Rector's Note: Making Room for Advent - 12.04.25

Walking our dog in the late evening is the best time to see the  clash of holiday décor that we encounter at this time of year. One house in particular still has Halloween bats dangling from branches adorned with Christmas Tree lights. Thanksgiving turkeys peek from behind fences and Christmas trees blink from the windows behind. It’s beginning to look a lot like the calendar pages have run together.

With so many secular holidays bunched in a short time it can be hard to find space for Advent, which wants to be an empty space that anticipates and dreams. I’m to blame as well. I insisted we put up the Christmas tree the first Sunday of Advent, and I’m not going to apologize. I want to squeeze everything I can from the decorations we’ve collected over more than 30 years. I want to spend weeks moving and rehanging the decorations around until they are just right. I want to sit in front of that tree all lit up in the dark and meditate on all the memories it holds for as long as I can.

But nearby, Advent has its place as well. This year I bought a little Advent candle set that parishioner Karen Sayer made from melted down church candles, which she sold at the recent Craft Show. They sit on my mantle in Advent order, blue, blue, pink, blue – a linear wreath this year, rather than my traditional round one. (You can make your own Advent wreath this Sunday during Fellowship hour, by the way).

And on a side table sits my cherished Jesse Tree, which is 29 years old this year.  A tin box holds 25 origami and paper cut ornaments that I crafted when my son was 2. There is a symbol for each day of Advent, each telling a story of Israel’s long biblical anticipation of the messiah. A small booklet lies nearby with prayers and stories for each ornament to be read as we put them up.  When the kids were young we were much better about gathering around the Jesse tree to put on an ornament and say a prayer. In recent years I’ve tended to add them on the fly, sometimes putting on several at a time just to catch up.

But so far, this year, I’ve managed to pause for a moment with each little paper memory – my attempt to make a bit of Advent space. I’m less than a week in, so it’s hard to say if I can keep it up. The little origami Jess Tree ornament went up on Sunday. Then appeared the Sun and Moon that mark the creation story, followed by the Snake that represents the story of Adam and Eve. The dove from Noah’s Ark nestled onto its own branch yesterday. The camel that speaks of the journeying of Moses and Sarah waits to find its place on the tree tonight.

The ornaments sit on a little artificial fir tree with branches that I unbend each year. It’s looking more and more like it could try out for a Charlie Brown Christmas.  Still, it’s an essential part of my Advent remembering because it speaks not only of the shoot that came from the stump of Jesse, the father of David (Isaiah 11:1), but it also reminds me of all the Jesse’s in my own family tree: my father, my grandfather, my husband, his father, his grandfather, as well as our son.  For me, the Jesse tree is a family tree and a faith tree – both remind me how God tells the divine story through generations at the speed of lifetimes.

What seasonal rituals help you pause in the middle of the holiday rush to savor, meditate and breathe in the promise of the coming Christmas? There are several opportunities here at St. Peter’s to make that space.

·       The Service of Lessons and Carols on Sunday, Dec. 14 during the 10 am service carves out extra space for the Scriptures and music of the Advent season.

·       The Taizé Blue Christmas service on Dec. 16 at 7 p.m. is a quiet and contemplative experience to remember and honor those we miss this season.

·       Or stop by the weekly Wednesday Eucharist at 9:30 am in the chapel to make room for healing in your life, or the lives of those you care for.

I hope that in the press of seasonal doing, you have a little time for Advent being, whether with Jesse Tree, Advent wreath, or just sitting in the dark by tree light and offering up a prayer of expectant gratitude.