The liturgical season of Advent begins four weeks before Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. It is always interesting to me that the scriptures for Advent mark events and people who were already present before the Birth of the Child. Advent itself is a more sombre time, as we “wait upon the Lord” to arrive as a child, a poor child, a child born in a manger, because there was no room for him and for Mary his mother and Joseph, her husband, in the inn. We’re reminded of refugees today, walking from their homes, walking to places unknown and probably unfriendly. We’re reminded of refugees today leaving the only place they know to wander, to hope – against hope – that somewhere, somewhere there will be a new life, a safe life.
I expect most folks know the Christmas story, the child, the Star, the Wise Men who traveled far to see this holy One. But Advent? We don’t care about Advent, that sombre season, that season of hope that hopes against hope. When I was a Pastor, it was clear to me that beginning in December, regular church-goers wanted to sing the Christmas Carols, to light the lights, to make Christmas cookies to share with one another. But Advent? There is no place for Advent in our lives, in our culture. We don’t want to wait to see what happens. We want what we want, now.
One Advent, Jeff and I visited together a monastery on the Pacific Coast, and there, among the monks, we heard the Advent scriptures chanted, the voices ringing out into the simple chapel, only a cross on the altar. The monks honored Advent. That was clear.
I tried as hard as I could in each parish I served, to wait until Christmas Eve to sing the Christmas carols, and to sing the Advent songs during the four weeks before Christmas. It didn’t work. I learned to be light hearted about it, as I stuck to the scriptures of Advent as my preaching texts.
In the early 1990’s, Jeff and I served for two years as co-pastors of a United Methodist congregation in Tracy, California. Beginning in December, the sanctuary was decorated with glistening stars and Christmas lights, lights hung along the walls, lights of all colors. And I found, in a little, unused room off the sanctuary, a creche, complete with animals, Mary, Joseph, a baby. And a crib for his bed, filled with straw from the manger.
And so the creche was placed carefully on the top of the piano at the front of the sanctuary. Every week, as I checked out the sanctuary for the coming Sunday, I walked past the piano with the simple creche on top. I noticed as soon as the manger scene appeared, that the baby was in the manger, center stage in the creche. And so I carefully picked up the child and placed him in the little room to the side of the sanctuary. Right inside the door, on a shelf, I placed the child. I knew I would not forget to place him in the manger right before the Christmas Eve service – right where he belonged! But not before! The scene was waiting for the arrival of the Child, as we wait for so many important things in our lives.
Early Sunday morning, the first Sunday of Advent, I walked into the sanctuary through the side door. As I entered, I was greeted with lights – the lights of many colors, like a Christmas tree – the lights on, and Christmas music – loud – coming from the speakers placed all over the sanctuary. And I was greeted by the sight of Pele and his son- our usher and his young son – sitting with smiles of joy on their faces, in the last row, nodding their heads to the beautiful Christmas music blaring over the speakers.
Seeing them made me happy to be there!
I was greeted also – by the presence of the Child, already in the Manger. We were still waiting – I thought! We were in the season of Advent, the Coming – not the arrived!!! So carefully, when I knew that Pele and his son were busy with other things, I moved the baby in the manger to the shelf in the little room to the side of the sanctuary.
I never said a word about it, but each Sunday, I found the babe again, in the manger, in the middle of the creche scene. Each Sunday, I carefully moved him out again, moved him out to arrive again on Christmas Eve. I never said a word about it, and no one else said a word, either.
A Christmas mystery. Certainly.
