I used to love making art projects in Sunday school, Advent calendars that would help us count down the days until Christmas. I loved Christmas because of the element of surprise. But once Santa came, it was a letdown. No more surprise to look forward to! As an adult, I look forward to taking down the Christmas Tree – all those pine needles everywhere! I look forward to getting past it.   

Today, our music is centered around anticipatory delight. It’s that wonderful feeling of looking forward. I love Malcolm Archer’s setting of “People Look East.” Richard Shephard picks up on that same, lilting tune and makes a fun organ postlude out of it. It’s skipping and frolicking, but what are we looking forward to? Many people say Christmas, but really? It’s the same every year. By the time it’s over, you’re relieved. How many gingerbread cookies can you eat, and eggnog can you drink?   

In theology, looking east is significant because it symbolizes turning towards God. Sometimes it’s interpreted as facing the rising sun, but can you imagine facing the sun? Your pupils would burn out. It would blind you. But that’s what Advent is – turning towards the blinding of the unknown, the unexpected, the vast sheen of nothing that no words can describe nor images capture. The images of Christmas – boy oh boy – how many more do we need? The Nativity has been painted to death.

I have to play “O Come All Ye Faithful” a total of 4 times between Lessons and Carols and Christmas morning. I have played that carol (and the others) hundreds of times. Playing “O Come All Ye Faithful” will not be a surprise to me this year, unless I inadvertently play it in g minor instead of g major. That might be a fun surprise, but the rector might frown.

I know what to expect on Christmas Eve – well-dressed people we’ve never seen, appearing in church for the first time, never to be seen again; more of the familiar, waist-busting food and trite carols; and rehashing of the past, red banners hanging over the altar and all. I know exactly what it’s going to look like. I know exactly how it’s going to feel when the lights dim, and we sing “Silent Night” (insert eyeroll). Can we turn on some lights please? Turn them so bright, we can’t see anymore. Now that would be surprising – but again, the rector might frown.  

But advent reminds me of being in paradise, blinded by trust, light, and love that I can’t capture, see, or describe. I live in that anticipatory delight now – my head in the clouds – not knowing a thing, especially those well-dressed bodies that appear in church only once a year, not even knowing how to hold a hymnal.

“O Come All Ye Faithful” is old news and brings me down to earth, but earth is meh. New news is forever unexpected, radiant, anticipatory, and perpetually ascending! I’m now facing the rising sun, the paradise of the unexpected, the return trip into the clouds of glory from whence I came. This is the nature of Reality – the only true direction of eternal life – clean, pure, open, and silent – settled towards the sun. When you can’t see a thing, what good news! You’re faced in the right direction – East, and you’re not counting down to anything but merely living in paradise, now and always. Soli Deo Gloria!