Sabbath Devotional: A Tale of Two Advents

More than a decade ago, I was starting to dread Christmas. The joy had almost completely gone out of the holiday, and I was struggling to find ways to remember Jesus.

One Sunday, some friends invited us over to celebrate Advent, and everything changed. This was exactly what I had been craving!  An opportunity to find a worshipful rhythm, slow everything down, gather, read, sing, and pray. I immediately loved the weekly reminder of a Christ long prophesied and looked for, deeply wanted and welcomed. I loved the symbolism of slowly increasing light. Stunningly, our four rowdy boys felt the same way, and this quickly became a cherished part of our holiday.

Last year, we were able to take this to the next level. We were in England for the first Sunday of Advent and attended the service in Salisbury. It began with the cathedral in complete darkness and total silence. Then, a single Advent Candle was lit and a lone voice sang in the darkness of the “power of God” coming to earth. As the service progressed, more voices joined in, more candles were lit and there was a slow procession toward the altar. 

Ultimately the cathedral was ablaze with light — illuminated by over 1,000 candles. And the silence, once broken by a lone voice, slowly became a chorus of over thousands of worshipers. The service is ancient and moving, and it was a joy to join my voice with those around me as we welcomed Emmanuel.

It was a transformative experience. I loved the reminder that even the deepest darkness can be broken by a single light, and I felt called as a disciple to try to be that light for others. I left the service knowing that Christ is the Light of the World and filled with buoyant hope.

This year has tested that hope.

For a variety of reasons, both professional and personal, it has been the most difficult year of my life. It has sometimes felt like the light was dimming and the darkness winning. As the gloom deepened, I often wondered if I had it in me to shine out, even a very little. But I kept plodding forward, albeit not very buoyantly. 

Then two weeks ago, I found myself in another advent service, this time in a much smaller colonial style chapel at a university in Massachusetts. We attend this evening service every year, and it is beautiful and familiar. The mood is typically jubilant. But it's been a rough year for many of the people who were gathered in that chapel, and the mood and messages were a bit more somber than usual. 

As the service came to a conclusion, a prayer was offered containing the words: “Lord, help us all to find the holy possibility in the dark.” My brain instantly did a “Wait . . . what?” and I have been stewing on that phrase ever since. I have thought about the plea for help, the unusual acknowledgement that everyone gathered was in need of it, the assertion that there is a way to find possibility in darkness, and the claim that with God’s help, even the darkness can be holy. 

The story of Christ’s birth is proof that dark moments can contain holy possibility. Mary, deeply troubled by a visiting angel who would upend her life, becomes the mother of the Christ child. Joseph, trusting in and keeping faith with a pregnant Mary, creates an essential and protective family. Shepherds, with their sheep at night, are overcome by fear at the sight of angels, and decide to believe and worship. Wise men, choosing to act in opposition to a corrupt and violent ruler, provide a way for a young family to escape. All of these are circumstances laced with fear and anxiety and turmoil, but they also contain the most glorious and holy possibility of all.   

So why can’t that be true for all of us? Can we learn to trust Christ so deeply that we can begin to see him bringing holiness to pass in the dark? To be honest, the darkness of the last year hasn’t felt particularly holy to me. Instead, I have experienced it as opposition, struggle, sorrow, fear, and so much worry. It has felt mostly like grief and lots of loss. But after hearing those prayerful words, I have looked backwards at the year with different eyes, trying to see what holy possibility I might have missed in the moment. And there it was! Time and time again, proof that even in the worst moments, there was something holy happening, and suddenly with new eyes, I was able to see that “all things work together for good to those who love God.” (Romans 8:2) I feel like that advent service was challenging me to trust in the power of consecration and then let go of fear.

I’ll go into the new year thinking about darkness differently. In both services, the darkness was a feature, not a bug. Last year in Salisbury, it acted as a contrast — the reality that made the light necessary and powerful. It allowed the light to show its true character. This year, in a small church filled with worrying souls, the dark was framed as a starting place, a crucible and an incubator. Not a place where God was absent, but rather one where he could do his best work.

To me, Advent has always been a symbol of light overcoming darkness, and a celebration of the prophets and saints who anticipated and participated in his coming. During that long wait, they celebrated and found the holy possibility that was embodied by a Savior. And now we wait for him again, perhaps in darkness, but also with a deep and abiding sense that glorious things are unfolding just beyond our sight. 

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness — on them light has shined. You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, as they are glad when they divide the spoil. For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end, on the throne of David and over his kingdom, to establish it and to uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time forth and forevermore. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.” (Isaiah 9:2-3, 6-7 ESV)

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Jennifer Walker Thomas is the co-executive director at Mormon Women for Ethical Government.