Advent, as we live it out today, does I think suffer from mixed messaging.

I mean, on the one hand it’s a season in which we are invited to spiritually prepare and seek the Lord, to wait for his coming, to be still and to know. But, on the other hand, it’s a season of unmanageable busyness—the presents, the parties, the everything else. You know what I mean; it’s exhausting.

And the Church often goes right along with it: This Advent, we say: pray, watch, find time for the Lord; and by the way, here are 52 events we’d like you to attend over the next three weeks. You see what I mean? Even I feel it. Advent is the busiest time of the year, hands down, for we clergy; but perhaps for you too. Again, it can be exhausting. Full of joy, yes (and I love it), but exhausting.

And sometimes (speaking only for myself here) it makes it hard for me to find the Lord, to wait for him, to be still and know. Sometimes things can get so busy nothing seems spiritual. And here we are on December 23, making sure we get our two Masses in like good Roman Catholics. And good on you for being here! But where is Jesus? How can my heart find him? These are questions my soul sometimes asks when things get rushed like this. Again, I’m speaking only for myself. But perhaps you know what I mean.

So, what should I do? And if you’re in the same boat as me, what should you do? Especially in these last hours of Advent; especially if we’ve maybe made a mess of it spiritually? The short answer I think is simply focus. In these next few days, we should focus, try to focus at least. But how? And also where?

It’s an interesting word—focus. As we use the word today, we mean something like concentration, as when we tell students to focus. Like a telescope or a microscope or a camera, focus has something to do with optics and geometry. That’s what we mean by focus, and that’s what I mean by telling you to focus these next few days; my advice is to concentrate on the mystery of Christ’s birth as best as you can.

But that’s not all that the word focus means; and this is why it’s interesting. The way we use the word focus is quite modern, going back to Johannes Kepler in the sixteenth century. For him focus was that burning center of a lens. And that’s probably why he thought to use the word focus, because in Latin the word focus meant hearth, fireplace, the warm center of the home.

Which before central heating was quite an important place. It was the place of warmth and light. For ancient Romans the focus was sacred; it’s where the household gods were placed. In ancient Greece, newborn babies were welcomed into the family at the hearth; it’s where the dead were brought before burial. The focus was the hearth, the heart of the home, the center of the family; that’s how Kepler thought to use the word focus, from this centering idea of warmth.[1] Focus was not simply an act, but a place. This, of course, is something we’ve almost entirely lost now; now we have thermostats, which I just don’t think anyone has yet considered sacred.

Now, I take you down this etymological path simply to add something to my advice that you focus these next few days. Yes, focus on the mystery of Christ’s birth; yes, come to church twice. But also think about the ancient meaning of focus; think about your hearth, your home, your home’s center, wherever is its warmth. That is, open your eyes spiritually these next few days not only in church but at home too. Look at your spouse, your children, your friends, even maybe your in-laws; see the messiness of it, the family-ness of it, and at least try to open yourself to what is sacred about it, even despite its brokenness and imperfections. Focus on Christ but also focus on the focus that is your home.

Because God is there too; or at least he might make an appearance. Here I am meditating on today’s Gospel, on the simple beauty of the intimacy of the annunciation.[2] The angel appeared to her, perhaps in her room, in her home, perhaps near her hearth, her focus. God can happen there, in your home. That’s my point, my simple advice.

And so, don’t worry if you’ve whiffed on Advent again. Join the club. But don’t worry, for it’s not too late to make the best of it. It doesn’t depend on us anyway, thank goodness. Christmas will come anyway. And that’s because God loves us so. Amen.

[1] Albert Borgmann, Technology and the Character of Contemporary Life, 196-197

[2] Luke 1:26-38

© 2023 Rev. Joshua J. Whitfield