“The First Advent of Christ began the reconciliation of all things — and that now begs our participation.
And the Second Advent will be the consummation of all things — and that now begs our anticipation.
Advent is about the practice of ardent participation in the Kingdom of God — and the ardent anticipation of the King.
Practicing participation and anticipation is how we practice Advent.
Practicing participation and anticipation is how we practice Advent.
The question Advent is really asking is: How can we blaze with ardent participation in the reconciliation of all things ——and the ardent anticipation of the Lord in all things?”
-From Ann Voskamp, “The (Gentle) Way Into Advent that You Need”
December. I’m not sure when I fell in love with it, but it is my month now, and winter is my season. I feel a sense of awe breaking forth into my normal days, as I prepare my heart for Jesus’ birth. I’ve never celebrated Advent the way I am this year– setting aside time each morning and evening to contemplate Jesus’ birth. It’s changing me: deepening my sense of wonder. Enriching my understanding. Everything in history points to Jesus, and every weary soul needs Him. I know this on an intimate level. I feel something like the pains of love—but so much greater—as a longing for Him undergirds everything I do.
Loving December isn’t new for me. I love celebrating Jesus’ birth and I love Christmas, I always have. Love is so big, I’ve heard, that it can only be contained in the littlest things, the smallest acts of kindness. As I inventory the little things I love about December, my list becomes staggering. Baking Springerle cookies, snow white and embossed with intricate designs. Hanging them on the tree, with chocolate ribbon, or presenting them on silver trays. Cutting pine, and making so many bouquets and garlands that my fingers become sticky with sap. Finding bits of evergreen in every coat pocket I own. Wrapping literal brown paper packages with ribbon and bits of green. The smoky fragrance of cedar, which I insist to everyone is like popcorn. Coming up with beautiful gift ideas, and longing to give, to bless, to see the light in others’ eyes. Lighting candles and playing hymns. Wearing furs and hats and a favorite pair of leather gloves. Listening to children’s choirs and attending candlelight services. Sending up Advent prayers and writing in my journal, by the fireside. Curling up with my pup and giving her a velvet ribbon to wear. Reading Christmas stories with super happy endings. Remembering those endless hours ice skating, and performing to ‘O Holy Night’ in a shimmering white dress. Everything feels like an offering, like a prayer, if a sense of wonder and awe for Jesus’ birth motivates it.
All these little things have caused me to love winter. But this winter, I’ve come to experience a love and a sense of wonderment that transcends these things.
Everyone who knows me well knows that I want to marry in December. They’ve seen the gowns I love, gorgeous confections that appear to be frosted with flowers. They know my deep love for lily of the valley, my favorite flower. They’ve seen my wintery, subtle approach to styling tables. Most everyone knows I go weak in the knees over Scandinavian elements—the Springerle cookies, woodsy things, fur throws, candles. I still feel wonderment and am still capable of being enchanted, especially in December. I love the look and the feel of this month, and if I could, I would live forever in the hopeful feeling I associate with December.
For this post, I wanted to create a white cake, a hopeful little thing, complete with Scandi chic trees. I like sweet, pretty things that I can make with my hands. Things that feel innocent and pure. This little cake reminds me of the December wedding I want. It felt like a connection between Christmases past, present, and future. But this post quickly became less about the cake, and more about the joy, the eternal joy, that’s filling my heart.
My love for December is, after all, about so much more than these rituals– lovely though they may be. It’s about more than the longing for love and an innate attraction to snow and cold. More than gift-giving and childlike joy. Something more wonderful and fearful overcomes my soul. I feel a deepening sense of awe for all that Jesus has done to reconcile us to God. And I see December as the time we prepare our hearts for His Advent, and wait for Him. I see December as the time we come and adore Him, and our hearts swell in praise and worship for Jesus, our Savior. It is a month of great adoration and anticipation.
My mind returns again and again to the angels’ announcement to shepherds. I think of them “glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen” (Luke 2:20). I can’t imagine their joy at witnessing the Miracle firsthand, but I do know something of this joy. We participate in this same joy as we proclaim Jesus as our Savior, and allow His Saving Presence to change our lives. To comfort us. To reconcile us. To fill us with longing. When my heart fills with praise, especially at Christmastime, I realize that all of God’s children are connected to that moment in Luke. We were made to rejoice at the Advent of our Savior.
So many of our most cherished Christmas hymns celebrate this precise moment.
Angels we have heard on high
Sweetly singing o’er the plains
And the mountains in reply
Echoing their joyous strains
Gloria, in excelsis Deo!
Gloria, in excelsis Deo!
Shepherds, why this jubilee?
Why your joyous strains prolong?
What the gladsome tidings be
Which inspire your heavenly song?
Come to Bethlehem and see
Him whose birth the angels sing
Come, adore on bended knee,
Christ the Lord, the newborn King
I think of angels worshipping Jesus at His birth. I think how little we give Him who deserves all—all our praise, worship, adoration, service, and sustained awe. I think of how long earth waited for this Miracle, and I think how we are here, longing and looking for Him still.
