Observance of the Church year is among the many reasons that Catholicism makes more sense to me than did the Protestant evangelical tradition from which I converted. The liturgical calendar was not the cause of my conversion, though I now understand that it is inseparable from the theology that drew me to the Church. (Other Christian traditions follow a fixed liturgical calendar, after all, but otherwise differ in substantial ways.)
When I entered the Church, in fact, I don’t remember having any particular appreciation for the pace and meaning of the ecclesial year. Since my conversion some three decades ago, however, the rhythm of the seasons is among the more satisfying and edifying aspects of being Catholic. The liturgical year provides the order and purpose to prayer and worship that is missing in the make-it-up-as-you-go style of evangelicalism.
Advent is the church season that most perfectly embodies the “both/and” nature of Catholic theology. In Advent, we both prepare for the One who has already come and anticipate that He “will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead”, as we confess each Sunday. This broad framework of “both/and” is the framework for other aspects in which Advent exemplifies the wonderful paradoxes of Catholic faith.
In the novel Heavy Weather, P.G. Wodehouse has the character Monty Bodkin explain to Bertie Wooster that there are “wheels with wheels” to the latest scheme into which Bertie is drawn. In typical Wodehousian fashion, the novel contains complex subplots and convoluted schemes within the basic narrative. But these detours contribute to the cohesion of the story and, ultimately, its satisfactory resolution. This is an inexact metaphor for the way I experience Advent.
As the season moves toward its climactic resolution, lots of other things are going on throughout the four weeks. But these wheels within wheels all contribute to the joy of the resolution by which they are ordered and toward which they advance.
Perhaps the most obvious example is that Advent is the season of simultaneous despair of life without a saviour and joyful anticipation of the Saviour that we already know will come. This illustrates the eschatological nature of our faith, both in this season and in the seasons of our lives. The what-is-to-be orders the what-is-not toward itself, giving meaning and purpose even to the anticipation of Christmas.
This tells us that the “space” of Advent is not a liturgical vacuum, or an empty interval. Rather, it is filled with the practices, rituals, and habits the very meaning of which are determined by the goal to which they are ordered. Advent is a season of “substantive emptiness” or “present absence.” We don’t merely endure Advent. Rather, we enter into the spiritual practice of emptiness as we hopefully prepare for the fulness of time.
This is a difficult balance to strike, and it requires intentional, prayerful practice. It is common to confuse the busyness of the Advent season with the business of spiritual preparation for the coming of the Saviour.
This is not to suggest that the busyness is unrelated to the fulfilment. Putting up the decorations, lighting the candles, hosting and attending parties can all be incorporated into the liturgical discipline of the Church. We should avoid being overly scrupulous in this regard.
But these things are mere distractions if they are not ordered to the fulfilment of their purpose on Christmas morning. We are preparing for the Guest, but He has not yet arrived. If we forget the purpose of our preparation, we are less likely to recognise the One for whom we prepare.
If we understand that the wheels-within-wheels of Advent is for the purpose of prayerful preparation, we can enjoy the spiritual benefit of both anticipation and fulfilment. And this teaches us a rich and rewarding lesson about our faith more broadly considered.
We live in a time of constant political, social and economic turmoil, aggravated by social media. This can cause even the most hopeful among us to veer toward frustration, or even despair.
Advent, then, can be the period in which we remind ourselves that this interval of turmoil is not the end of our moral and spiritual lives. Advent is, indeed, a distraction.
But properly considered and intended, the distraction can be from the anxieties of our age, for the purpose of ordering our lives to the consolation of heavenly peace. This is what I meant by referring to the eschatological nature of our faith. The hope of Heaven orders us toward itself, to be sure. But until the end of times, this hope of Heaven feeds our faith in the here and now.
The Church’s liturgical calendar is both the product of our faith and the means by which faith is preserved and perpetuated.
No season exemplifies that reality more than the wheels-within-wheels season of Advent, culminating in our final end, which is to worship our Lord on knees that are bent, in both humility and gratitude.
