One of the great things about being in a seminary and letting my theology nerd flag fly is being able to admit things like my love for the Advent season. Not the Christmas season as we see it, per se, although I love carols and Christmas tree lots and watching Linus haltingly recite Luke’s gospel in Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown! I love Advent. In the Catholic Church, it’s a time of longing, a time of preparation, a time of waiting to see what rare new things are about to be born.

The fact that it happens during the winter season makes it all the more powerful for me. The days get shorter, it gets colder, and – usually – the snow comes and covers everything, making the landscape itself seem like it’s holding its breath, anticipating.

Except now, I’m in California, and I walk outside and flowers are blooming and the neighbors have wrapped colored LED lights around the palm trees. I saw a hummingbird last week. All of my physical touchstones for the season are missing, and it could just as easily be a lovely mid-fall day as three weeks from Christmas. Which makes it hard for me to get into that spirit of preparation. Instead of longing for the coming of God in new ways in my life, I mostly feel like I’m longing for the white stuff to fall.

But sometimes little moments make me realize what I’m longing for might not be so far away. Despite the California warmth, the one place where it feels seasonably cold is our house, which is big and drafty and not insulated. My roommates and I generally commiserate together at our giant dining room table, opening our laptops and piling books and papers and pretending to work. We wear winter hats and sweatshirts and wrap blankets around ourselves like towels.

One day three of us sat there, pretending to work, and I mentioned my love of Christmas music. One roommate argued that Christmas music shouldn’t be played until Christmas, and I joked that there should be some good Advent music. I also mentioned my love of Sufjan Stevens and his Christmas music – it’s simple, folky, and yet moving and haunting. It cuts through the fluff of the season and makes me pause. It’s Advent music.

And so I played for my roommates one of my favorite Sufjan Christmas songs – “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” It’s not technically a Christmas song, and it’s never even generally been one of my favorite spiritual songs, period. I always felt like the lyrics were archaic. But his version gave me pause. It was simple and genuine and made sense, somehow.

We sat at the table, listening: Come thou fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing thy praise… and I realized it said exactly what I wanted. I want a tuned heart; I want to be grateful, to be able to wait, to anticipate, even without the hush and the snow. I want to tune my heart to my immediate surroundings, and recognize the rare new things being born even here.

One Response to “Tune my heart”

1. Jacklyn Says:
   January 4th, 2010 at 7:59 pm

   I miss ordinary day! is it dead?
   -Becka’s (of TOD fame) sister

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