When I was a child, growing up in the storied 1950s, life really was simpler. The lines between church and state blurred for good reason: in backwoods New Hampshire, there was basically one ethnic group and one religion. We were the most 1950-ish enclave of the 1950s. We sang Christmas carols in public school, and postal employees could say anything they wanted to us.
Toward the end of November my parents always took me to a local independent bookstore to purchase our Advent calendar. It was one sheet of paper with little paper windows you punched out to mark each day, culminating in the glorious spectacle of the Babe in the Manger on Dec. 24. It didn’t have chocolates, it didn’t have small gifts. It promoted one thing: the birth of Jesus.
Over my lifetime, as we welcomed diversity and change, Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year’s also changed, to be fused into one glittering arc known as The Holidays. The Holidays developed their own odd little traditions and memes. (Pardoning a turkey, anyone? Ugly Sweaters?) And “Advent” calendars morphed into scenes of Christmas In the Country or the North Pole. They took on three dimensions. They had little wooden drawers one opened for a small gift, or chocolates lurking behind the cardboard doors. Some manufacturers were honest and called them “Countdown to Christmas.” Some kept the Advent title, though it really didn’t fit. We lived through a crazy time when anything went (“Olive the Other Reindeer”? Seriously?) Even Santa was stripped from our public schools, with “Holiday Concerts” replacing “Christmas Concerts” and evolving into “Winter Concerts,” the kids tromping dutifully through a bland menu of snowman songs.
The metaphorical pendulum swung back in recent years, carefully-curated Christmas music integrated with “The Dreidel Song” and paeans to the Winter Solstice. Diversity reigned. Diversity is good. In Christian churches and households, we saw the Kneeling Santa and “Happy Birthday Jesus” cakes. We were trying, and this was good.
But Christmas, even with a kneeling Santa, isn’t Advent.
You can have Advent without eating a single star-shaped cookie or hanging one piece of greenery. Advent is the ceremonial honoring of His First Coming and the actual real-time honoring of what He wants to do in our hearts. God took on human form, a particularly vulnerable human form, to teach us about Himself and His Father. He walked among us and died for each one of us, whom He knows by name.
The bonus? When you observe Advent and have Christ in your heart, you are thankful, on that fourth Thursday in November. You’re more giving on Christmas, and you face the New Year without fear.
All because the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.
Kathleen D. Bailey is the author of 'The Widow's Christmas Miracle,' part of Pelican's 2020 Christmas Extravaganza.
