Joy Netanya Moyal
Monday, 28 November 2011
There were a few years there when I hated Christmas. Sure, I could bop along with the rest of them to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” but I’d had it with the obligatory gift-giving and its accompanying pressure, the crowded parking lots and the way that Target, from Black Friday till New Year’s, becomes a living hell.
Everything—from cookie decorating and eggnog to “Silent Night”—felt tired and overly familiar and had a tinny hollowness to it. I’m not much into presents, so once I grew out of my childlike excitement over Cabbage Patch dolls, the glow of Christmas morning quickly faded.
But last year, something changed. Early in December, I dipped a toe into the season of Advent and ended up fully submerged and swimming in it. Advent—the time of waiting and anticipation leading up to Christmas—is a new concept for a born-and-bred Pentecostal like me. And as I’ve let myself be caught up in the current of longing and mystery, I’ve also realized that at Christmastime I am caught up in something much bigger than myself. This year, when I sing “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” or read the Magnificat, wonder surrounds me like a swirling mist as I ponder the mystery of God becoming man, and know that in the pondering itself I participate in an ancient ritual. How did I miss this before? How could I skate over Christmas for 25 years without tripping over the earth-rocking love that makes God become a helpless baby?
I came to this season of Advent hungry, and the sweet, melt-in-your-mouth morsels offered by a commercialized Christmas weren’t going to cut it. Strangely, everything I read about Advent intensified my hunger instead of satisfying it. In her poem “After Annunciation,” Madeleine L’Engle writes:
This is the irrational season
When love blooms bright and wild.
Had Mary been filled with reason
There’d have been no room for the child.
http://www.relevantmagazine.com/god/deeper-walk/blog/27430-how-advent-saved-christmas