ROVIN' AND RAVIN' WITH MIKE
Copyright © 2000 by Michael Segers, All rights reserved
Advent and Age
If you are tired of the bustle of Christmas shopping and all the other
frenzy of this time of year, you’ve come to the right place, because even
though Thanksgiving has come and gone, and so has the soap-opera election of
2000, we are not yet in the Christmas season.
Check your white beard and red suit at the door, and have a seat. I’m
not writing in the curmudgeonly mood reserved for my film reviews.
It’s just that, according to the traditional church calendar, the
Christmas season does not begin until Christmas day, and it mercifully ends
twelve days later—without benefit of a partridge in a pear tree—the “old
twelve days” of traditional farmers. From the fourth Sunday before Christmas (this year, November
26th, coincidentally, this year, the beginning of the Islamic fast of
Ramadan), traditional churches observe Advent.
Aside from the Advent wreath that has gained in popularity with various
congregations and families, there aren’t many outward trappings of the season,
and that is as it should be. Just
as Lent is a time of solemn preparation for the joyous festival of Easter, so is
Advent a solemn time to look inward and prepare oneself for the joyous festival
of Christmas. Although I don’t
have an Advent wreath in my house (the cats would probably destroy it), instead
of keeping Christmas in my heart, I keep Advent in at least a few brain cells
which help sustain me through the pre-Christmas shopping, travel and chaos.
If Christmas is for kids, then Advent is for those of us who at least can still
remember being kids.
Advent is a commemoration of the long, sad generations between the
earliest prophecies of the coming of the Messiah and the event commemorated on
December 25th. While
Christmas and Easter emphasize circular time, great moments that transcend the
moment, Advent roots us very much in historical time. It is a season as much about waiting as about hoping.
Earlier this year, I had one of those birthdays that, since the number of
the year ends in zero, take on a special significance.
I find myself thinking a lot this Advent season about waiting, perhaps
without as much hope as I had in previous decades.
As we get older—well, I’ll speak for myself—as I’ve gotten older,
I’ve noticed that hope and memory seem to blur together.
Am I hoping for or remembering a range of possibility unhampered by
probability? Isn’t it time, at
last, that I grow up? As I
age, am I mellowing (not from the looks of recent film reviews) or just slowing
down?
I’m swamped by news of new fountains of youth to be found in new
bottles of herbs or vitamins, and youth seems more and more appealing.
I keep discovering little tell-tale aches and pains that weren’t there
a year ago that remind me that my body is wearing down.
More importantly, what is happening to my body is somehow symbolic of
what is happening to my life.
We have become as unwilling to talk about, even acknowledge, death as we
once were to admit that babies weren’t really found under cabbage leaves.
Along with that comes a denial of age, and as my generation—the
infamous Boomers—has plodded through its decades, our attempts to stay
youthful have been well documented. But, we still have to turn to a “golden oldies” channel
to hear our music.
Of course, through much of human history, I most likely would not have
reached the age I am now at. Again,
we see our science and technology moving faster than we can keep up with them.
Who are we, as we age? How
do we cope with the extra years of work, extra years of retirement (now that’s
a problem I wouldn’t mind dealing with), the extra adventures, so that we can
find the “advent” at the core of each of them?
In earlier cultures, in fact in other cultures today, age was (is)
treated with respect. Here, our
battle cry seems to be, “Forever young!”
Forever strong, forever healthy… let’s face it, forever sexy, granny
in tight jeans and gramps in a muscle shirt.
Maybe it’s time to form a new concept of sexiness, in place of the one
that the media dish up, one based on the reality that the most powerful sex
organ, for women and men alike, is between our ears not between our legs.
One of my favorite poems, “When
You Are Old” by William Butler Yeats, raises the possibility of the
sexiness of the soul. Now, I’m
hoping that comment motivates you to click on the title and read the poem for
yourself. For an added bonus, check
the other great things you can find at the Bartleby
site.
Back to Advent: almost all religious traditions have celebrations
associated with light and joy around about the darkest time of the year.
There seems to be some nagging psychological, even spiritual need
stirring the human soul, for light in the darkness.
You can share this light at Winter
Festivals from the Past and Present.
Of course, during Advent 2000, we wait for new occupants of the White
House, and we hope that a new light will illuminate the United States of America
under a new administration. I await
rather than look forward to a new year, which will probably begin for me as this
year did, with old movies, middle-aged memories, and young California wine.
I
hope that from my darkness, I’ve brought you a little light, and that you can
join me in an inner, quieter Advent, an escape from the commercialized
pre-Christmas craziness all around us. Keep
your feet dry, your heart full of noble thoughts, and peace possible for
yourself, remembering that when you bring peace into your own life, you have
brought peace into the universe.
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