What is really going to change at Christmas?
I wondered this as I struggled through a very turbulent Advent. The season was burdened beyond my strength to carry and strung with regular breakdowns. People kept trying to encourage me by saying Christmas break was coming, but I only felt dread at the huge workload built up to fill any amount of "time off." Ground down to a state of rawness, old feelings were exposed and burned redder. Old hopes were still deferred, swollen by time. Inadequacies were confirmed by repeated failures, and disappointments seemed perfectly timed for Advent verses including such phrases as "the night is advanced" (Romans 13), "on that very day his plans perish" (Psalm 146), and "take as an example of hardship and patience" (James 5). I felt like "the desert and the parched land" in Isaiah 35, but I knew that would not go away just because the calendar advanced from December 24 to 25. It's unpleasant to admit, but my thoughts were stuck on the fact that Jesus was already born and he wasn't going to be born in some new way at Christmas. He came a long time ago and it didn't change the reality that I was miserable.
I did know, at least, that there was a point to the misery. Every wave of unfulfilled longing could push me further out from the illusion that earthly things fulfill. Part of the purpose of liturgical seasons like Lent and Advent is to isolate the ache for God. I was definitely aching, and doing my best to orient that in the direction of Heaven. But Heaven was still just as far away as before I pointed my pain toward it, and it (probably) still would be when Advent ended in bells and feasting. How could I set aside the pain for joy at Christmas?
The Church is wise to recognize the holy place of suffering in God's redemptive plan for us. Friday penances, Lenten fasts and Advent practices all draw our attention to this. For those who are already suffering, liturgy comes alongside and lift up what is already there (as it did for me this December). But of course the patterns of our lives don't follow systematic calendars, and sometimes liturgy interjects suffering into an otherwise happy season as a difficult reminder or discipline. That is how I have usually experienced penitential seasons, but this year Christmas became the difficult interjection - the reminder of the holy place of joy in God's plan.
The same thoughts and feelings still weigh on me even now that the priest wears white instead of purple. But the practice and discipline of joy means that I choose to spend time in thoughts of Christ's victory. He will surely come again! The surety comes from the knowledge that he already came and put into motion the victory that cannot be reversed. Right now it's easy to focus on the ways I am apart from Him and suffering for it. But it's my duty to remember that He will raise me to Himself. From here, the road ahead looks long and painful, but from Heaven it will appear beautiful because it will have led me home to my God. It is an exercise of hope and trust to place my mind in that state of future joy, and in that perspective to celebrate the season. The thoughts on which I choose to focus are what change at Christmas: "the day is at hand," "let us go rejoicing to the house of the Lord," "indeed we call blessed those who have persevered," "the desert and the parched land will exult," "a savior has been born to you."
I wondered this as I struggled through a very turbulent Advent. The season was burdened beyond my strength to carry and strung with regular breakdowns. People kept trying to encourage me by saying Christmas break was coming, but I only felt dread at the huge workload built up to fill any amount of "time off." Ground down to a state of rawness, old feelings were exposed and burned redder. Old hopes were still deferred, swollen by time. Inadequacies were confirmed by repeated failures, and disappointments seemed perfectly timed for Advent verses including such phrases as "the night is advanced" (Romans 13), "on that very day his plans perish" (Psalm 146), and "take as an example of hardship and patience" (James 5). I felt like "the desert and the parched land" in Isaiah 35, but I knew that would not go away just because the calendar advanced from December 24 to 25. It's unpleasant to admit, but my thoughts were stuck on the fact that Jesus was already born and he wasn't going to be born in some new way at Christmas. He came a long time ago and it didn't change the reality that I was miserable.
I did know, at least, that there was a point to the misery. Every wave of unfulfilled longing could push me further out from the illusion that earthly things fulfill. Part of the purpose of liturgical seasons like Lent and Advent is to isolate the ache for God. I was definitely aching, and doing my best to orient that in the direction of Heaven. But Heaven was still just as far away as before I pointed my pain toward it, and it (probably) still would be when Advent ended in bells and feasting. How could I set aside the pain for joy at Christmas?
The Church is wise to recognize the holy place of suffering in God's redemptive plan for us. Friday penances, Lenten fasts and Advent practices all draw our attention to this. For those who are already suffering, liturgy comes alongside and lift up what is already there (as it did for me this December). But of course the patterns of our lives don't follow systematic calendars, and sometimes liturgy interjects suffering into an otherwise happy season as a difficult reminder or discipline. That is how I have usually experienced penitential seasons, but this year Christmas became the difficult interjection - the reminder of the holy place of joy in God's plan.
The same thoughts and feelings still weigh on me even now that the priest wears white instead of purple. But the practice and discipline of joy means that I choose to spend time in thoughts of Christ's victory. He will surely come again! The surety comes from the knowledge that he already came and put into motion the victory that cannot be reversed. Right now it's easy to focus on the ways I am apart from Him and suffering for it. But it's my duty to remember that He will raise me to Himself. From here, the road ahead looks long and painful, but from Heaven it will appear beautiful because it will have led me home to my God. It is an exercise of hope and trust to place my mind in that state of future joy, and in that perspective to celebrate the season. The thoughts on which I choose to focus are what change at Christmas: "the day is at hand," "let us go rejoicing to the house of the Lord," "indeed we call blessed those who have persevered," "the desert and the parched land will exult," "a savior has been born to you."
