A Monday - Friday Advent

by Ryan EC Hamm

This Sunday, millions of Christians all over the world observed Advent, the beginning of the church calendar. In many churches, congregations read Jeremiah 33, hearing God’s promise to “cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David,” along with Jesus’ promises in Luke 21, that the Son of Man will return with “power and great glory.” Advent started with a bang—a reminder of the One who has come and a promise of the One will who return.

Today, those same millions of Christians return to the mundanity of another day, another week, another December. That might mean work, school, or full-time parenting. It might mean looking for a job, or juggling multiple jobs. The otherworldliness of Advent seems starkly contrasted with the more banal realities of day-to-day living.

Chances are, you’re one of those Christians. Whether or not your church formally observes Advent, you understand the disconnect between a Sunday marking the anticipation of a Savior and the rest of a week that feels very ordinary.

But the four weeks of Advent can bleed into our lives in ways beyond a wreath on Sunday or little cardboard cutouts with chocolate behind them. The lessons learned from a religious calendar can provide much more to our lives than a few December church services.

The blessing of David’s heir

Advent is meant to remind us of the hope we have in the fully consummated Kingdom of God—and that the present time is one of anticipation for a fuller picture of justice. The season links us with the Hebrews of the Old Testament, who were waiting for a promised Messiah who would come to save Israel. Advent links us to people like Simeon, whose belief in a Messiah was such that he was kept alive until he could meet and bless Jesus, and it links us to people like Zechariah, who disbelieved the message of the angel Gabriel.

But Advent also links us with every ordinary, observant Jew in the first century B.C.E. and the first century C.E. To this day, an important part of daily prayers in Jewish life is the Shmoneh Esreh, a series of 19 blessings (originally 18 before the first century C.E.). Part of that prayer is the Birkat David, the “blessing of David,” which asks God to send the descendant of King David, the person who would be Messiah. There’s enough evidence to suggest this prayer was likely formulated nearly five centuries before the birth of Christ, meaning the ordinary Hebrews of Jesus’ day had been praying for a Messiah their entire lives.

That can be comforting to those of us who feel like we’re anticipating something that never seems to get any closer. That’s the purpose of Advent—to remind us that just as the birth of Christ came to a people anticipating and hoping for a Messiah, so too the return of Christ is a deep yearning for Christians.

It also reminds us there were plenty of people who took what they prayed for each day—the coming of the Messiah—into their very ordinary lives and jobs.

The hope of the already and not yet

It would be overstating to somehow insinuate the expectation of a Messiah somehow significantly changed the day-to-day lifestyle of a laborer, or of a parent, or of a spouse. Whether or not they’re anticipating a delivering Savior, a carpenter will build furniture, a lawyer will go to court, a parent will discipline, a chef will cook, a spouse will make love, and a basketball player will make (or miss) free throws. But Advent can be a reality that impacts more than a few Sunday mornings a year.

Consider what the anticipation of a Messiah would have done to an average, devout Jew in the centuries leading up to the birth of Christ. You’d go about your daily tasks as needed, and your life might not seem very remarkable. Yet at the center, your life would be animated by the hope of God’s blessings. Your day would be shaped by prayers for the blessings of God, for the sick, for your life, for your family, for your nation. And as a part of your prayers, three times a day you would ask God to bless Israel with the coming of Messiah.

That would do something to you—it would make everything matter a little bit more. It would make you conscious of your dependency on God, of the blessings of your life, and it would remind you of the hope provided in your life because of the promises of God. Even in the midst of the daily grind, it would be something to center you and give your life meaning.

For Christians, that promise is mirrored in Jesus’ promise to one day return as Lord and completely consummate his Kingdom. But what’s different is that our experience isn’t totally anticipatory—Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection began the spark of the Kingdom of God, and we are given the opportunity to help it grow. Because of the Incarnation (part of what Advent points to), we are given the opportunity to purposefully work for and in the Kingdom of God until the Second Coming (Advent’s other focus). As Jesus says in Luke 21 (NRSV), “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man.” What sounds terrifying at first blush—“all these things”—also comes with a promise earlier in the passage: “when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”

This means when we do our work well, we’re working within a Kingdom context, because doing something well and with our God-given talents and creativity honors God. Advent means when we love someone, or give someone joy, or comfort someone, it makes our mundane, ordinary lives into something extraordinary. The promise of Advent also reminds us of hope when our day-to-day lives go dark. When life seems so overwhelming it very well may destroy us, Advent provides a tiny pinprick of light off in the distance—the hope of an all-encompassing light that just might have the power to blot out all our darkness.

Editor's Note: Image by Per Ola Wiberg.

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