The Paradox of Advent: Finding Sacred Space in the Middle of Everything - by Lori Wilson

Let's take a breath. Let the day fall away. Whatever it took to get here—the traffic, the lists, the candles, the noise—let it rest. We begin by entering stillness, not as an escape, but as an opening. Because even in the rush of this Advent season, God is here—waiting to be noticed.

The psalmist knew this truth and invites us into it. This is Psalm 46, verse 10:

"Be still, and know that I am God." 

Be Still and Know that I Am. 

Be Still and Know. 

Be Still. 

BE!

Like Mary, we stand on the threshold of mystery—ordinary people, carrying extraordinary grace. We carry potential. And so we pray:

God of Advent promise, quiet our hearts. Let our busyness become a blessing, our waiting become wonder. May the Christ who was born in Bethlehem be born again in us each day this Advent. Amen.

The song "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" can settle our hearts into that quiet place where we can begin to hear God's voice again, and we can begin to hear our own longing.

The Paradox of Advent

Every Advent, we hear the same invitation: this is the season to slow down, to prepare our hearts, to make room for the coming of Christ. And every year, most of us find ourselves thinking, "That sounds like a beautiful plan, and I want to... but have you seen my December calendar?"

Life doesn't stop or slow down for Advent. The world doesn't quiet down because the Church calendar says so. Sometimes, Advent arrives when the to-do list is longest, the expectations highest, and our energy is at its lowest.

And still, this season whispers: God is coming. Not somewhere far away—but here, now. Into this world, into our lives, just as they are.

John's Gospel tells us: "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us." (John 1:14)

God didn't wait for perfect circumstances. God came into the mess, the uncertainty, the ordinary chaos of human life.

We have real responsibilities. Real people are counting on us. So how do we truly prepare our hearts when December demands so much of us?

This is the paradox of Advent: We are asked to make space for the Holy—in the middle of everything. To be Christ-bearers—even while juggling shopping lists and wrapping paper and party plans and travel.

Mary understood this paradox. She wasn't in a cathedral when the angel came. She was simply living her ordinary life in her ordinary home when God's invitation found her.

Listen to that moment from Luke's Gospel: "The angel went to her and said, 'Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.' Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, 'Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus.'" (Luke 1:28-31)

And Mary's response wasn't grand or complicated. It was just, yes, after the question. How can this be? And then... "I am the Lord's servant. May your word in me be fulfilled." (Luke 1:38) A yes that changed everything, changed the world.

The song "Mary, Did You Know?" wonders about that moment—that holy yes. Did Mary understand everything she was saying yes to? I don't think so. Imagine the angel standing before Mary. Imagine her fear, her wonder, her courage. And then imagine that same question being asked of you: Will you bear the light of Christ into the world, right now?

Saying Yes & The Reality of December

Mary's yes wasn't easy. It wasn't convenient for her or for Joseph. It didn't come with a clear plan. But it was real. It had real consequences. And it was enough for God to begin something extraordinary.

Like Mary, God doesn't wait for us to have it all figured out, to have our calendars clear. God begins in the ordinary—in the chaos, in the carpool, the babysitting grandkids, in the half-finished prayers, in the busyness, in the quiet ache for more meaning.

Sometimes, we think we have to be perfect to be holy. But what if holiness begins not with perfection, but with presence? Just showing up. Just saying, Here I am, Lord.

Scripture reminds us that God sees our hearts, not our performance. In Samuel, we hear:

"The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7)

What if we've been hearing the Advent invitation wrong? We think it's saying "do less, clear space"—but what if it's actually inviting us to see differently? What if all these tasks, all this busyness—what if they're not obstacles to Advent at all, but the very places where we're invited to become Christ-bearers?

The song "Breath of Heaven" captures this longing for God's presence in the midst of uncertainty.

Sometimes our yes feels small—like lighting a single candle against the dark of the entire night sky. But Christ doesn't ask us to light the whole sky, only to shine where we are.

Jesus himself said, "You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead, they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven." (Matthew 5:14-16)

Advent isn't about doing more or doing less; it's about being more. It's about being more present. It's about letting God be born again in the ordinary places we live and love.

The Reality of Our December

Let me name what's really on our plates right now: Holiday concerts. Christmas parties. Shopping, wrapping, mailing. Cards to write. Decorating the tree, setting up the crèche. Church events. The cookies. The meals. Travel planning. And all the regular things we need to do: clean the house, do the laundry, make meals, and shop for groceries. And then there are the emergencies, the one who gets sick, the family member who dies. 

This is real. This is our lives. And here's what I want us to hear: None of this is in our way. All of it can become our way.

Reframing Our Advent: Spiritual Practices in Ordinary Tasks

So how do we do this? How do we see differently? Let me offer you some invitations—ways to transform your and my December tasks into spiritual practices.

