It seems hard to believe but today is the first Sunday of Advent. It’s not even December yet. I can’t even start opening the little windows and doors on my Advent calendar. But because Christmas falls on a Sunday this year, here we are in November lighting the first candle on the Advent wreath at church.
Today, instead of a sermon, my friend Judy presented a Godly Play lesson to the congregation. It was the first lesson of Advent. It was the beginning to a story we’re all familiar with, a story that takes place in a small town called Bethlehem.
Because Judy was giving a demonstration of a lesson, she spoke in the same tones she uses with the children and I thought the tone was perfect for the story. Her tone was gentle, soothing, and I guess because we all know how the story ends, that this perfect little child will one day brutally die on the cross for all of us, Judy’s tone was also somewhat haunting and mysterious.
Stories are special that way. They draw us in. They open our eyes to things previously unseen. They speak to us in ways that normal conversation cannot. They stir our imagination. They allow us to feel and to hope.
Recently I read the novel Breadcrumbs by Anne Ursu. It’s the story of a little girl who loves fairy tales whether they be written by Tolkien, Lewis or L’Engle. When a strange woman kidnaps her best friend, the girl follows them into the forest, a forest populated by characters from the stories of Hans Christian Andersen.
There is a quote from this novel that I have fallen in love with, a quote about the power of stories. It reads as follows: “Now you know the world is more than it seems to be. You know this, of course, because you read stories. You understand that there is the surface and then there are all the things that glimmer and shift underneath it. And you know that not everyone believes in those things, that there are people—a great many people—who believe the world cannot be any more than what they can see with their eyes. But we know better.”
Stories allow us to believe in things we cannot see.
Now the story of Jesus and his birth in Bethlehem is no fairy tale. But, at the same time, none of us were there to witness it. A good storyteller can bring the event to life. A good storyteller sets the scene. Who were Jesus’ parents? Why were they running? Where were they running to? Why a manger? There’s a sense of urgency, but a sense of great anticipation as if the whole universe were holding its breath.
Who doesn’t want to know what happens next?
This is Advent.
It is a story filled with great joy and great drama and great danger.
To tell the story in a day would do it no justice, but to let it unfold slowly over the course of a month allows us a chance to savor each moment and recognize how glorious and special the birth of Jesus is.
