On Advent

A poetic parable

And then the eager students gathered at his feet said, Master, what of this time called Advent? And of what importance is it, anyway?

And the Master took out a wreath with three white and one pink candle and said:

Ah, this is a time set apart for rest and reflection. We shall light one candle each week, on a Sunday, that we may mark the time across the belly of the month between its opening and the day we celebrate the birth of Christ as the light in all.

Now you may be thinking, light in all? What gives with that?

And to that I say, listen not to the religion made of His legend, but the words themselves He uttered, that He was not the exception but the example for all to follow. And if you haven’t yet seen the light in you, perhaps it’s because the bright glares of your cities and your electronic devices so overwhelm your vision, that you miss the glow emanating from your heart.

Hence, Advent. A time of year when the nights lengthen so that there be more time in darkness, in candlelight, in starlight, in your own true light. That you may see yourself as the holy being you are. This is a time to slow down and look inwardly.

Now, you may be thinking, slow down? Look inwardly? How is that humanly possible with the various gift-giving holidays looming over us like the dragon’s hot breath, demanding the perfection you read about in Martha Stewart’s magazine?

And to that I say, neither Jesus nor the Maccabees spoke of giving gifts or buying presents. Or even of stringing lights, spinning dreidels or grating potatoes into latkes. None of these are good or bad in and of themselves, my dears. They have only the meaning you give them.

Now you may be thinking, how dare I question your time-honored precious family traditions. Believe me, oh, bright young ones, that is not my intention. Far be it from me to detract from your favorite celebrations. But since you did ask, I am sharing what life and time have allowed me to see with the light that glows from within which most of you have not been in a position to notice.

Seeing with that light shifts my focus, dear ones. From the busyness of doing to the simplicity of being. We are, after all, human beings, are we not?

And since you asked, Advent is the time for simplicity. For sitting still to contemplate the paring down, the shedding, the sacred silence of snow falling in your village or in your consciousness.

Be with that softness as the year winds down. Sit with it on its deathbed as it has taught you much and will not come again. Thank it for the time and times it gave you, and hold its hand as it fades away.

Yes, think of it as a waiting, as a time not so much of preparation, though prepare you will, thinking you must. But think instead of it as a time of emptying so as to be refilled.

Now you may be thinking, why on earth would we want to be empty? But indeed, my precious ones, it is only the empty vessel that has room for the blessings of the season to fill your heart and soul. After all, a full bowl can take in no more water, however sweet and pure.

The students nodded their heads, letting the Master’s words sink in. As they stood to leave he bade them yet stay. And once they settled back around his feet he said:

One more thing. You hear so much about Peace on Earth. You sing songs proclaiming peace. You inscribe those words on cards and tee shirts. And that’s a glorious enterprise, pun so intended. But the great sage Gandhi is oft-quoted as saying, be the change you want to see.

And so as you leave here, you precious young lights, if your hearts hold nothing else from tonight, hold this, and hold it with grace: Find a way to have peace in your hearts first. And then you will find peace around you. And if you do not find peace around you, look first in your hearts.

Then the Master blessed each and every one of them with a kiss on the forehead, saying, be still and allow your lights to flourish, knowing in the deepest way of knowing, that all is well.

Then the students stood to pass this kiss of peace from one to another before drifting outside. A fresh snow had fallen. In awe and silence, they stood together a good long while, beholding the stars shining in each other’s eyes.

Marilyn Flower writes political humor and satire to delight socially and spiritually conscious folks. She’s a regular columnist for the prison newsletter, Freedom Anywhere, where she writes about faith and prayer. Five of her short plays have been produced in San Francisco. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her resolve during these crazy times.