Advent

Happy third Sunday in Advent!

Four years ago--in the months after the September 11 attacks--I kept thinking about death (and teaching Hamlet didn't help). I felt generally numb, and I had a strange urge: I wanted to see an advent wreath. At the time I was Quaker, and Quakers don't use many outward symbols during worship--certainly no Advent wreaths. I promised myself I'd see one when I went to church with my grandmother on Christmas Eve. I wanted to see the candles lit gradually in the darkness. I needed something to give me a feeling of hope.

My mom told me when the service was, but she made a mistake: she said 7:30 instead of 7:00. When my brother, my grandmother, and I arrived at church, we realized we were 15 minutes late, not 15 minute early as we'd thought. As we squeezed into a pew, I saw that the wreath was already lit, and I wanted to cry. I had wanted to see the candles lit for weeks, but I had been denied even that simple wish.

This morning as I sat in church, I listened to the choir sing and looked at the three advent candles. This is the fourth church I've celebrated advent with. (In Philadelphia I tried several different churches before I found one that felt like home, and then I had to move.) It made me feel sad to remember the Christmas I felt exiled, and it made me sad to think that in some ways, I still feel that way in church. I'm not baptized (which I'm sure my parents regret now), I don't know what I believe, and I don't know how I'm going to figure it out.

This was meant to be a quick, light post--a little blurb to go with a picture I found online. But sometimes I find religion really tough going. This is one of those days. Sometimes I wish I could just rely on science, or a simple childlike faith. It's hard to find yourself perpetually in Advent, perpetually waiting, with only a few candles to give you hope.

Photo by tonreg on flickr.com.