More and more, I am understanding the ancient longing for the Messiah. The watching and waiting of a people for their Deliverer. I read the prophecies and I understand. I understand the desperateness that has always been our condition, the dire need for a Savior. I feel the longing that belongs to us now: the yearning for His Second Advent. The more joy I find in contemplating Him, the wearier I grow of my present condition. I want praise unencumbered by sin. A life without separateness. I want to be near Him and worship Him without fear. I want a home with Him. I will never stop watching, waiting, and longing. In many ways, celebrating Advent has stirred this longing in me. I wasn’t waiting, wasn’t anticipating quite like this, until now.
I hear the tender directive in Luke—“Do not be afraid”—and I give myself permission to experience joy. Do not be afraid. How often is that repeated in Scripture? How often does my own soul need these words? Fear is the natural response when we witness God’s glory. But could it be, that we are allowed to experience joy in His presence? For “behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people” (2:10). I read psalms and listen to hymns and contemplate the miracle that reconciled us to God. I think of all that Jesus has done to reunite us; I think of His perfect life, His sacrifice. Awe is the appropriate response to so great a Love. Awe contains both reverent fear and joy.
As I listen to Christmas hymns, I find that I listen also to songs about Jesus’ return. Lately, I’ve been loving the song “10,000” by John Mark McMillian. A beautiful song that recalls beloved Scriptures (John 16:33, 1 John 4:4, Revelation 3:21, Ephesians 5:22-4) with imagery of Christ and the bride He returns for. The chorus issues a triumphant refrain: “World, I’ve overcome you…” I look forward to the Second Advent and the time when we can leave behind fear, sin, death, pain, tears, and separation. This life is so worth living—how beautiful is a life surrendered to God!—but true home is elsewhere. Any contemplation ofthe First Advent should point us to the Second Advent, and fill us with anticipation for it. Any contemplation of Jesus’ birth should point us to Jesus’ death and resurrection, and fill us with awe, pierce our hearts, over the Miracle.
So I spend time in Luke, in the moments when the angels worship Jesus at His birth. These readings naturally lead me to Revelation 4 and 5, when we see Jesus in His glorious splendor, and read the most ecstatic account of praise in all of Scripture. Angels and living creatures and elders encircle His throne and fall at His feet. The voice of many angels praise Jesus– voices “numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand” (Rev. 5:11). We have never known a King like this. No one has ever given us more, could ever prove His love in a more convincing way. I keep returning to these two accounts of praise—of angels worshipping Jesus at His birth, and then again in heaven. The First Advent always opens our hearts to the Second Advent.
I try to keep these things fresh in my mind as I navigate “normal” life. Throughout the day, no matter what I have to do, I usually have to remind myself to not be afraid, to not be weak, to not be selfish, to remember my calling. Even when it’s December and life is uncommonly beautiful, I have moments of feeling fractured, inadequate, afraid. I participate in all the familiar Christmas rituals. I bake a white cake, and light three candles. Even though my environment is beautiful and my life is so good, I feel the pain of my own shortcomings and sinfulness.
And yet I feel grace silently rising, transcending these things. This was never about me. (Ephesians 2:9). My performance will never be enough for God; I will always need a Savior. “Now to Him who is able to keep you from stumbling, And to present you faultless before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy,” reads the beloved verse in Jude (1:24). He is able to present me faultless before God—it is not my about works, but my trust in His salvation. My anxieties here remain, but my joy is becoming fuller.
“Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy” (Luke 2:10). I allow joy to supplant my fear. In the face of God’s glorious splendor, I can do nothing but praise. And when I praise God, my supposed needs and my little fears are forgotten. Praise enables us to come to Him, needing nothing, desiring nothing, but His heart.
This December, this Advent, my heart has been reawakened to wonder and awe. To unmatched joy. I allow myself to breathe: I am safe not only now but forever. I light each Advent candle and allow the joy to rise up within me. How infinite is the love of God. How alive is our Hope. We are here and we long to be where He is. But one day we will be there, and until then we wait, actively.
We wait by participating in our great calling—by serving, by loving, by putting our needs second. By allowing ourselves to experience joy. By worshipping and praying and praising God. By loving our families and abandoning ourselves to moments of righteous joy. By shedding tears for others and for other injustices, and doing what we can, however small, to spread Light. By silencing our hearts and waiting in stillness before God. By remembering, again and again, the miracle of Jesus’ birth, His life, His death, His resurrection, His return. It is a small price to pay: that we experience God’s benefits and thank Him for them. That we hear God’s commandments and keep them. That we experience the miracle of salvation and remember to be grateful for it.
December. It’s not simply about loving the month and loving the Christmas rituals. It’s about loving Jesus and preparing our hearts for His Advent. And allowing all of our joy to flow from our contemplations of Him. How much we have to be joyful for. Rejoice.
