Quieter and violet-er than the paricolored pandemonium that swirls outside the Church, the liturgical season of Advent is a shock to the system of the most welcome sort. Last Sunday, the sounds of the Mass were so different from what had marked the previous Sunday, and the sights too signaled a change. Even the solitary candle burning in the wreath stood out in the suddenly deepening dark. Adding to this contrast, the sights and sounds of the so-called holiday season surround us everywhere else we go these days. With the relentless necessities that keep us going there, it is easy to discern that this time of prayer offers us something that we need.
A few years ago, a parishioner quoted with enthusiasm a sermon she had heard from a priest in another church. He had told everybody that he wanted them to “relax” during Advent. I can see how someone might get the impression that quiet and reflection are meant to bring about relaxation, but this overlooks the awkward reality that at no time did our Lord tell anybody he loved or called to “relax.” “Reconsider,” maybe; “repent,” definitely. “Rejoice” – well, always, as Saint Paul says.
The call to pull back from the activities that can absorb us during this time is not a call to chill out, but rather a call to retreat from what distracts us and redirect our attention to the God who speaks with the still, small voice. This increase in our attentiveness starts with the admonition to wake up! that we heard on the first Sunday of the season. Stay awake, be alert, lest you miss it; this is not the same thing as relaxing.
May no earthly undertaking hinder those who set out in haste to meet your Son, we pray in the collect of the second Sunday of the season. Set out in haste – again the opposite of trying to be more laid back about things. Yes, it does connote a departure from a certain ‘place,’ a place of mundane preoccupations and busy-ness. But it also makes clear a purposeful and unhesitating moving toward that requires us to let go of all encumbrances and activities that would hinder us. Simplification, surely, but hardly relaxation.
The Son, our Savior, is indeed coming to us, but it is not fitting for us to park ourselves in place and wait for Him to come to us. Watching, waiting, moving, and greeting are our purpose, because of our eagerness for what he brings: our rescue, as the Prayer over the Offerings expresses it.
The marvelous songs and music of this season are filled with both yearning and confidence, and to cultivate both of these is the work that will make a home in our hearts for the One who is to come. His very smallness when He arrive makes it easy for those who are not prepared to miss him, or turn Him away. This we wish to avoid.
The King shall come when morning dawns, and we all know that to welcome the dawn we have to rouse ourselves while it is still dark. That requires that we settle down a little earlier in preparation. Calm down, put other things aside, raise your heads and behold, your redemption is at hand. You know Who is coming, and what he brings. Repentance of all that He abhors is necessary for the readiness to receive what He offers. This readiness leads to rejoicing.
Jerusalem, arise, and stand upon the heights; behold the joy which comes to you from God. This is the Antiphon we recite or sing this Sunday at the time of Holy Communion. Arise, stand, behold; set out in haste; this is the work of the season. Enjoy it; take nourishment from it; give thanks for it. Rejoice by all means, but this is no time to relax.
