watch for the light

It’s eight years ago this month since I last went to Washington, D.C. I’ve been there five times, but have only toured the National Cathedral once, the last time I was there. I have a hazy memory of trooping through the cathedral with my group of 24 other students and three sponsors, led by a smiling white-haired docent. We trod softly on the marble floors, and gazed up at the stained-glass windows in awe. I’ve always loved stained glass, and the colored patterns it makes when the sun shines through. There were candles, too, and lots of marble and stone, and at the end, one of the most beautiful gift shops I’ve ever seen.

I barely knew about Advent then, having grown up in a non-liturgical Protestant church. We loved Christmas, and made a big deal out of it, but I’d never heard much about Advent. However, I picked up the above book, Watch for the Light, that day in the cathedral gift shop, along with a silvered maple leaf ornament that still hangs on my Christmas tree every year. And each year since then, at the end of November, I’ve pulled out the book and started the readings again.

The book contains every traditional perspective on Advent – and some decidedly non-traditional ones. There are sermons, essays, excerpts from novels, a couple of hymn lyrics – even a Sylvia Plath poem. There are readings from Kathleen Norris and Madeleine L’Engle, beloved authors of mine, and readings from people I’ve never heard of. It’s a conscience-pricking, thought-provoking, yet comforting look at the birth of Christ. And it has become one of the ways I ring in the season.

I think I love the title best of all. Here in December, as the winter solstice approaches and the days are grey and cheerless, we spend a lot of time watching for the light. We light candles, and Christmas trees, and lamps, against the darkness. And we wait for the day when everything suddenly flares into light and music, when we can raise our voices and declare – Christ is born.

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