It's beginning to look (but not feel) a lot like Christmas

On November First I shared a moment with a stranger here. We were both entering the supermarket and noticed the ginormous festive Christmas ornaments now dangling from the ceiling. Confused, she said out loud “Já Natal?!” (Christmas already?) and I shook my head in agreement with her.

But in Brazil there’s no Thanksgiving to mark the beginning of the Christmas season, so perhaps November First is as good a day as any to open the commercial Christmas season. Except I wasn’t ready for Christmas on November First. And a month later I’m still not ready.

When I lived in America Christmas coincided with short, dark, cold days. Advent was a time to contemplate death, desolation, and the eager yearning for our Messiah to arrive. I would read a devotional every year where the daily texts often wove such themes into their reflections. But here I have to learn new rhythms to the season, and they just don’t come naturally. Even the devotional has let me down some.

I often wake up before my alarm because the sun is up before 5AM, as we are facing our longest days of the year right now. By the time I drop off my kids a few hours later in the morning the sun’s fierceness blasts through the car windows as hot as the midday sun, making me wonder if I’ll get a tan soon. Everyone is looking ahead to their summer plans; none of this feels very Christmassy.

And this gets right to the heart of the issue: just what is this season all about? Have I let Hollywood and family traditions frame this season so much that I just can’t figure out how to properly recognize it amid all the sun and sweat down here? 

This past Sunday, the first Sunday of Advent, our sermon text was Mary’s Magnificat—that beautiful poetic prayer in which the coming of the Messiah marks a great upheaval in our world as the proud, powerful and rich are turned away so God can welcome the humble, hungry and poor.

I was also struck by the Portuguese translation of Mary’s statement about how future generations will call her blessed. My translation put “bem-aventurada” for blessed, which is fine because it means blessed. But it literally means something along the lines of someone whose ventures workout well.

And to that I think of Mary:

Her confusion about the angel’s greeting to her;

Her labor and delivery away from home and family amid strange shepherds;

Her reception of Anna’s and Simeon’s prayers at the temple;
Her pondering of the visit of the wise men and their gifts fit for a dead king;

Her frustration at a wedding reception she was responsible for that was about to run out of wine;

Her visit to Golgotha, being told that another man will have to care for her like a son because her firstborn son was hanging there in front of her, bleeding and dying.

And yet we do call her blessed today. Her ventures did end up working out well for her…and for the rest of us. For nine months she waited to meet the one she would name Jesus – who would save his people from their sins. And she would wait another thirty years before he would be baptized to begin his mission in full on earth. And she would wait hours while he was dying on the cross. And she would wait days while he was buried in the tomb. And she would wait the rest of her life for his return.

And so we wait with her too. We too will be well-adventured and blessed. But not if we insist on being among the proud ones, the powerful ones or the rich ones. Advent isn’t for them. It’s for the rest of us, no matter how hot or cold or how long or short our days this time of year may be.