Expectation

Even in churches that don't normally follow the liturgical calendar, Advent is something to take note of. My friends and family certainly know that I am one of those people that drive Scrooges crazy. I've been known to play Christmas music in October, and bake my favorite Christmas cookies in the middle of summer. But Advent--those four Sundays before Christmas--is when I really love to celebrate.

I think that every child understands what it means to anticipate Christmas, if that is the holiday that he or she celebrates. If only for the presents under the tree, a child will wait with eager anticipation. I remember when I was very small, my aunt would send cardboard Advent calendars from Germany, where her husband was stationed with the army. From December 1st until Christmas morning, we would open a small door to reveal a piece of chocolate. When we were older, my brother and I had a felt Advent calendar with a pocket for each day, and a small gift to be opened for each of us. All of this built up the excitement and anticipation for the big day, Christmas day. No matter how little money we had, and there were times when we had very little, my parents always made certain that there was something under the tree.

As we age, however, I think that this time of the year brings only more duties, more social engagements. There is more traveling and less time to remember "the reason for the season." I have many female friends who are mothers with attitudes that are more Scrooge-like than joyful. There is too much to do and too little time to do it in. Dread replaces anticipation, and relief replaces joy on Christmas morning.

Aside from Advent, Lent and Easter is the other big celebration on the church calendar, although I'm not sure that you can call Lent a celebration, even if it has its own stark beauty. I imagine there are those who prefer Easter, because there is less to do. Lent and Easter, aside from the Easter candy and bunny decorations, largely go unremarked by the world. That holy time has a tendency to slip under the radar, which is rather fitting when you think about it.

But if Lent is about self-denial and self-sacrifice, culminating in the celebration of our redemption, Advent is about anxious expectation. We wait for something wonderful, for the thing that will change our lives and turn the whole world upside down. We celebrate the waiting, knowing that the gift of anticipation is one to be savored. Who doesn't remember the feeling on Christmas morning, when all the presents are unwrapped, when you wish you could have waited just a little longer? Advent, then, is the knowledge of Mary, knowing that God had called her to bear His Son, and knowing that his birth would bring new life and hope to her people. I often wonder if Mary, who "treasured these things up in her heart" had any idea what was to come, what she and her son would be called to endure.

Expectation, anticipation, has taken on new meaning for me this year, as I recently got engaged. It is no stretch to say that my fiance and I are eagerly anticipating the day that we are to be married, when our lives will finally become one. We await something good, something holy, that will change our lives in ways both expected and unexpected. I imagine that I will learn something new about expectation again when (Lord willing) I am pregnant, and I eagerly anticipate the birth.

Right now, however, we are in the in between time, knowing what is to come, at least a little, and yet unable to hurry it up. I have learned a lot, however, and this Advent season means more to me than have others. I know what it is to await the changing of your world now, the knowledge that what you face is both an ending and a beginning. I have some small understanding of what Mary must have felt, awaiting the day when her life would change irrevocably.

And I am learning to find joy in the in between times.

Palm Sunday

If you know anything about the Christian calendar, you are probably aware that today is Palm Sunday, and that it is the beginning of Holy Week. If you are a Christian and attend a more traditional church, you will likely spend this week recreating the final week of Jesus' earthly life, from his triumphal entry to his resurrection Easter morning. Having never been part of a truly liturgical church, I have generally skipped right from Palm Sunday to Easter without spending much time on Maundy Thursday or Good Friday, and I think that might present something of a problem.

In most churches, Palm Sunday is the day when the children come in, sometimes singing, sometimes not, waving palm branches. Most of them have goofy grins on their faces, happy to be the center of attention for a little while, or perhaps they're happy to have a way to participate in the service. The songs for Palm Sunday services are generally triumphal in tone, mirroring the songs of the people in Jerusalem as Jesus came riding in, singing "Hosanna in the highest."

The irony, of course, is that those who cheered him on, as recorded in the Gospels, were calling for his death just a few short days later. They thought that they were getting a Prophet King who would restore Israel's fortunes and free the people from their Roman oppressors. What they got was a suffering servant, "a man of sorrows, and well acquainted with grief." Even though we should know better now, I sometimes wonder if we don't make the same mistake, believing that if only we pray enough, read our Bibles enough, go to church often enough, Jesus will be the conquering King who frees us from all troubles while we live in this world. In general, especially in less liturgical churches, little attention is paid to Jesus' suffering, except for a quick reference on Easter. And it has been rare to talk about the call to suffer at any other time of the year, except in reference to overcoming it, to triumphing over it.

The hazard of skipping what comes in between Palm Sunday and Easter, in not remembering Maundy Thursday or Good Friday, is that it is all too easy to remember nothing but the triumphal entry and the even more victorious resurrection, while forgetting the suffering that comes in between--the suffering that we, in fact, are promised. We forget that Christ the Lord is also Christ the Servant, and that we are called to bear his image in this world. The promise is not that we will escape suffering here, but that Christ will give us rest, that "a bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out." (Isaiah 42:3a). Call me crazy, but if we are meant to reflect his image, shouldn't this be our focus? Oughtn't we to follow in his footsteps, both in accepting suffering as it comes to us, and in comforting those who are currently struggling? (To be fair, I should state that this was something that we discussed in this morning's service in the church I am currently attending.)

In the Book of Common Prayer, the collect for the Sunday of the Passion (Palm Sunday) is as follows: "Almighty and everliving God, in your tender love for the human race you sent your Son our Savior Jesus Christ to take upon him our nature, and to suffer death upon the cross, giving us the example of his great humility: Mercifully grant that we may walk in the way of his suffering, and also share in his resurrection; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen."

I am, to be sure, not very good at this. I like being comfortable, and I dislike hurt of any sort, physical or emotional. I certainly have a fear of suffering, which is why I think I shall be praying this particular prayer a lot in the future, and trusting that He will give me the humility and courage to bear whatever may come my way.