In the Catholic faith, Advent encompasses the 4 weeks before Christmas. A candle is lit each of the 4 Sundays; traditionally, there are 3 purple candles and 1 pink. As a child in plaid jumper and navy knee socks, I was told that Advent was a solemn time of waiting, a time to repent and reflect (not quite as severe as Lent, but not party time, either). The purple candles symbolized the sorrow of waiting; the pink candle, lit on the 3rd Sunday represented the joy of the approach of the Christ child. This all seemed to fit for me – Advent was a time to be good, because Santa knows, and there was definitely something purple in the waiting – waiting for Christmas baking, waiting for grandparents, waiting for Santa, waiting for snow, waiting for Christmas carols, waiting to decorate the tree, waiting to open presents. Advent was definitely a time of waiting.
As I grew older, Advent came to seem less of a period of waiting, and more of a countdown from Thanksgiving. Light the candle – 1 week closer. Tick. Next candle. Tick. Pink candle. Tick. Last candle, andohmigodIhaven’tdonemostofmyshoppingyet. BOOM.
It wasn’t until my children started school (yes, this is one of those posts) that I began to understand the place of light in winter. In the lower grades, the children make beautiful paper lanterns and attend a Lantern Walk to celebrate Martinmas. As the fall air begins to bite, the line of lanterns woven through the dark is threaded with song.
After Thanksgiving, in the first week of Advent, the school offers an Advent (or Winter) spiral to the children in the lower grades. In a quiet room, a spiral of pine boughs is laid on the floor, punctuated with luminarias. One at a time, the children enter the spiral, carrying a white candle in a red apple. The child lights his or her candle from the pillar at the center of the spiral, then bends to light one of the candles along the spiral on the way out.
This year, the Winter spiral was only offered for the children up through fourth grade. As my son and his classmates each took their turn in the spiral, I could see why. Something changed in their faces. Unlike the few younger siblings that walked the spiral during this session, the fourth graders that exited the spiral were not the same as those who had entered. While the younger children glowed with a round innocence even after their candles were extinguished, as the fourth graders blew out their candles at the mouth of the spiral, they blew out something else. Fourth grade marks the transition from little kid to big. The unquestioning faith of childhood has begun to fall by the wayside, shadows creep into the corners.
The first light of advent is the light of stones,
Stones that live in crystals in seashells and in bones
The second light of advent is the light of plants,
Plants that reach up to the sun, and in the breezes, dance
The third light of advent is the light of beasts,
The light of hope that we may see in greatest and in least
The fourth light of advent is the light of man,
The light of love, the light of thought, to give and to understand
This is the Advent verse my children recite at school. To me, there is something deeper here, in this marking of points of nature, than just a lighting of candles to mark time. The verse grounds the moment with the outside world. It is easy in winter to experience a hibernation of the soul, to direct our thoughts and feelings inward, to protect ourselves from the outer darkness and to protect others from any darkness of ours that might ‘contaminate’ a season of joy. Yet, as the kids light their candles with a verse, they are connected: to the stones, the plants, the beasts, and to each other.
Singing fills our house (and car, and yard, and grocery store) this time of year. The English translation of the Swedish Santa Lucia song, the school Advent song, the dreidel song, “Channukah, Oh Channukah,” and a random assortment of Christmas carols (in English, German, French, and Spanish) float through our lives this time of year. These winter songs have all been adopted by my children, regardless of festival or religion.
Light. Song.
The part of my brain that has studied other traditions, the part that remembers history books, or dusty lessons in comparative studies can trace the links between European pagan and modern Christian festivals without bursting any neurons. However, it wasn’t until my children began coming home from school with songs and verses of light that the point of all of those Solstice candles connected with me on a visceral level.
Robyn Beaufoy, a good friend, wrote a piece in the school newsletter about Advent celebrations. In this essay, she writes “Writer Annie B. Bond reminds us that ‘Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, Christmas, Yule, Diwali, and the celebration of Buddha’s enlightenment all take place in December, the darkest time of the year.’ Despite these different leanings, our common searching for Light in the darkness of Winter unites us.”
When Caitlin was in 5th grade, the mother of one of Aidan’s friends came in and talked to the class about Diwali, the Indian festival of lights. As the class began their studies of world civilizations that year, they began to link the commonality of festivals. In 3rd grade, one of the other mothers had come into the classroom to teach the students about Channukah. At the school, the 2nd graders each year enact the Swedish festival of Santa Lucia. The oldest girl in the class wears a crown of candles on her head, and the children distribute breads or cookies to everyone in the school – while carrying candles and singing, of course.
Winter has been especially dark the past few years. When the economy began to flag, we first noticed the inadequacy of my paychecks in winter. Within the last couple of years, we’ve been forced to tell the children, “Well, you know, Santa’s having a rough time, too. There are an awful lot of kids out there who don’t have any toys at all, and he needs to take care of them.” Two years ago, the last of my living grandparents, my maternal grandmother, passed away on Christmas Day.
Yet, with each shadow, there is a spot of light. Grandma lived a long and full life, yet her last years had been grey and shadowed with frailty and forgetfulness. She was ready to move on. Our economic challenges have forced the focus of Christmas away from elaborate lists and mountains of packages. Though the bank account is not nearly so bleak this year, I have yet to begin or even fret about any Christmas shopping. I’d rather inhale the Christmas tree and snuggle on the couch with my family. There will be presents, but hopefully, they will bring joy, not stress.
Darkness comes. In each of our lives, there are periods of long, black cold. We all have our times of sorrowful or solemn waiting. Rarely do we get to choose when that long Advent of the soul will strike. But we have a choice. We can approach these times with the joylessness of time marked, or we can hold moments of that darkness, be present in them, turn them over, and light a candle to move on.
The fourth light of advent is the light of man,
The light of love, the light of thought, to give and to understand
