Living Between Two Advents—The Rabbit Room’s Virtual Advent Wreath
Over the course of the next several weeks leading up to Christmas, we are going to offer a series of weekly posts to tell again the story of the birth of Christ, and we’re going to offer them as a sort of a “Virtual Advent Wreath.” If you are unfamiliar with Advent Wreaths, here’s a short description of what they mean and how to make one of your own.
As a kid, I marked time by its proximity to Christmas. I had good reason for measuring time this way. With the cold and often snowy Indiana winters of my youth, together with the warm home my parents created for us, the Christmas I knew was everything a little kid could want it to be. It was never overrated.
Never.
Two things were at work in the mind of this little boy as the big day drew near—memory and anticipation. It was so exhilarating to watch the space beneath the tree begin to fill up with gifts bearing my name—treasures of incalculable worth. I would shake them, listen to them, smell them and contemplate their heft. It almost didn’t matter what they were. They were for me. Their presence alone was intoxicating.
With impressions like these securely fixed and coupled with the overall sense that each holiday season tended to be better than the one before, by the time Christmas Eve rolled around my memories and anticipation played off of one another with a greater potency than a stout cup of coffee coursing through the veins of this ten year old boy attempting to comply with his orders to go to sleep.
This, in itself, is a memory that warms my heart even now.
What is Christmas if not a holiday built upon memory and anticipation? It is a day we celebrate by remembering something that really happened—the first coming of Jesus Christ, born meek and lowly as a humble king wrapped in swaddling clothes all those years ago.
It is also a day to anticipate something we’re still waiting for—Jesus’ return in power as a mighty King with the words “Lord of Lords” illuminating His blazing robe. (Rev 19:16)
We live between these two advents—Jesus’ first and second coming. The word “advent” comes from a Latin root meaning “coming to.” The first advent has already happened. Jesus came to earth in the form of a baby born in a manger in Bethlehem. The second advent we’re still waiting for. This is where Christians today live—between the already and the not yet.
Through the centuries, Christians have remembered His first coming to earth to be our Immanuel (meaning “God with Us”) and anticipated His return by taking time in the weeks leading up to Christmas day to observe a season of remembering and anticipation, which we call “Advent.”
The aim of the series of the posts for this virtual Advent Wreath is to guide you through an observance of this season of remembering and anticipating the coming of our Lord and King, Jesus Christ.
Here, we’ll remember the story of how before Jesus’ birth, God’s people longed for His forgiveness in order that they might be restored to a right relationship with Him. God’s promised remedy was that He would send them a Savior.
We’ll remember their anticipation from the vantage point of seeing how and, more importantly, Who God provided to fulfill that covenant. And we’ll remember the story of Jesus’ birth and the events surrounding it—that true tall tale of the coming of Christ.
We’ll also look ahead to Jesus’ return—an event inseparably joined to His birth in Bethlehem. The reason He came in the first place, taking on flesh and blood, was to offer up that body on the cross in order to die in the place of the sinners He came to save. When He rose from the grave on Easter morning, He defeated the power of sin and death.
However, although His work on the cross was perfect and complete in accomplishing our salvation, the world in which we live is one that is still very broken and filled with sickness, disaster and many other kinds of suffering and sadness.
Christmas is a perfect time not only to remember the longing of those who awaited Christ’s first coming, but to yearn ourselves for His return when all shall be made well. We live between two advents, between what we remember and what we anticipate. We are in the middle of an unfolding story filled with harrowing journeys, murderous rulers, shepherds conversing with angels, wise nomads coming from the east and apostles sailing to the west.
Somehow, by the preserving grace of God, the story of this baby boy born in that stable outside the streets of David’s town has found its way across oceans and centuries to you, right here, right now.
A.S. Peterson has crafted a work of compelling historical fiction which begs the question, “Can this really be a debut novel?” With dogged fidelity, Peterson captures the spirit, manners, and social conditions present during the American Revolutionary War. We meet colorful, credible characters who navigate the high seas of life and love, dependence and independence, war and peace, truth and consequence, and despite forays into dark places, The Fiddler’s Gun is beautiful, lyrical, and redemptive.
Walt Wangerin, Jr. strikes again.
Janner Igiby lives in Glipwood, a nothing little village in the land of Skree, on the edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. Manhood is on the horizon, but Janner finds it hard to feel much hope for the future. Skree is ruled by foreign oppressors, snake men called the Fangs of Dang, servants of a shadowy emperor named Gnag the Nameless. The Skreeans are weak and weaponless. They’re even tool-less. Any Skreean who needs to use a hoe has to borrow one from the Fangs (and fill out the requisite paperwork). And from time to time, the Black Carriage arrives in Glipwood to carry young Skreeans toward an unknown fate across the Dark Sea.
I am not a fan of Civil War literature; in fact, I have always thought of it as one of those weird sub-genres for obsessive types. They’re almost like Trekkies with their re-enactments and maniacal devotion to detail. It’s just not my thing (although I’m secretly jealous that they get to dress up and shoot cannons).
A Randall Goodgame song is like a great independent movie. Characters deliver lines like they were lifted from a break room, a truck stop, or a downtown diner. Seemingly incongruent scenes are juxtaposed and plot isn’t obvious; in fact, narrative–a good story–is often more evident than linear plot lines. An indie movie, like a Randall Goodgame song, seems to tell itself. Rather than being rudely yanked by a chain through a sequence of contrived events, with a Randall Goodgame song, I have the sense that I’m being allowed a willing, but vicarious sneak peak into the real lives of his real characters.
