The restlessness of Advent waiting

What does it mean to wait for something we can’t even begin to imagine?
12.07.21

Advent is a church season, like its cousin Lent, that always stands in such stark contrast to the cultural expressions blasting on around it.

Its deep-water quiet is an affront to the endless busyness, anxious preparation, accumulating, noise-making, running, fretting, image-burnishing, pretending, and numbing that typically accompany the Holidays.

In that way, I suppose, Advent is a microcosm of the spiritual life set against the warp-speed backdrop of “normal” daily life in the Empire: by comparison, Advent is baffling, out of sync, eerily still, foolish, watchful.

Who waits when there’s so much to accomplish and accumulate? Who hopes when there’s nothing to hope for? Who chooses being alert when being anesthetized feels so much better? Who opts for quiet and darkness when it’s so easy to flip a switch to ensure you never, ever have to be alone?

For years now, I have loved Advent’s attentive solemnity, the way its steady gaze calls us to reconsecrate what has been made thoughtless and facile.

But in recent years, I’ve noticed a quality to its energy that’s much less complacent. Less polished. The peace it offers is deep and demanding, and like all…