Advent Waiting

What it means to walk in the dark

I only took one picture this weekend at our town’s Christkindle Market. It's my favorite night of the year (which is saying a lot for a town that does all the holidays and festivals year round). But there's such magic on this evening when the streets are lit by luminaries, musicians sing on the street corner, and friends gather with hot chocolate and s'more over a fire.

On Friday, though, I only managed one picture.

We stayed half the time we normally do thanks to the gentle rain and chilly temps. Plus Isaac cried from exhaustion and cold fingers.

When we got home we unloaded coats and shoes. I heated warm milk and honey and the kids and I sat at the table together. We missed lighting our Advent wreath earlier so once our bodies warmed, I lit the first candle and read our family devotion. I kept the lights low while we watched the flame dance on the walls. For a few moments we basked in the warmth of the night.

So even though the night was harder and colder and crankier than I wished, we still found ourselves in the company of friends and light. And after all, isn't that the heart of this Advent season — sitting in the dark, but still being drawn to the light over and over again.

We have four weeks ahead of us this Advent. Four weeks to settle into the darkness longing for hope and peace. Advent greets us in one of the darkest seasons of the year (not to mention the war and violence across the world and the devastating crisis in our lives). So often it seems like our whole world is groaning in pain. We lament all the violence, war, sickness, and the ravaging of our habitat. Advent invites us to feel what the darkness brings and how it rests in our souls.

Advent asks us: What does it feel like to wait in the dark?

We wait and wonder. We worry. We cry. We speak out against injustice. We light our candles one by one. We sing hymns. We gather virtually. We pray for our neighbors across the world.

Advent invites us to walk, not run. To slow down and listen to what the darkness can teach us. Walking in Advent can look like: a slow reading of scripture, repeating one phrase over and over, sitting in silence, taking deep breaths, baking bread to share with a neighbor, and lighting one candle each week.

During these next four weeks of Advent, walk, don’t run. Walk slowly knowing that at the end we will be met by Jesus’ beginning. Advent brings us to the depths of darkness so that when the light enters, we can do nothing else but be drawn into its beauty.

Walk, don’t run this Advent. For when we reach the days we are waiting for, when the gift of Christ comes to us, then, and only then, should we run towards the light never looking back.

How are you marking this season? What are you waiting for?