Always Winter and Never Christmas
A reflection for the first week of Advent.
In the countryside, away from the bombings of London, four children: Peter, Susan, Edmund, Lucy are sent to stay in a big old house of a quirky professor. One day while exploring the house, Lucy hides in a wardrobe and finds there is no back to the wardrobe, but instead feels snow under her feet and walks into another world: Narnia.
Narnia is a land that had been created by the great lion, Aslan, but has been ruled by the White Witch who cast a spell over the land, ensuring that it remained always winter and never Christmas. Aslan has not been seen for many years, although his memory and the hope of his return fuels resistance to the white witch and keeps hope alive. The creatures in Narnia comfort themselves with words like these:
“Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight, At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more, When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death, And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.“
Do you hear the echoes of the words of Jesus? "Therefore, keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come.” Like the land of Narnia, much of our life is lived in a deep uncertainty between the past faithfulness of God and a promised future of spring.
But in the meantime, it can feel as if it is always winter and never Christmas.
The text today, Matthew 24:36-44, is the assigned text for the first Sunday of Advent. If it seems a little dark and doom to you — it is. The first Sunday of Advent is always like that and it’s a bit of a bummer when a lot of us are hoping to be in the holiday mood. One commentator noted that there is a distance between “Where the text wants to go and where people think they want to be.”
But here is what the church calendar offers us: a gift of restraint, of pause, of not rushing too quickly to simple happiness that ignores uncertainty, dismisses pain and resists wisdom.
There are three phrases that seem significant to me in this text:
1: “They knew nothing:”
The writer reminds us of the story of Noah, when a worldwide flood came. No one knew the flood was coming. Everyone was just going about their own lives and then disaster struck. The gospel writer reminds us of fragile and uncertain our lives are.
No one knows when a major weather event will alter our property and our lives.
No one knows when the next pandemic might come.
No one knows when the next bomb will fall in the Ukraine
No one knows that someone with a gun will walk into a dance club
No one knows when a loved one will die
We live on a precipice of uncertainty - so much we don’t control and don’t understand. And Jesus asks us to own the uncertainty of being human.
2: “You do not know on what day your Lord will come.”
Just like the inhabitants of Narnia who were waiting for the day Aslan would appear, we don’t know when Jesus is going to show up. Many read this in a literal way — that Jesus is coming again and could come any moment. That has been a hope for thousands of years.
But it is also true that we can experience the coming of God’s presence in so many other quiet and regular ways. It can be a change of perspective or a turn into healing and wholeness or a moment of grace that catches us by surprise.
While our choices in life matter, we are also met by a larger presence that surprises us with strength, wisdom, wholeness that is deeper than the capacity of our choices. It’s not something we can call on command. We don’t know what day it will come, so we must lean into the 3rd key phrase:
3: Be ready. Be ready. Be ready.
This is what the gospel writer offers to our uncertainty. Our uncertainty is not a flaw, it is the mark of the human experience, even the faith experience. We are not expected to know everything, but we are expected to work and live in wakefulness and watchfulness — which I would term “faithfulness”
How we hold our uncertainty matters.
We are invited on this first Sunday of Advent to live with the inescapable uncertainty of being human with a hope that remembers God’s faithfulness.
We are invited to trust in God’s coming and this is what allows us to be ready, be faithful in each present moment.
We plant our hope in the midst of uncertainty and keep returning to it over and over
One of the most curious things about Narnia is that there is a proper London lamp post right in the middle of the forest. If you read the prequel to The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, titled The Magician’s Nephew, you know the lamp post arrived at the creation of the Narnia world and was planted in the ground. It runs on the deep magic that founded Narnia which keeps it eternally lit.
In the Advent devotional that Naomi Kinsman wrote for us to use this season, she says:
“Knowing where a symbol comes from helps us understand why it matters. A lamp post in a forest is interesting, but this lamp post has burned since the beginning of a world. Its eternal light reminds the Narnians that even though the witch has created an endless winter, Aslan exists, too. And it reminds them of Aslan’s powerful song that made soil so rich that even a lamp post from another world could sprout up and grow.”
Advent invites us to return to the lamp post of hope in our world as well.
Here are some questions to consider:
Where is the light that reminds you that God has been with you in the past, is here in the present, and will be with you in the future?
Set your face toward the light by practicing gratitude and cultivating disciplines of possibility rather than giving in to despair.
What practices kindle hope in your life?
At some periods in our lives, it’s just getting out of bed and opening the window. Maybe there’s a courageous conversation that you’ve been avoiding. Maybe take some extra time and prayer to determine your end of year giving.
Who are you called to share hope with?
There are so many in our world who need a dose of hope. Rather than being overwhelmed, find folks in your life who we can bring hope to. A text, a call, a small gift, a listening ear. Each of these small acts brings hope to others.
If your life and our world feels a bit like always winter and never Christmas, I invite you to open yourself to the eternal light of our hope in Jesus. May it sustain, strengthen and guide you. May you share it so we can see our world shaped into the relentlessly hope-filled love of God.