On Advent, Darkness, and Transformation

This Sunday ushered in a new liturgical year, where the Church gathers to await the celebration of the coming King with the season of Advent. We call this season "advent" from the Latin adventus, meaning "coming." It is a time to await the Nativity of the Lord, a celebration usually called Christmas here in the West, but also the watch in hope and longing for his second coming. In my tradition this is a season of taking stock, of penance, giving, and reflection. We have the chance to address our need for the Savior, and, as the days shorten and darkness creeps into the corners of our existence, we tend to the flicker of hope that dawns within us. In this time we may see familiar symbols to serve as guideposts along the journey: advent wreaths, candles, special music, and the muted colors of purple and blue to adorn our altars and vestments.

For me it is the encroaching darkness and cold that offers the most stark reminder of the season's offerings. Phileena Heuertz offers a moving meditation on her own journey into the dark night during a season of sabbatical and pilgrimage:

As we let go of physical, mental, and emotional attachments, we abandon ourselves to God and yield without restraint to God's love and grace--for this is sufficient for life's journey...Expressing our truest identity is possible when we are free of false attachments that try to make claim on who we are. These accessories can become quite burdensome and impede our pilgrimage. The spiritual journey has to be made with simplicity and a desire to be free. In darkness, doubt gives rise to important questions. And abandonment allows us to be free from that which threatens to keep us in slumber. - "Pilgrimage of a Soul," 90.

Although Heuertz offers he reflection on the dark night of the soul as described by the Spanish mystic St. John of the Cross, her words are applicable to Advent. As a contrast to the cynical consumerism and rampant excesses of our culture's takeover of the holidays, Advent allows us to detach and tap into the freedom that true intimacy with God provides. In order to experience this intimacy, we need to be stripped of the comforts and things we take for granted in our spiritual journey, these things that the ego and false self demand of us. I am still young, a twenty-five year old male that has benefitted from an abundance of blessings throughout my life. For me, the invitation into transformation came in stages at turns gentle and jarring. There were moments of joy and peace, and others of desolation and seeming abandonment. As I lay recovering in the mental health unit of the hospital over a year ago, I was stripped of all notion of being close to God. The darkness and loneliness there eventually taught me that silence is God's loudest voice, and that only through death to self could I ever experience His presence in a way that did not bend to the feeble will of my self-referential ways.

The message of Advent is deeply prophetic, year after year. Around me the city that I call home still suffers the pain of racial brokenness, concentrated poverty, and gang violence. Around our nation many of my colleagues and friends grapple with the deep divisions brought on by the failure of a Missouri Grand Jury to indict Officer Darren Wilson over the shooting of unarmed black teenager Michael Brown. I am no stranger to the grave injustice felt by many of my friends in the black community. This is not the first time this has happened. It will not be the last. There are many voices speaking to the pain and need for justice in this time. As followers of Jesus we know that only love conquers hate, and in the meantime we do our best to bind old wounds and forge risky new pathways towards peace. For me, there is a time to lament this tragedy. There is also time to celebrate and be thankful for the ways that God continually calls us to conversion. In our Advent liturgy, we say "Come, Lord Jesus."

This season is a gentle invitation to transformation. It is one that deals with the suffering of our personal experience as well as the pain of our brothers and sisters around the world. We cannot be silent or deaf to the voices of our community in Syria, Iraq, Mexico, and other places where darkness creeps in and death seems to take hold. As we say no to the temptations of wealth and comfort and say yes to a God who conquers darkness, we must make friends with the parts of ourselves that yearn for this transformation. We watch, we wait, we hope for a better tomorrow, in which we are reunited with our Beloved. It happened before, and it is promised to happen again. In this posture, I say and invite you to say with me, "Come, Lord Jesus."

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For more resources on Advent, check out Busted Halo's excellent calendar and articles from The Jesuit Post.

My favorite advent music comes from San Diego crew Future of Forestry. They do some excellent renditions of Christmas classics.