The light of Christ illumines the dank cellar of our human condition. And not surprisingly we find ourselves shrinking back, pulling into the shadows, suddenly aware of the dirt, the smudges, the overall ugliness of our own sinful selves. Thus comes Advent, the last of the three winter seasons to develop in the Christian calendar. It is a time of preparation leading to the appearance of the light. Indeed, for the early Christians it was a penitential season like Lent. You dared not approach the light without first searching your soul, cleaning up the mess, preparing yourself for its sanctifying presence.
During Advent, we make way for the coming of a Savior for whom the world is not worthy. And not only that, we brace ourselves for his coming again in judgement one day. We rehearse both the first and second coming, juxtaposed against a backdrop of the world’s longest night, all creation holding its breath for the final turn, the last and best sunrise.
As I write early on this December morning, snow lies deep in my garden. Night retreats westward; stars slowly start to fade. Two small boys sleep across the hall, resting in the grace-filled inertia of the very young. Many, many things must be done today, not only to sustain a household but to navigate the cultural expectations surrounding the coming holidays. But I will choose—if you do—to sit. I will choose to breathe in the words of others who celebrated the Word made flesh. Here in the dark I will seek points of light that cannot be extinguished, no matter how frenetic the world.
So let it begin.
Sarah Arthur is an editor of literary guides to prayer from Paraclete Press, including Light Upon Light: A Literary Guide to Prayer for Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany, from which these devotions are adapted (©2014 by Sarah Arthur, used by permission). Her forthcoming book, with coauthor Erin Wasinger, is The Year of Small Things: Radical Faith for the Rest of Us (Brazos Press).
