Growing up in the Tennessee Valley, fall was always a time of both wonder and anxiety. The natural world shines in the most gorgeous way, with our deciduous trees putting on a warm and rich fanfare of color as they say goodbye to their leaves until spring. Trails in and around Huntsville begin to take on that strange but beautiful quality which the bareness of winter reveals: rock outcroppings loom larger and more stark, bare branches intertwine and seem limitless as they climb upward, birds seem so quiet that the occasional squirrel skirting through the leaves can sound like an event.
Though beautiful, this time of year can feel overwhelming for many of us. Like most Southerners, I am a child of heat and light. We love our summers, full of green plants and warm sunlight, distracted by the abundance that nature provides, both in the delicious yield of our farms and gardens, and the gorgeous flowers blooming everywhere. But as summer turns to fall, and eventually winter, the fading light and the ending of natural cycles can inspire thoughts of our own mortality and those we love. As a young person, the transition to holiday cheer in the midst of mid-winter felt challenging. The bright lights, the parties, and the busyness created a tension with the reality I saw outside and felt inside. This disparity carried a sort of heaviness, a slight sense of shame about my own internal landscape, which felt much more in sync with the cycles of nature, and often did not match the excess of good cheer and celebration that many associate with the holiday season.
Then I discovered, really discovered, the Christian practice of Advent. Growing up in the church, I’d understood the practice vaguely. As an adult, I’ve come to embrace that Advent is a critical player in the holiday experience, and for me personally, an invitation to fall back in love with the season.
Advent invites us to slow down, to do less, and to take intentional time for focusing inward, rather than outward, during one of the busiest seasons of the year. Dating back to the 4th century, the season that we now call Advent (from the Latin “adventus”, meaning “coming” or “arrival”) was first practiced as a period of fasting and penitence before individuals were baptized into the church on Epiphany. Many pagan customs were also folded into the traditions of Advent, so whether or not someone is a practicing Christian, there are roots in this season that are relevant to all of us. Lighting candles, building fires, decorating with evergreens, performing acts of service, and observing the Solstice all reconnect us with ancient traditions that lean heavily into observance and celebration of the natural world, as well as regenerative acts of community and kindness.
Over time, Advent became associated with a joyful anticipation of the birth of Christ rather than the typical solemnity of a fasting season and remains a time to focus on the four pillars of hope, peace, joy, and love. Regardless of your religious beliefs and traditions, finding intentional space to reflect on the gifts of mid-winter can be an amazing precursor to a holiday celebration of love, life, and light. Last year, I committed to fasting after sundown during Advent. It was challenging at times, but the daily practice helped me stay focused on the inward quality of the season and centered simplicity in the evenings, which in turn fostered more space for rest. Selfishly, it also gave my waistline more space to expand once the feast of Christmas arrived and the sweet potato casserole was on the table.
Physical fasting is only one of many possibilities though; there are so many creative Advent calendars on the market these days, and each one could ground a daily ritual that embodies both the joyful anticipation and the deep reflection of the season. In the stillness of winter nights, we are invited to reflect with what Father Richard Rohr calls “the language of descent.” Rohr reminds us how important it is to enter the dark periods of life “willingly and trustingly” as they are often our best teachers. “Religious energy is in the dark questions, seldom in the answers” writes Rohr in his book Everything Belongs: The Gift of Contemplative Prayer. Whether your daily reflection connects to one piece of chocolate popped out of an Advent calendar, or a bag of tea or any other culinary delight, let the sweetness support your spirit as it takes time and space to hold something bigger for a moment as well.
Perhaps the easiest thing to do in Advent is the hardest of them all: Simply slowing down. Brittney Saffell, a mother of three and Director of Children’s Ministries at Aldersgate UMC in South Huntsville, tries to encourage her own family towards a practice of simplicity during the season, prioritizing two big holiday commitments among a field of possibilities. Saffell also prepares brief weekly rituals for the families in her congregation each year, accompanied by a small but simple bag of supplies for each family to keep activities easy and streamlined. Saffell says, “I try to keep each week not much longer than 5 minutes, and every week includes one scripture, one service prompt, and one fun activity.”
Whatever practice you utilize in your own life to prepare for and usher in the holidays, I hope you find something that allows you to connect to the richness that the darkness holds for all of us. The German poet Rainer Maria Rilke once wrote that the darkness let him “imagine a great presence stirring” beside him. Connecting to something larger, a great stirring presence, is something many of us could use in a time such as this. Whether you light a candle, say a prayer, read a book, or just relish more quiet and rest this season, I hope that the holidays afford you space to slow down, to lean into a space of nurture, and to find your own way home.
Dates for 2025 Advent
Sunday, November 30th until Wednesday, December 24th
*If you really want to lean in, Eastern Orthodox Christians celebrate a full forty days of fast, beginning (this year) on Saturday, November 15th