Relief from a world in flux

I was never a particular fan of the liturgical calendar. An early Christian life fueled by Puritan classics and the deep suspicion of establishment Anglicanism typical of English non-conformist church life left me suspicious that observing the seasons of the year in religious terms smacked of a half-hearted commitment to the Bible at best. But I have grown older and, while perhaps no wiser in general, I have warmed to the liturgical calendar and especially Advent. Always a lover of Christmas as a family festival I have come to appreciate it as an important religious time too.

Perhaps the most important benefit it brings is an opportunity to correct the focus of our minds and draw them to those things that are above and away from matters of this earth—matters that are truly important but whose significance must always be relativized by placing them in the greater context of eternity. That is true of suffering, as Paul makes clear in 2 Corinthians. There he describes his catastrophic experiences of floggings, imprisonment, shipwreck and slanderous accusations hurled at him by purported brethren as but light, momentary afflictions compared to the eternal weight of glory that is to come. But it is also true of the experiences of this life in general, not simply those that cause physical or mental pain. Particularly at the current moment, when so much seems to be in flux and a sense of social acceleration leaves so many with a sense of vertigo, it is vital to refocus on those things that do not change, of which the Incarnation is surely the supreme and decisive example.

Regular Lord’s Day worship is, of course, the routine way in which this is done, but it is impossible to cover the whole counsel of God on a weekly basis. The danger for those who pay no attention to the concerns of a liturgical calendar can be that they end up neglecting areas of teaching or missing the opportunity to build a dramatic rhythm to their pedagogy over periods of time. Setting forth that whole counsel over a whole year on an annual basis therefore has pedagogical and liturgical advantages.

That’s why the Heidelberg Catechism, perhaps the most beautiful pedagogical tool that the Reformation produced, is divided into 52 Lord’s Days. And when the catechesis follows the annual rhythm of time, that reinforces the teaching and the worship to which it gives rise. Thus, the timing of Christmas in the northern hemisphere—the physically darkest time of the year—brings out in sharp relief the idea of light bursting into the darkness and the darkness signally failing to overcome it.

To this we can also add the seasonal songs that the church sings. There are no more profound and devotional expressions of the catholic orthodoxy of the church’s teaching about Christ than those found in carols. “Mild he lays his glory by. Born that man no more may die. Born to raise the sons of earth. Born to give them second birth.” “God of God, light of light. Lo, he abhors not the virgin’s womb. Very God, begotten not created.” There is so much theology packed into such beautiful doxology in those words that we neglect them to our cost. And again, the special nature of the season reinforces their power.

These are strange times for Christians. The temptation to prioritize earthly things is acute at a moment in history where so much on this earth seems to be at stake. But compared to the eternal weight of glory that is to come, these things are light momentary ephemera. Indeed, they are such in comparison with the glory that has already come in Christ. Christmas offers an opportunity to refocus on what really counts—the things that are above. The humble nature and circumstances of the Incarnation set this world in context and force us to compare what it offers to that glorious future and reality which our God offers. We should not neglect it.