The lighting of a candle on the Advent wreath, the meditative moment, the perambulations through sacred spaces, the kneeling at a nativity scene, these are all God times, writes Ann Rennie.
Human beings are no longer good at waiting. We want everything now, immediately, Googling the answer, paying with a smartphone, uploading to TikTok. There is no anticipation, no patience, no gracious waiting, just instant gratification.
In the past, waiting was a necessary part of life; waiting for letters that took six weeks to arrive, waiting for exam results, waiting for news of loved ones, waiting as the fullness of time took its course. But we seem to have lost the art of the slow and tender, of time unspooling in ribbons of reverie, rather than being wrenched open by digital demand.
The gift of time untrammelled, of time slowed and special, seems to be anachronistic in a world that is spinning faster and faster … and losing its way. Human time, chronos, keeps us all in its tight-fisted and tyrannical thrall. We clock on and off. We run to a timetable, squeezing more in, being caught up in improvised importance and self-appointed urgencies, proving our worth by the hours we put in, the busyness we create, the drama of being all things to all people.
Time rarely pools gently around us. Rather it must be charted and regulated and measured, ensuring that not a bit of it is wasted. We no longer daydream. We are enslaved to here and now and hurry and quick and deadline! In our haste to always be doing, we run out of time for the things that really matter.
As we enter the season of Advent on 1 December, we have the opportunity to reacquaint ourselves with a different dimension of time, God’s time, kairos. This is the time of waiting in hopeful expectation, the time of pondering, lingering, reflecting, sitting with ourselves and thinking and praying about what Christmas really means. This is the time for being awakened to the miracle of God in the manger. This is the time for seeing eternity in the birth of the Christ child who comes as one of us.
The lighting of a candle on the Advent wreath, the meditative moment, the prayers that push temporal preoccupations aside, the perambulations through sacred spaces, the kneeling at a nativity scene, these are all God times.
This is where mystery and wonderment and hope live. These kairos moments allow us to step into another dimension, to grasp the freedom of true time-out, to find some elusive peace and quiet. It offers us spiritual recalibration, a go-slow, much needed when we are in constant motion.
These moments enable us to breathe out the giddiness and gaudiness of the Christmas consumer spree. They invite us to breathe in the goodness of that humble birth which changed the shape of history.
Advent is the season of the quiet adventure of the spirit. It is the time to be watchful, to stay awake, to be ready, to wait well for what is coming. Advent leads us to the baby Jesus, as well as reminding us that he will come again in a time of his making.
When we stop, we gather our thoughts and stand back, moving away from the freneticism and distraction that passes for life today. Towards Christmas, this seems to surge in late November with Click Frenzy, Black Friday and Cyber Monday, feverish marketplaces in the desire for more.
Advent provides us with an antidote to these demands. The writer Karen Beattie suggests that what we really need to do is be attentive enough to discern what God is already doing in our lives. We do not have to rush and push and plan manically if we allow ourselves this gift, this present of the present, where we have time to commune meaningfully with God as the Advent calendar of days counts down.
We can find the comfort of calm if we enter into the Advent season with our hearts and minds alert, but not alarmed! Perhaps we can even be a bit countercultural as we honour the Christ in Christmas.
Advent can be for us a time for pausing and preparing, for not getting too carried away with wish-lists and menus and stocking fillers. We know, too, that some of our fellow Australians will not have the joyful time we experience. Here, we can be mindful of our spending and perhaps offer what we can to those agencies that help those who are not as fortunate as we are. At Christmas time, the question What would Jesus do? and its answer is more important than ever.
We can find room for the beloved infant and Mary and Joseph in the inn of our hearts. We can journey with the shepherds and angels and the wise men from the Orient. We can imagine how it was on that first holy night as cattle lowed and stars shone. We can sing out O Come, All Ye Faithful even if we are bit wobbly vocally.
We can watch the primary school nativity play and marvel at the innocence of children whose joyous involvement lifts up our hearts. A borrowed baby lies placidly in a makeshift cradle, dummy in mouth, and a couple of children are dressed as sheep. There are sparkles and spangles and sequins on seraphim. Everyone has a part to play in the retelling of this timeless true story.
I am not advocating a moratorium on all things fun. I, too, love a glass of crisp champagne and lunch and laughter with family. All I want for Christmas are books; a bestseller, a beach read, a couple where the words are more important than the plot, an anthology of poetry. No cooking or gardening books, no self-improvement, perhaps a classic I have yet to read (Middlemarch is looming!)
Pope Francis has spoken of Advent inviting us to a commitment to vigilance, looking beyond ourselves, expanding our mind and heart in order to open ourselves up to the needs of people, of brothers and sisters, and to the desire for a new world. During Advent, we prepare ourselves for the new world coming, which began with the birth of a child in Bethlehem 2000 years ago.
We welcome the Christ child into our homes and hearts and wait patiently, hopefully, expectantly, for the Kingdom that will reign for ever and ever.
O come, O come, Emmanuel!
