It’s the length of day, not the temperature, that prompts a horse to shed its glossy summer coat in exchange for a thick and fuzzy winter layer. Because of this, some show barns will leave the lights on at night in a bid to throw off the horse’s inner system and delay this transition. A similar trick is often used in chicken coops, where lights are left on in order to delay the natural cessation or slowing of egg laying in winter. In both, people manipulate the natural design of creatures, designs which include cycles of pause and preparation intended to protect and preserve them, in exchange for unceasing production or maintaining the appearance of abundance.
And part of being human, particularly a human today, means that we are prone to doing the same to ourselves and others. Leaving the “lights on” in a myriad of different ways, so that we can maintain some outward appearance or resist a lull in our production. Though doing so is in opposition to our design which includes cycles of pause and preparation. We have been created to submit ourselves to the preparatory equivalent of seasons like fall, of Church seasons such as Advent and Lent, and to the day of rest called Sabbath, all of which are intended for, and essential to, the preservation and protection of our lives, and the ongoing sanctification of our souls and the world.
I say all of this because we are about to embark on a season that is overwhelmingly marked not by the natural contours of the season of Advent or the entrance to winter, but by the drive to maintain the appearance and production of an economy that relies on us keeping the lights. Which means that we have to find ways to resist the noise, the haste, and the iridescent glow of all that is artificial this season, and make room to become silent, still, and slow, in the midst of it.
I love this line from my former professor A.J. Swoboda’s book on Sabbath,
“The Sabbath straightens up our spirits and awakens us from the lull of the eternal yes. Therefore, a no is language of intention. No one accidentally says no these days. Except for laziness, a no actually comes from a place of self-knowledge, of self-restraint, of self-awareness. For the Christian, a no should be spoken with the discernment of what God has spoken yes over…”
Its Ok to say no to something or someone in the weeks ahead. Its actually a very Christian thing to do. Especially if that ‘no’ creates room for you to be more present to God, to your loved ones, or to the work that God is preparing to do in you, and through you, in the season ahead.
If you are like me than you might be carrying around a variety of lists right now, from lists of things to cook for Thanksgiving, to Christmas wishlists, and lists marking upcoming holiday commitments. These are good lists. But we also need a list for how we intend to participate in, and with, the preparatory work of the Advent season. Where is there room for pause, for quiet, and for the welcoming of the Spirit of God? What or who do we need to say ‘no’ to in order to make that room? Because if we don’t intentionally set aside the space, it will become consumed by other things.
Advent begins on Sunday, December 3rd this year. May we find each other, and Jesus, in the dark that awaits us there.