Paul writes to the Colossians: "And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God through him." (Colossians 3:17)

Our invitation is to invite God into whatever we do. Not just the overtly religious acts. Everything. Every task. Every encounter.

Decorating: Creating Sacred Spaces

I love to put out the Advent wreath. If you have never done it, get one. When you light those candles, one a week—whether nightly or on Sundays—you're not just following tradition. Each flame represents a quality of Christ we're called to embody: hope, peace, joy, or love. As you light each candle, you're making a commitment: "This week, I will be hope. This week, I will be peace." You're saying yes to becoming what you're waiting for. This yes, is our invitation to being the hope, peace, joy and love of Jesus in this chaotic time of year.

Consider the tree. And the questions of when will we get the tree, Thanksgiving weekend, the first weekend in December. How do I carve out the time to decorate it. Once you get through all of that, consider starting with just the lights, then decorating slowly, a little each day. That tree is a symbol of light, breaking into winter darkness.

Isaiah prophesied:"The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned." (Isaiah 9:2)

As you add each ornament, ask yourself: How am I light in my family? How am I Christ's light in the lives I touch each day? Your tree becomes a mirror, reflecting back your own call to illuminate the world. And when you end each day, you can take a look at it, and ask yourself: how did I touch someone with Jesus' love today? Or who touched me?

My other favorite item to put out is the crèche. When you set up that stable, really see it: a place where a child will be born among animals in a barn. The humility is staggering. You and I would never choose that type of place to give birth to a baby.

Luke tells us: "She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them." (Luke 2:7)

And Bethlehem? Why did Mary and Joseph, returning to Joseph's hometown, end up in a stable? Were there no relatives to take them in? Perhaps the stigma remained—a woman pregnant before marriage. Even in his birth, Jesus identified with the excluded, the whispered about, the ones without a space to live.

And that manger—do you see it? It's a feeding trough, where animals eat. This is where they laid the baby who would one day say, "I am the bread of life." Even the manger points forward to the Eucharist. From his first night, Jesus was placed in the spot meant for food, for sustenance, for life itself.

Paul captures this mystery: "Though he was in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness." (Philippians 2:6-7)

Then, if you have one, consider the star that guided the Magi. You are also a guide, leading others to Christ by how you live, how you love, how you forgive, how you seek peace. You are making Christ visible to your family, friends, your community,and  your church. You are the wise one. What is the gift you bring to God?

And then those shepherds—they were the smelly ones, the ones who spent their nights with sheep, the ones at society's margins. These were the first guests at the Incarnation.

"There were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them." (Luke 2:8-9)

These were Jesus' first visitors. What does that tell us about who belongs in Jesus' family? Everyone. Especially those that the world has decided don't matter. There may be an invitation for us right here. How do we welcome those who are unseen and unwanted? Is there an invitation for us here when we consider people we prefer be unseen and are unwanted, in our community, our church, our family?

Shopping: The Sacrament of Giving

Consider the never-ending shopping. If you are like me, you might have started in November. Consider the buying and giving we do as a sacrament. Before you buy anything else, ask: Is this all necessary? Where can I simplify? Then, for each person you're shopping for, pause. See them. What gift would say, "You matter. You are seen. You are loved." Instead of shopping and purchasing because of obligation.

You're not just checking off a list. You're saying, "You are a gift to the world, and I see that. I value you." Each thoughtfully chosen gift becomes a small sacrament of love.

Christmas Cards: The Question of Connection

Here's a confession: I stopped sending Christmas cards a few years ago. It cost hundreds of dollars and hours of handwriting. And you know what happened? Almost nothing. A few people still send me cards—fewer than before—but no one called to say, "Lori, where's my card?"

I'm not telling you to do what I did, but I am inviting you to ask: Why am I sending these? If you want to stay connected with people you don't see regularly, what if a card in March—when no one receives cards—would be more meaningful? An Easter message, or a simple note in summer, might actually be read and treasured in a way that gets lost in the December avalanche.

The question isn't about cards. It's about being intentional with your time and energy that you want to put in for genuine connection. And it's about your why. Consider why you send them. What is the purpose? If it's to do it because everyone else does, there might be an invitation from God there. If the answer is real connection, you might be a trailblazer and do it at another easier time of the year.

Concerts and Performances: The Gift of Presence

I'll be going to three concerts this Advent. And I'm excited. I think of these concerts and performances at schools of my grandchildren as the gift of my presence. These might not be negotiable for you. But you can choose how you show up. As you sit through that concert—even if it's your third that week—remember what a gift it is to be trusted with a child's life. To be the one who shows up. To be the one who says, by your presence, "You matter. What you're learning means something. I'm here. I'm proud of your effort, your creativity, your perseverance."

