As Advent Ends

It has been, this year, an – well, let’s say odd – an odd Advent. Something has been not quite right.


It has been different this year. After some years away from it, my Best Beloved is working in nursing again. That has changed our schedules – hers because of her work schedule, and mine because it’s rearranged how we divide up household responsibilities; and mine, too, simply because on many days my schedule is more flexible.

Veni, veni Emmanuel;
Captivum solve Israel,
Qui gemit in exilio,
Privatus Dei Filio.

Gaude! Gaude! Emmanuel,
Nascetur pro te, Israel!

It’s been busier, and so things haven’t happened at their accustomed pace. Our Christmas tree did not get brought in until 4th Advent. Now, once upon a time that was because of my insistence that really appreciating Advent required holding of on symbols of Christmas, including the tree. (One year we waited until 4th Advent to put it up, and until Candlemas to take it down. Boy, did we vacuum needles that year!) This year it was simply because when we weren’t too busy, we were too tired.


Gifts are purchase, and, blessedly, family members have made that easier. My sons have made me proud, asking for contributions to charity in their names rather than gifts. They’re certainly right that they don’t really need things, and that others do; but others in similar circumstances still have their lists of toys, adjusted for age and income. So, I appreciate them. Still, if it hadn’t been simpler I don’t know quite when or how I’d have done what I wanted to do.

Come, O come, Emmanuel,
and ransom captive Israel,
that morns in lonely exile here
until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!

But what I have noticed most is something smaller, more intimate. I haven’t been singing. I have written at other times of the importance of music, both to console a mood and to create one. In years past as I walked the halls of the hospital I would sing, softly but clearly. I sang for me, primarily, although not so softly that others couldn’t hear. I sang hymns, primarily, and carols for the season. And this year as I’ve run from place to place, I don’t recall singing.

Veni, veni Emmanuel;
Captivum solve Israel,
Qui gemit in exilio,
Privatus Dei Filio.

Gaude! Gaude! Emmanuel,
Nascetur pro te, Israel!

It has been better this week. There is something about the lessons for 4th Advent that turn the corner in my mood, as they are intended to turn the corner in our observance. I preached yesterday on the Visitation, and how it was in many ways our response to Thomas the Forensic (not “Doubting” so much as “Proving”). The concreteness of the kick of an unborn child is in itself confirmation of hope – a confirmation so intimate and so real, even for those of us in the half of humankind who can only feel it from the outside.

And there is today. There are still some 40 hours or so of Advent. There is still some time to hope and to sing and to prepare.

Come, O come, Emmanuel,
and ransom captive Israel,
that morns in lonely exile here
until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!

Watch. Wait. Hope; for the day of the Kingdom is at hand.