This week, the season of Advent begins. Children will be cracking open calendars, shoppers will be checking items of their list, bakers will be baking, decorators will be up on ladders stringing lights, and the countdown to Christmas will ramp up a notch or two, or maybe even three.
For those who follow the Christian faith, Advent is more than a season of shopping, baking, and decorating, it is an invitation to prepare for the birth of a child. As such, advent has a spiritual significance as well as a practical one.
I’ve been reflecting recently on how Advent is a season that presents itself in darkness. It comes to us in the waning days of fall when darkness steals more hours of the day than does light. Many people at this time of year leave their houses before sunrise and return again after sunset. When you add to that some grey, snowy days when the sun seems intent on staying in bed, you have a recipe for a long, dark Advent season.
As a general rule, we don’t like darkness. In fact, we do our best to keep it at bay. Perhaps that is why many of us are quick to put up our Christmas lights as soon as December (or earlier) comes as if to shield us from the encroaching night. We associate darkness with shadows, sadness, loneliness, and fear. If we are feeling down, we might say that we are having a “dark day.” Historically, darkness has been used to define epochs of time when humanity seemed stalled in its growth or stunted in its intellectual development, referring to such periods of time as the “dark ages”. When darkness descends, as it does every night, we turn our backs on it, close our eyes, and hibernate through it until the light comes again, bringing with it new possibilities.
Darkness doesn’t get a lot of love or respect.
But there is another side to darkness. Sometimes, darkness holds the key to life. The baby gestates in the darkness of the womb. The bulb feels the impulse to grow while deep under the soil. And whether you are a creationist or an evolutionist, you can’t argue that before there was light, there was dark. Darkness can be the portal through which life and light can emerge.
What if this Advent, we gave darkness its due? Instead of fearing it, pushing it away, or lighting it up, we have the courage to sit with it for a while. Maybe even try to welcome it, like a friend who has come to teach us something. What if our “dark days” were not there to hurt us but rather to re-direct us to something new trying to gestate in our life? Darkness can teach us that there are some things in life that we can’t rush. You can’t pull a flower out of a bulb without killing the possibility of what it will become, but if you leave it to grow in the dark earth until it is ready, you will be rewarded with its beauty. Some things in life require patience, tender care, and graceful stewardship to reach their potential. Darkness doesn’t hide life as much as it holds life.
Simon and Garfunkel famously sang, “Hello darkness, my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again. Because a vision softly creeping left its seeds while I was sleeping, and the vision that was planted in my brain still remains within the sound of silence.”
It’s going to get darker for a few more days. And then, just as it reaches its peak, the child will be born again. And there will be hope, peace, joy and love. And guess what? The days will start getting longer as light claims its space once again. Until then, let’s rejoice in the gift of darkness, an old friend, and the birthplace of possibility.
