ArticleWhat’s not to love about Advent calendars? In the lead-up to Christmas, lucky kids get to find a chocolate waiting for them each day behind a little cardboard door. The chocolate is usually pretty ordinary but for younger kids, especially, the excitement’s still there – and building. Something fantastic is clearly coming down the line and every little cardboard door opened offers a taste of it.
Advent calendars were invented in 19th-century Germany, to mark progression through the Christian season of Advent. As one of Christianity’s least well-known traditions, Advent is something of a wallflower celebration. A bridesmaid who doesn’t steal the spotlight.
The first Advent calendars were simple chalk marks on walls or doors. In one account, their creation is attributed to a Munich mum worn out by her excited, waiting kids asking – over and over again – when was Christmas coming.
But, of course, when something can be monetised, those looking to make a buck are never far away.
Commercially printed Advent calendars first appeared in 1908. Their now-characteristic doors were added in the 1920s. The chocolate came later still, with Cadbury first producing chocolate Advent calendars in 1971, before ramping up continuous production in the 1990s.
A few years ago, adults-only Advent calendars began spruiking coffee, beer, and beauty products – even sex toys, apparently. I can’t comment on the quality of these grown-up “goodies”, having only ever bought kiddies’ calendars. But so-called “luxury” Advent calendars seem to be marketers’ latest discovery, with some now labelling them a “brand-a-palooza” rip-off.
Honest-to-goodness scammers have not been far behind. In the seemingly endless series of scam warnings that now punctuate modern life, new scams prey on bargain hunters in this latest iteration of de rigueur pre-Christmas spending.
It’s all a far cry from chalk marks on the wall. And even further from 480CE, when Christians first celebrated Advent as a season of mental and spiritual preparation for the coming of Jesus Christ (in Latin, “adventus” means “arrival”).
Even among Christians, it’s a little-known fact that Advent marks the start of the “church year” for Western Christianity. A humble season that never toots its own horn, Advent begins on the fourth Sunday before Christmas – unlike commercial Advent calendars, which typically start on December 1 – and ends on Christmas Eve, when the celebration of Jesus’ birth kicks in.
So it maps fairly closely onto the commercial rush, as Australian shops have long been getting their Christmas groove on in November. But Advent is a quiet season. Although it’s not technically a “penitential” season – which means there’s no hard and fast reason to fast (AKA give up the goodies) – it is an invitation not to rush headlong into the heady celebrations of Christmas. Rather to wait, and experience waiting.
Each week in Advent is framed by a theme that focuses the waiting: hope, peace, joy, and love.
While modern churches differ in how they mark Advent, they largely share an understanding about what it is that Christians are waiting and watching for during these weeks.
The 11th-century French monk St Bernard of Clairvaux helped establish this understanding in his “Sermon 5” on Advent, which includes these words:
We know that the coming of the Lord is threefold … At his first coming the Lord was seen on earth and lived among men, who saw him and hated him.
So, Advent is firstly about waiting for Jesus’ birth. With the muzak of Christmas carols filling shopping centre halls, it’s hard to imagine anyone “hating” the baby in a manger, livestock gently lowing around his head. But let’s not forget that the political ruler of the day is said to have slaughtered countless babies in a bid to get rid of him. And it’s well known that Jesus didn’t die gently in his sleep, at a ripe old age.
But St Bernard explains that Advent also looks forward to the end of time, when Christians believe Jesus will return in some way:
At his last coming all flesh shall see the salvation of our God, and They shall look on him whom they have pierced.
The intense focus on Jesus’ return found in more than one doomsday cult has earned the “Second Coming” a bad name. For many, it’s the stuff of wild speculation. For the bookies, this year, it sits at 4% odds on. But for the poet W. B. Yeats, the phrase points to a “revelation” much longed-for at a time when “The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity”.
This may sound all too familiar for many today, which brings us to St Bernard’s account of Jesus’ “middle coming”:
[The] middle coming is like a road that leads from the first coming to the last. At the first, Christ was our redemption; at the last, he will become manifest as our life; but in this middle way he is our rest and our consolation.
Between the first and final “comings”, Advent points to Jesus’ promise to be with us in the here and now – bringing rest and consolation.
Whether we’re mourning the loss of loved ones, or grieving other losses. Whether we’re burned out by excessive workloads, or unable to get the work we need or want. Whether we’re hurt by friends and family, or craving their company. Whether we’re far from home, or without a home. Whether we bear the brunt of others’ hatred, or carry the pain of hatred in our own hearts.
Most of us aren’t waiting most deeply – longing, like little kids for Christmas – for the birth of a baby, no matter how special. Nor for the Return of the King. What so many of us long for is “rest and consolation”, in the here and now.
Those aren’t waiting behind a cardboard door in this year’s Advent calendar – even the luxury versions. And they won’t be found under the tree or in a stocking, come Christmas morning.
Yet, Jesus promises both to everyone who needs them. And God knows there’s a lot of us this year.
As The Message translation of the Bible puts it, Jesus said to anyone who’d listen:
Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly. (Matthew 11:28-30)
That’s a gift you can open anytime. No need to wait.
Dr Kate Power is a Senior Lecturer at The University of Queensland, where she has taught ethical business communication and researched Australia’s arts and culture sector. She has a PhD in religious communication and is an Associate of the Centre for Public Christianity.