an advent-ure

I do not do piety well.

Sometimes I pray. I don't tend to bow during the liturgy when I'm supposed to. Every night I begin the rosary, but in my head, not with a rosary in hand (though I do have a lovely collection of rosaries). I don't even follow (know!) the mysteries. There are few saints whose feasts I know, fewer still whose feasts I actually celebrate. Marian devotions tend to baffle rather than inspire me. I have three icons in my bedroom, but rarely do I look at them with any sort of prayerfulness.

And so it is slightly surprising to me how intensely I have been preparing for this season of Advent. As this First Sunday of Advent approached, I looked forward to it with excitement, solemnity, and, yes, devotion.

I do not recall ever having an Advent wreath in our home when I was growing up. Mom and I did have a little Advent tree, on which we hung one ornament each morning while we said a prayer together. The ornaments were made out of buttons that my great-grandmother had collected. It was a creative approach to Advent, which should have prepared me well for this weekend's Great Advent Wreath Hunt.

I wanted a pretty wreath, with pretty pink and purple candles. Nothing fluorescent or obnoxious. A fake wreath, of course, but it couldn't look too fake. Something simple.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to find an Advent wreath? Or pink and purple candles? In a sea of red and green and white? While Christmas songs are blaring through the speakers of whatever craft store hell you've managed to find yourself in?

I'll tell you: It's not hard; it's impossible!

I did, however, find myself a beautiful wreath that met my expectations yesterday. And then I gave up the fight for candles and brought myself home for recovery and a renewed plan. Maybe I didn't need an Advent wreath. I could throw this simple one on my front door and call it good.

Today, however, I decided to brave the craft stores again because I wanted a damn Advent wreath! (The irony of that language is not lost on me, of course.) As I meandered through this craft store (this time not so hellish), I realized that maybe I needed some Advent tree creativity. The wreath from yesterday would not work very well with votive candles; it would be very nice on my door, though. And, look! Purple and pink glittery bows! I could use those to mark the weeks! And, there! I could get white candles, put them on a glass plate, and surround them with little purple glass pebbles!

Doable Advent. Creative Advent.

Advent.

This morning at Mass the word "anxieties" popped out at me during the gospel. But when I sat with the readings this afternoon, a different clause grabbed me: "Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy." I'd like to think that my wreath fervor will carry me through this blessed season, that perhaps my excitement for Advent is a symptom of my heart stirring. How easy it is to let our hearts be weary. How hard it is to admit that we are drowsy.

But, truly, my heart has been drowsy. I live in my head way too often, in my heart way too infrequently. What else is there for it to do but rest? And when the heart rests, the mind goes wild, allowing all sorts of fanciful ideas to come out and play.

Several months ago I read this article by M. Craig Barnes in The Christian Century. In it, Barnes writes, "We all have issues, and we pray that none of them are greater than the issue of holy love that flows over everything else." This season of Advent is a time of tuning in to that holy love, of letting our hearts fill to overflowing with excitement and anticipation. We await the coming of the infant Jesus—fully human, fully divine—as the incarnation of God's love for us.

Today, I lit the first candle on my Advent wreath and felt my heart grow calm, my head slow down, my body relax. Maybe, just maybe, that holy love will find a crack to slip into this Advent season.