An Extra Candle
Sitting as a centerpiece on our dining table is a small arrangement of artificial evergreen branches with pinecones and bright red berries. In the middle of this display is a black candle stand with holders for five little candles. I didn’t grow up lighting Advent candles, but I appreciate it as a way of creating focus and telling the story to our kids. This season is full of rich symbolism and needed sentiment, something I remember every time I walk past our lit Christmas tree. But I also feel a pull on my heart to the other end of the holiday experience. Special days and seasons tend to have a polarizing effect on our emotions and spiritual lives. Do you feel this every year too? In this post, I want to offer a reflection as well as some practical considerations for caring for members of your faith communities.
We all know very well the tension that comes with wanting to celebrate and needing to honor our own hurts as well as those in our communities. These experiences of loss and expressions of lament are woven through each of the wonderful themes of joy, peace, faith, hope, and love. However, the presence of this tension does not diminish or place a wet blanket on each topic, but rather invites us to consider its depth and connection to life and the gospel.
Lately, I have been reflecting on how all of these themes, and Advent especially, are connected to another well-known story in the Hebrew Bible. In Gen. 28, Jacob’s life has been about getting ahead at the expense of others. He has burned bridges and is now running away in a desperate attempt to save himself and start anew. While in transit, he stops for the night and has an incredibly vivid dream. Perhaps he thought that the God of his father was back at home but, to his surprise, God is even here in this strange place he named Bethel. [1] Jacob still has a ways to go in his own commitment to God, but for now he receives the reassurance that, even here, at this unsettled time and place, God is there.
I appreciate that the story is not neatly concluded at Bethel. Jacob’s initial commitment to God is fairly transactional, and I have to wonder if his old habits are at work in his mind, as if he is sizing up God as another person to maneuver. He still has the decades-long struggle with Laban ahead of him, he will still wrestle through the night and limp away, and he must still face the fearful reunion with his brother and the passing of Rachel. The presence of God at Bethel is not a solution, as if life is merely a mechanical puzzle, but rather the arrival of reassurance.
Likewise, there are people in our communities for whom our words will fall shy of any satisfying solution, and those for whom God appears to remain hidden. I believe that these experiences are part of what it means to discover the depth of the themes to which we turn our attention this time of year. We again wait for Christ’s coming, but we do so together. God shows up during the uncertainty represented by Bethel, Jesus is born during the violent reign of Herod, and we are invited to see and welcome Christ in every experience of loss and lament. This is such an important time to express welcome.
So what does this look like in practice? First, it is helpful to remind ourselves that we naturally oscillate during times of loss. [2] In other words, our hearts and minds will focus on the loss for a time and will then swing over toward a restoration orientation (which can be as simple as doing the dishes or putting up decorations). This natural dual process allows us to extend kindness to ourselves. It is not unhealthy to not want to celebrate or do any of the usual things, and it is not dishonoring to participate in something lighthearted or joyful. This oscillation can move back and forth even daily. It is okay to not know how we will handle this season. With this concession in mind, here are a few practical steps: [3]
Open yourself to intentionally engaging your hurt, but do not attempt to do this when you are particularly down. Set aside a time when you are ready to address it.
It is okay to do things differently this year. There are options, and having a choice (even a very small one) is particularly important right now.
Plan a project. Plant a tree, place a wreath or flowers, make a special donation.
Collect and organize your pictures into a special collection.
Write a list of coping skills and past sources of strength. It can help simply knowing you have something in place.
Light a candle as a way to recognize a lost loved one. It is okay to not talk about it in the moment, but many want to find some way to acknowledge who is missing.
None of these options are meant to be a final word or perfect choice for everyone. The point, instead, is to deepen our awareness and our ability to welcome all in our communities as Christ welcomed us.
In the middle of our table is a black candle stand with holders for five little candles. However, up on the counter is a single white candle with special meaning for our family. The point is to create space. May we all do so for each other this year.
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[1] Aaron Wildavsky, The Nursing Father: Moses as a Political Leader (The University of Alabama Press, 1984), 52-53.
[2] https://hospicefoundation.org/Education
[3] https://hospicefoundation.org/Education and Hospice of the Big Country, Life After Loss Grief Support Group.
