Advent III: 'tis the season

‘Tis the season . . .

when people stay in their homes

when immediate family are pulled close 

when people take more walks

when people read regularly and cook deliberately

when people look for ways to express their creativity in new or renewed ways

when people clear out clutter in their houses and within themselves

when people appreciate each deep breath

when people watch their (and others’) health

when we call people essential

‘Tis the season of COVID-19. ‘Tis an awful season, but in all its challenges there are some of the important lessons of Advent.  

Advent II: The Diffuser

Before where I sit each morning is an artsy diffuser. Made by an artist in the mountains, it holds a candle below and a metal tray above. The candle heats the tray which is holding water and oils. When the water heats up, a wonderful aroma fills my studio. I light the candle each morning when I sit to center myself and it often helps create a climate of prayer and meditation, but not this morning.

Like many, I’ve stepped up my spiritual practices in Advent. Because of some pressing needs, I’ve let my usual routine of reading, writing and sitting still slide. Advent offers an invitation to reclaim those spiritual practices, but today it was all I could do to sit still for 20 minutes. I refused to get up but opened my eyes and waited for the time to pass. I stared at the diffuser in front of me, watching the flame flicker and the steam beginning to rise. I realized the diffuser itself was the meditation for the day.

My spiritual practices are the candle. Just because I light it does not mean the affects are immediate. The metal tray must heat up, then the water, before the steam rises. So, too, the affects of my spiritual work rise only in time. I must be patient with my reclaimed efforts knowing that they will warm my soul and cause me to bring forth that which is within me into the world. Watching the candle, I find it easier to sit still.

Advent I

Driving up to the North Carolina mountains on the first weekend of November, I saw every other car heading home with a Christmas tree strapped to its roof. Even for those who like to celebrate Christmas early, this was a stretch. As a never-before-Thanksgiving purist, I resisted the temptation to judge and realized how hungry we all are to bring Christmas into the world this year. 

To say it’s been a difficult year is an obvious under-statement. Limping my way into Advent, emotionally, I’ve never wanted to get the tree up, lights lit, and music on more. Like those with the trees on their cars, I long for Christmas. I long for the smells and sounds, connecting with family and friends even at a distance, and thinking about things other than viruses and politics.

Never has Christmas felt like the gift it is. I don’t just mean the day itself; I mean all the days of Advent that calm our hearts, ignite our imaginations, and feed our souls. 

O come, O come, Emmanuel. God be with us each day this season as we make our way to Bethlehem. Help us to dim the world’s lights so that we can see your light, quite the noise surrounding us so we can sing along with angels, and loosen our grip on life so that we may receive the gift of the one who is true life.

(If you need help with Christmas music, search the Chip Bristol Christmas mixes on Spotify: Traditional Christmas, Meditative Christmas, Popular Christmas.)