website is takeupandread.org, writes from Connecticut.
