Fleeting and permanent (Fourth Sunday in Advent)

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Already it's the last Sunday before Christmas. I could say this year has sped past, but time moves so quickly now that I'm...not so young anymore. And yet, for as quickly as this year is ending, another awaits, the fleeting and permanence of today's title.

Much like our lives on this planet, our grasp of what we believe we possess, like our health, things, a claim on a month that is practically over; December roared in on a wave of advertisements and assumptions, as though shopping till we drop is the achievable nirvana once a year.

Yet what does Christmas mean? It's still celebrated over two thousand years after Jesus's birth, so it's relevant. It's.... It's late on this Fourth Sunday in Advent, and I'm weary. Tired of ads proclaiming that all matters is sparkly holiday parties and athletes dressed up as Santa saving the day. I'm exhausted from all the commercialization of something sacred. And in a few days, attention will be turned to the end of the year as though Christmas was months ago and Valentine's Day will be all the marketing rage.

To many, Christmas is merely a means to the next cash cow on the calendar.

To me, Christmas is a child born unto us. A savior, who is Christ the Lord. Advent is preparing for that gift, taking stock and giving thanks, knowing hope, peace, joy, and love. Last weekend we were celebrating with family and I completely forgot about Advent. Do I take for granted a savior, mercy, love? Are these words as meaningless as all the advertisements?

All I know is despite how crass it all seems, how I let slip unnoticed the Third Sunday of Advent, a greater good remains. A baby born unto us still matters, if we care to look beyond the expected timeline. Christmas doesn't end on the twenty-sixth, it's not fleeting at all. It's as permanent as we wish to make goodness and charity, selflessness and humility. These elements are ones within my character that constantly require polishing.Yet because of one small child, an infant, all my mistakes, even forgetting Advent last week, are swept aside. What an amazing miracle.

The truth of Christmas, of Advent, is a miracle occurred. Or that faith allows for the miracle to be real. Martin Luther notes that a virgin birth, while indeed extraordinary, isn't as marvelous as one's acceptance of sins forgiven, salvation proffered, love extended freely and fully and permanently. That love is the most permanent thing I know. May you too know it in this Advent season.

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