Sara Groves irritates me just a little bit. With each album she makes, she moves from strength to strength and is always raising the bar with the quality, depth, and lyrical ambition of her work. And as a fellow artist, that’s just a little irritating since it means the rest of us are going to have to work harder if we hope to keep up.
I am outside on my front porch. The yellowed leaves are methodically falling from the black walnut in the yard, my breath is chalky visible in the recent cold snap, and lately I have been exploring the unpleasant nuances of the dark night of a soul - my own, to be exact. It is a strange passion we live out on this over-glorified orb of rock hurtling through space at some rate that I’m sure would astound me were I to know what it was. It is an odd series of days, I am realizing, when you question your own faith more than you question your own doubt. And, indeed, it is these nagging questions which have prompted me to share my thoughts on Andrew Peterson’s 2003 album, Love and Thunder.
11-year old Reuben Land, a character in the 2001 book Peace Like a River, provides narration that is clear-eyed and insightful, yet retains the magic, wonder, and innocence of youth. I found it easy to entrust my imagination to the author’s clever method of telling the story through the sensibilities of a pre-teen boy. An author with lesser skill would have either made the boy too smart-alecky for his own good or impossibly cute.
I just finished a book that upon closing it, I felt like it finished me in a sense. A quiet meditative book that reached down and stirred the deep waters in me. It’s Marilynne Robinson’s 2005 Pulitzer prize winner Gilead, given to me by my friend Andrew Peterson.
Eric Peters’s body of work addresses a diverse range of topics, but hope is a recurring theme that gently percolates in the midst of it all. And yet, somewhere between the 2001 masterpiece Land of the Living, and Scarce, the flavor of hope that Peters’s work emits has evolved closer to a tone that is more resolute than what came before. And though the complexion of hope has a broad range, the lyrics from Scarce–while intermittently contrite and timorous as in previous efforts, are now strengthened and bolstered by roots that have grown deeper, radiating an underlying grit and security.
Having read The Great Divorce many times over the years, I’ve found this classic from the great C.S. Lewis to be full of startling clarity and depth on the differences between Heaven and Hell. The only thing both have in common is that both begin in the human will; we can either let Heaven enter us and rule in us to blossom into love and goodness, or allow Hell to infect and reign in our hearts by the daily refusal to submit to Heaven.
Even if you haven’t heard Room to Breathe, its still likely you’ve heard Andy Gullahorn. He’s what I’d call a heavy lifter by trade. He writes lyrics, plays guitar, arranges vocals and adds production help to the work of artists like Jill Phillips and Andrew Peterson.
Allow me to preface this by telling you that I am a great despiser of gushing reviews. I’d much rather write (or read) a scathing dismemberment of the latest Brett Ratner film or Terry Goodkind book than suffer through four hundred words of overblown hyperbole about even the best of things. But when asked to write some thoughts on Frederick Buechner’s Godric, no amount of distaste for high praise was able to intervene. I hope you’ll take what I say with the understanding that I do not say it readily or lightly.
Terrific idea. Thanks to whoever thought of it.
What a beautiful idea!!
In all my years I’ve never had an Advent wreath or calendar. This will be my first “guided anticipation” of Advent. I can’t wait to begin. Thank you Russ.
I’m delighted to read of the upcoming Advent wreath here. I grew up in a family where we actually celebrated Advent, lighting the wreath, reading OT prophecies, singing, the works. Now that I’m abroad for a year, I’m sad to miss my family’s traditions — so I will enjoy the virtual version here.
It’s nearly time to start singing “O Come O Come Emmanuel” which is one of my favourite Christmas songs — though it’s really an Advent song.
We have celebrated Advent with our children for the last few years, though our church doesn’t formally recognize it. It’s one of the highlights of our year. Our children love turning off all the lights and observing how dark everything is, and then as each candle is lit, week by week, the room becomes brighter and we can see more clearly. It is truly a beautiful physical representation of the joy and anticipation we feel as we approach celebrating the Incarnation. This year we’re going to try to make a “Jesse” tree as well, with the various readings from the Old Testament that point to the Coming of Christ. I look forward to reading the Advent reflections here…such a beautiful and quiet way to push back against the rampant consumerism that has come to define this time of year. Thanks!
I remember the advent season well, growing up in the church. Each week the church would chose a different family to share a story and read a verse from the gospel pertaining to the theme of that week’s Advent candle. Then the family got to light the candle together. My earliest memories I recall are of me sitting in the pew anxiously awaiting which family got to participate in the advent festivities for the week and light the all important candle. When ours was chosen, I was exstatic and had to fight with my older brothers over who actually did the lighting. Being the smallest, and the only girl, I often lost the battle, but still enjoyed sharing a story with the congregation. My parents would let me read from the Gospel or share one of my poems. My husband and I have spent the better part of two years searching for a church family now that we have moved back to Ohio, and I have reluctantly missed out on the lighting of the Advent Wreath because of it. Thanks for evoking such strong, joyful memories. You have inspired me to make and Advent wreath to share with my family this year in hopes that my three year old son will begin anticipating the season with joyful celebration of the first Advent, while anxiously awaiting the Advent to come.
PS…I know I can’t spell…exstatic=ecstatic.
…hope you don’t mind my bringing some attention to your excellent site
http://wesroberts.typepad.com/wes/2008/11/excellent-advent-series.html
…you encourage this olde soul
…thank you!!!