Advent
In this day, this season, miracles will grow within, unfurl, bear fruit. And the heart that makes time and space for Him to come will be a glorious place. A place of sheer, radiant defiance in the face of a world careening mad and stressed. Because each day of Advent, we will actively wait. We will wait knowing that the remaking of everything has already begun.
Ann Voskamp, The Greatest Gift
When my son, Parker, was little, Christmas was marked with a series of traditions common to many children. Elf on the Shelf. Reindeer food. Letters to Santa. Reflecting back over photos and videos is a delightful walk down memory lane (The days are long, but the years are short). It seemed he received the celebration of our Savior’s birth with a quiet contentment all while carrying a can’t-come-quickly-enough desire for Christmas morning.
Parker is a 17-year-old high school junior now. And while his childlike wonder has evolved, he still longs for the calendar to say: It’s time. Time to set up the (artificial) Christmas tree in his bedroom. Time to pick the (real) Christmas tree for the living room. Time to watch Kevin McCallister foil Harry and Marv’s dastardly plans as only a child could.
While these traditions bear little resemblance to the sacred reasons we celebrate, perhaps they offer a certain kind of foreshadowing. The lessons are always there if we’re willing to look for them.
Isn’t one of Advent’s most enduring lessons that we might learn to wait? And to wait well?
Dr. Seuss had a thing or two to say about waiting (and about Christmas for that matter!). But this isn’t the kind of waiting that involves standing around and twiddling your thumbs. There’s a critical difference between the paralysis of wanting something, anything favorable to just happen on its own and the discipline required to maintain a patient spirit when we’d rather get what we want at the speed of a digital download.
You see, patience is that virtue we too often tolerate, and too infrequently pursue. If we’re not careful, we’ll humble brag our way into the productivity lie that impatience is actually a good thing. Framing our thinking toward practices that stack in unhealthy ways. Will we ever fully understand the lesson of the tortoise and the hare?
In 21st century America, we are regularly driven by harried paces that seem right in the moment. Truly, urgency can be tyrannical. It’s not that productivity is the enemy. It’s when productivity becomes the ultimate aspiration. It’s when productivity interferes with our ability to live fully present lives.
We live in a culture of instant gratification. We want it, and we want it now. Noise, distraction, restlessness. They make poor servants, and better masters. Given the chance, they crowd out solemnity, reflection, contemplation.
If we were to audit the activity on our respective campuses over the next few weeks, we’d likely find a delicate tension between overfull calendars and the proclamation of a message too powerful to hide under a bushel. Our youngest students beam with joy at the anticipation for what lies ahead. Christmas programs teem with parents, grandparents, and students dressed in their finest. In some cases hoping their son’s pair of pants will hold on for just one event longer before outgrown length renders them banished to the hand-me-down pile.
But, the Christ child. Yes, the Christ child. He recenters our focus. He arrived with something new. Something far better. His power, authority, and influence made manifest with open hands as He gave it all away. It was the anticipation of His arrival that granted (and continues to grant) a better way of living. A better way of being. It’s something more than optimism. Hope. A hope which endures and continues to beckon all who will listen.
Advent extends an invitation. It stops us in our tracks, if we’ll allow it, empowering us to reconsider our pace and priorities. We’re welcomed into the unforced rhythms of grace spoken in a hushed tone deliberately finding a way through all the tumult.
No shouting, no clamoring for attention.
Stillness.
Because the babe is enough. More than enough. The hope of all humanity. The shoulders upon whom the government rests. A delayed fulfillment reborn again and again.
The promise of this Advent season is the same as it has always been. Neither changes in culture, nor advancements in technology, nor global conflicts can overcome this enduring truth. Advent binds us together.
As the coming days unfold, may we embrace this Advent with expectation. Slowing down and rejecting a commercial machine that will never co-opt the greatest gift of all. Let’s model one to another a way of living to which our fellow man can aspire.
And the next time you feel the inevitable pull toward speed this season, do the opposite: stop and listen. In the silence of the moment, you may just hear a still, small voice whisper: It’s time.
Dr. Tim Holland is a career independent school educator. He earned his doctorate in organizational leadership from Vanderbilt University. Originally from South Florida, Tim spent time in Knoxville, Tennessee before relocating to his current home in North Carolina. In addition to his administrative responsibilities, he also serves as an adjunct professor at Wake Forest University. He has led Caldwell Academy as Head of School since 2020.