A mediaeval time traveller would find December a most puzzling month. In the Middle Ages, Advent was a period of serious preparation for Christmas, days of contemplation on not only the birth of Christ, but the consequences of that event. The prospect of judgement weighed on their minds as they readied themselves to greet Him. Celebrations then began after the Nativity, with twelve days of roistering until normal life resumed, following Epiphany.
Now the festivities are concentrated before 25 December, with the days afterwards a dowdy period of listless lethargy before the New Year, which for many has become a time of penitential fasting. No one any longer treats Advent as a mini Lent, though many people now extend Lent from January to Easter for the sake of their liver, rather than their soul.
Yet, in both the mediaeval and modern world, Christmas is impossible to miss. Even the most resolute atheist cannot avoid Christmas; it dominates the nation’s thinking and the annual cycle of events in a way that Easter no longer does. It sits at the centre of conversation and planning for British households, including those that are not Christian. Christmas endures as a reminder of the centrality of Christianity in these islands. While shop displays suggest the ascendancy of mammon, Christianity remains the source of the season. Hence Catholic families need feel no guilt in enjoying their preparations.
This is especially true for children. Their excitement may be fixed on the presents they hope to receive, but they should understand why gifts are given to them at all. It is because God gave the greatest gift of all time, His only Son, through whom we may be saved.
In the Middle Ages, they had the modesty to assume that salvation was conditional. They were less inclined to the sin of presumption than the modern world, hence their penitential preparations. They sought to be ready to greet their Redeemer, and celebrated only once He arrived, whereas many contemporary believers celebrate in advance, with less fear of judgement, and a greater tendency towards presuming upon salvation.
This imbalance can be tempered by attending Mass and recognising the subtle liturgical shifts that mark Advent. Vestments are purple, save on Gaudete Sunday, when rose is worn. Flowers are absent from the altar, the Gloria is omitted, and marriages are typically not solemnised. These customs, carried forward within the Novus Ordo, preserve a sense of proportion.
In my own family, with six children aged eight to eighteen, Advent inevitably revolves around them. They know why Christmas matters, catechetical instruction has ensured that, and in most years they keep two Advent calendars: one depicting sacred themes, the other a confection of chocolate. You may guess which they prefer.
At school there are carol concerts, and at the Hill House International Junior School, three of my sons, having learned the trumpet, have played Christmas tunes at Peter Jones - Sloane Square. It is a charming sight: boys in knickerbockers and girls in smart frocks, performing familiar airs for the present buying public.
Once term ends, they help their mother to decorate a Christmas tree or two, regarding with frank curiosity the presents gathering beneath it. When they were little, I took them to evening services, and now, being older, they come to Midnight Mass, where I hope the joy of Christ’s birth eclipses, in part, the anticipation of Father Christmas, a generous patron still in their reckoning.
For my own part, I attempt to observe Advent seriously. With Divine Office supplying the full text of the daily Office, far easier to use than a diurnal, I aspire to pray Vespers and Compline nightly, not as a mini Lent, but as a modest vigil before the Nativity.
This is what matters: God did not abandon us when we fell, and it remains a pious hope that He never shall. Though we merited sin’s penalties, a child came into the world, both God and man, to ransom us. That knowledge assures that every Christmas preparation is worthwhile, whether buying a present or giving a Christmas tip, for it is done in thanksgiving for the coming of Christ. Our forefathers did it differently, but the aim was unchanged. We still heed Isaiah when he declared, “The voice of one crying in the desert: Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the wilderness the paths of our God.” That remains the purpose of Advent.
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