Advent & the Long Disappointment
As we enter the season of Advent, we have included below is a guestpost from Ann Schneible that warrants revisiting. Schneible has previously written for Zenit and Catholic News Agency as a Rome correspondent, a collaborator for Vatican Radio, and a translator for L'Osservatore Romano.
It is a time of darkness, of faith. We shall not see Christ’s radiance in our lives yet; it is still hidden in our darkness; nevertheless, we must believe that he is growing in our lives; we must believe it so firmly that we cannot help relating everything, literally everything, to this almost incredible reality.
- Caryll Houslander
On the morning of the first Sunday of Advent, my house was a bit of a wreck. I had hoped to have my act together, to spend the preceding week working through all of the chores and organizational projects that were normally neglected during a typical work week, carefully waiting until Saturday to begin decorating for Advent. It was my goal to wake up that first morning of the liturgical year, refreshed with Bible in hand, wreath perfectly assembled, tasteful decorations displayed, my small apartment finally decluttered. My Advent would start with prayer and meditation, followed by Mass at a parish where I knew the liturgy would be beautiful. I was ready to embark cheerfully on my journey towards Christmas with the joyful aestheticism of a contemplative monk.
Things did not quite work out that way. The week before had proven to be far less productive than I had envisioned, as some recent events in my personal life had left me emotionally, physically, and spiritually drained and disoriented. Rather than going to Mass on Sunday as I had hoped, prudence dictated that I instead attend the anticipatory Mass on Saturday evening due to an impending snowstorm. On Sunday, I stayed in bed far longer than necessary, exhausted to my bones, and a little frustrated with God.
Not the prayerful spirit I was hoping to have.
In the prophetic readings leading up to the end of the liturgical year, the Church calls us to reflect on the End Times. This year, in my own little way, I felt like one of the straggling survivors of the apocalyptic desolation prophesied in these Scriptures: hardened, keeping to the faith out of sheer will, hopeful of Christ’s coming, but frustrated nonetheless.
This is where the Church, in guiding us through these seasons, draws her wisdom and compassion from the history of salvation. As the liturgical year draws to a close, the Church invites us to reflect on the Apocalypse, in part so that we are not taken unawares when Christ comes again, but also so that we might fully appreciate the ages of desolation which preceded His first coming.
By faith, we know that the great act of disobedience committed by our first parents led to the catastrophic rupture in the relationship between God and man; however, we rarely consider the personal toll this event took on those who lived after. As the world waited for the Redeemer, mankind would suffer in a world ravaged by sin, deprived of the healing consolation of the Sacraments which we, in a post-Resurrection world, enjoy. At times, God would remind His people of His Promise through the shouts of mad and holy prophets. For most of the inhabitants of those ages, however, the Promise was heard as little more than a whisper, inscribed in an ancient law and tradition, often mingled with lamentations. Generation after generation, the Chosen People held fast - fulfilling the temple sacrifices out of obedience, following the dictates of the law and prophets - but few would live to see it fulfilled. Although frequently stubborn and infuriatingly uncooperative, as a whole, they stayed faithful.
By the time the Messiah finally entered the world, those who had remained were the last survivors in a dystopian wasteland. Their waiting extended not only through their individual lifetimes, but all the way back to their earliest ancestors.
It is in this generational weariness, this hope, this waiting, that the prophet Simeon’s first encounter with the Christ child finds its catharsis.
“At last, all-powerful Master, you give leave to your servant to go in peace, according to your promise. For my eyes have seen your salvation...”
If the burdens which we carry through Advent are heavy, we should not think that we are “doing it wrong” by recognizing their heaviness, for Advent is a cathartic season, not just a celebratory one. Rather, pray for healing and guidance. Tell Him your desires and your disappointments. Repent. Trust in His plan. Know that Christ is with you, a Companion in suffering.
We are in the habit of approaching Advent as a season for celebration, but it is also a call to repentance, because our salvation is at hand. Indeed, while not as severe as Lent, the liturgy of the Church calls for purple vestments as a reminder that it is, in fact, a season of penance. It is a time in which we repent of our sins and carry our burdens, with only our faith to guide us along a path we cannot see, towards a destination we cannot know until we arrive. It was in the dead of night that the shepherds looked for Jesus after they had heard the announcement of His birth from the angels. It was a single star which led the Wise Men to the Christ Child. In order to fully appreciate the Light of the World, we must actively seek Him the darkness, keeping our eyes open to the signs of His coming.
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