The Advent tension is a way of learning again that God is God: that between even our deepest and holiest longing and the reality of God is a gap which only grace can cross.
—Rowan Williams, A Ray of Darkness

"A Stranger, The Second Advent"I’ve been reading Cormac McCarthy’s Pulitzer prize-winning novel The Road this Advent, and am struck by some thematic parallels between this bleak book and these dark December days of longing and foreboding. The correlations are subtle, tenuous, even arguable, perhaps — and not intended, I’m confident, by the author himself. Maybe it’s more like a shared sensibilitity: Advent’s unflinching gaze at the trouble and pain to come, given clear-eyed expression in the ancient prophets’ warnings; the sober, spare narration of terrifying desolation in The Road; and the palpable urgency that informs and animates both.

Yet hope is wrested from the scattered wreckage. Advent’s apocalyptic warnings locate the strange mission of a strange Messiah who’s “winnowing fork is in his hand,” but whose own dying will undo forever the power of sin and death. The violence and despair of McCarthy’s post-apocalyptic landscape and the unspoken calamity that created it do not have the last word.

Hope and human goodness and a glimmer of divine grace seep through the cracks of the scorched, dead earth. “You shall fear disaster no more,” says the prophet Zephaniah in one of the appointed Advent texts. McCarthy’s nameless father and son seem to claim this foretelling for themselves as their savage, beautiful story comes to a close.

In Advent we walk a tightrope, taut (and fraught) with the tension of living between the times — between the “already” of the first Advent of God and the “not yet” of its completion. The Advent scriptures and liturgies and hymns bring this tension alive, teaching us, as the archbishop of Canterbury writes, “something of God’s own simultaneous ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to all religious aspiration and expectation.”

But tension — along with ambiguity, paradox, and mystery — are not what we want from our religion. Middle class Christian piety pays a kind of lip service to Advent (the wreath is a nice touch, we think), but darkness, foreboding, “unquenchable fire”? Please. We are on our way to the manger, for heaven’s sake. The tree’s been up for two weeks. You’re scaring the children with all this talk of vipers and the wrath to come.

But Advent asks us to see and speak truthfully, to reckon honestly with our troubled times, to share in the righteous anger of a God who will, as the gospel of Matthew says, “decide with equity for the meek of the earth.”

We make the journey through Advent a bit like travelers on an unknown road, but not as those without hope. For in the fullness of time the desert will bloom and rejoice, our weeping will turn to joy, and all flesh, we pray with fervent Advent longing, shall see it together.

Image caption: “A Stranger, The Second Advent” (photo: cawa/Flickr, used under its Creative Commons license)

Debra Dean Murphy

Debra Dean Murphy is an assistant professor of Religion and Christian Education at West Virginia Wesleyan College and serves on the board of The Ekklesia Project. She regularly blogs at Intersections: Thoughts on Religion, Culture, and Politics.

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I personally think we need much more of the old testament angry God and less of the loving modern one. Fear and respect can be a good thing. It doesn't leave out reason or mercy or hope, it just gives...perspective.

I'll you live in fear and anger, Trish. I'll always opt for love and kindness...

Thank you

This touched me deeply...the reality of the tensions I live with reflected on the screen of my Advent experience. I keep trying to grab something from the Advent have given me a glimpse of a way in... Thank You!

I "chanced" upon your blog post, Debra. Thank you for your refreshing insights. Indeed, the apocalyptic language of Advent's first two weeks reminds us of what we ultimately long for throughout the Advent of our lives. If we stop at the apocalyptic imagery, though, we miss its point. An author I once read maintained that we need an apocalyptic spirituality. I believe we need an eschatological spirituality, one that allows the future, unending glory of our destiny to color our present days with hope, "wrested from the scattered wreckage" also from the times we live in. Rather than an angry God, we welcome a gifting one: The fullness of this gift will come. "When these signs begin to happen, stand erect and raise your heads, because your redemption is at hand" (Luke 21:28).