Your showing up is the gift. Not just for them, but also for you. You get to witness their growth, courage, and the joy of trying. That's sacred ground.

Hebrews tells us: "And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together... but encouraging one another." (Hebrews 10:24-25)

The people you show up to listen to will remember. My kids still talk about their Christmas concert when they were toy soldiers in elementary school and what that night was like for them and who came to watch them.

Cooking and Baking: The Ministry of Nourishment

As you plan meals and bake cookies, slow down just enough to remember: you're doing what humans have done for millennia. You're turning ingredients into love. You're nourishing bodies and souls. On Christmas day, when I first lived in New York with my two eldest daughters and my husband, I used to allow them to ask for whatever they wanted for Christmas dinner. One Christmas we had tacos, pancakes, a ham and all that went with that, and macaroni and cheese. My kids still talk about those meals where they got to choose whatever they wanted and we all ate it together.

Every cookie, every meal, is a way of saying, "I'm glad you're here. I'm glad we're together." You're giving a part of yourself when you cook for another. This is ministry.

Jesus himself fed people. He multiplied loaves and fish. He cooked breakfast for his disciples by the sea. And at the Last Supper, he took bread and said: "Take and eat; this is my body." (Matthew 26:26)

When you feed others, you participate in Christ's own ministry of nourishment.

And when you eat the next Christmas cookie, you will think of the gift it is that someone baked it for you.

Travel: Embrace the Journey

In my family all of my kids live in different states than I do. We start in the summer trying to figure out when and how we will be together for Christmas. This year, it will be the weekend before Christmas. We have the invitation when we travel to embrace the journey.

Mary and Joseph traveled from Nazareth to Bethlehem—about 90 miles—likely on foot or with a donkey, while Mary was nine months pregnant. It probably took them 3-4 days.

"So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child." (Luke 2:4-5)

No hotel reservations. No GPS. Just faith and trust, walking toward an overcrowded city, with no certain place to stay.

When your flight is delayed or cancelled, when traffic is terrible, when plans fall apart—you have a choice. You can rage against it, or you can remember Mary and Joseph's uncertain journey. You can ask: How am I being invited to be God's heart right here, right now, in this airport, in this car, in this moment of waiting?

Could we transform what might be an ugly experience into something that could be an opening for grace? I wonder if it's a matter of perspective and presence.

Parties: Being the Gift

How many parties do you go to in Advent? Sometimes there are many, and sometimes there aren't. I think of going to the party as being the gift. Are all the parties necessary? Maybe not. Can you say no to some? Maybe. But for the ones you attend, maybe go with intention.

The Magi traveled far, bearing gifts to see Jesus—essentially showing up for a celebration. They brought their presence.

"On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh." (Matthew 2:11)

You are called to do the same. Be fully present. Help others feel seen. Listen deeply. Bring joy. You are the gift you're bringing to the party. Look for Christ in the people you meet, and enjoy them.

Moving Through Advent with Intention

Our invitation can become our practice to move through the Advent season with intention.

Do what you truly must do—but do it differently. Do it knowing it all can have deeper meaning. It's the attitude we bring to these tasks that makes them seem like burdens, or openings for grace.

Throughout this Advent, you're not just getting ready for Christmas. You're practicing resurrection. You're learning to see Christ in the ordinary. You're becoming a bearer of light, hope, peace, joy, and love.

So that on December 25th, when you celebrate the birth of Jesus, you can look back on your Advent and recognize the truth: Christ was being born in you all along. Through every task, every encounter, every choice. You were—and are—a Christ-bearer.

The song "Christ, Be Our Light" can become your own Advent prayer.

A Time for Reflection

As this Advent unfolds, you might consider these questions:

Where might God be asking you to say yes, even in the middle of your busyness?

How is Christ already being born in the midst of your ordinary days?

What light are you being invited to carry into your world?

Which invitation will you carry into this week?

Songs like "Silent Night," "O Holy Night," "In the Bleak Midwinter," and "Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming" can carry your prayer as you rest in God's presence.

A Blessing

You don't have to be perfect.

You don't have to do everything beautifully.

You just have to show up—and let yourself be surprised by grace.

This Advent, may you discover that the ordinary is already holy.

That your busy life is not an obstacle to God, but the very place where God is waiting to be born—again and again—in you.

May you know, in the deepest part of yourself, that you are seen, loved, and called to be a bearer of Christ's light in this world.

The tasks before you are not burdens—they are invitations.

Step into them with intention, with love, with eyes open to wonder.

Paul's blessing for the Thessalonians is my blessing for you:

"May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul, and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it." (1 Thessalonians 5:23-24)

And may this be your most meaningful Advent yet. Amen.