I like Advent. In fact, I like Advent more than I like Christmas.

Some people may find this odd.

Christmas has the glittery lights and shimmery things, the delightful scents, the massive repertoire of fun music that lots of people sing along with, the warm fuzzies, the pretty decorations, the “down time” with family and friends. Christmas is a clearly bounded and easily recognizable time of joy and cheer and delight.

Advent doesn’t really have these features. Sure, the Advent wreath offers light and perhaps the heady scent of fresh evergreen needles and pinecones, but the wreath is not as flashy and sparkly and shimmery as the Christmas Tree and the strands of colored lights that crop up on houses, shrubbery, light poles, and other illuminable surfaces throughout the months of November and December. And while Advent does have a nice catalog of season-specific music, these songs are not as flashy, sparkly, shimmery, or ubiquitous as the tunes reserved for Christmas. Advent is still, stark, patient, determined: not the kind of season that typically inspires the warm fuzzies, as Christmas does. Advent is not neatly bounded by two boxes on a calendar—the Eve and the Day—when most of us can look forward to a bit of time away from the ho-hum-drum-ness of the workday / school day / day of chores. Advent, instead, stretches on long enough to blend into the background of dark winter nights and be almost forgotten, un-noticed, not special.

Why on earth do I like simple, unobtrusive Advent more than I like flashy, fun Christmas?

To some extent, I simply like the small, the still, and the oft-overlooked more than I like the large, the lively, and the overt. Even more, I like the fact that Advent, unlike Christmas, has not been usurped for marketing purposes. When was the last time you saw a 100’ inflatable Advent wreath for sale at your local home improvement center or heard Conditor Alme Siderum blasting over the sound system at your local supercenter?

Every year, I hold my breath and walk gently on tenterhooks for a few weeks between Halloween and Thanksgiving, worried that this will finally be the year when marketing execs discover—and attempt to capitalize on—the magical beauty of Advent. Every year, I’m vastly relieved and a little surprised that Advent still hasn’t made its way into the commercial limelight. Advertisers, after all, are keen to market self-improvement, and Advent is the ultimate self-improvement product.

In its still, small, blend-into-the-background-of-a-dark-winter’s-night way, Advent reminds us that we’re still waiting. We’re still waiting for salvation. Waiting for peace. Waiting for light. Waiting for love. Waiting to recognize and act upon the power we hold to bring these good things to pass.

The O Antiphons, which lend their poetry to the one Advent song that you may actually hear on the radio or in a store, implore God, the Source of Wisdom:

Come teach us the path of knowledge!

But still we stumble in isolated ignorance, not knowing how to listen, how to hear, how to see with another’s eyes, how to love our neighbors.

God, the Powerful Leader: come rescue us!

But still we tremble in fear, not knowing how to let go of false power or where to turn for the humble, authentic leadership of a life grounded in community and love.

God, the Source of Life: come save us!

But still we stumble in confusion, not knowing what it means to be fully alive in and as the glory of God’s Creation.

God, the Key: come free the prisoners!

But still we tremble in fear, not knowing how to leave the snares of familiar routines, comfortable stories, and false hopes.

God, the Radiant Dawn: come shine on us!

But still we stumble in darkness, not knowing where to find or how to embrace true Light.

God, the King of All Nations: come save us!

But still we tremble in fear, not knowing how to look beyond age-old divisions and stratagems that never satisfy and never save.

God-With-Us: come save us!

But still we stumble in isolated ignorance, not knowing that God-With-Us works in us and through us and is most potent when we gather to hold one another in Love and in Light.

Emmanuel, God-With-Us, Brother, Sister, Friend: still we wait. Still the small, silent candles of the small, silent Advent wreath hold out hope against the darkness of long winter nights. Still the promised salvation of Light, Love, and Life can be ours when we recognize and embrace the God-With-Us in each of us.

Still we wait, and still we cry, O Come! Come, Emmanuel. Come, God-With-Us.

– Lori Randall, at the dawning of Advent