By Anthony Selvanathan
Special to the Herald
Advent has always struck me as one of the church’s most counter-cultural seasons. Even its name pulls us into a different way of seeing the world.
The word “advent” comes from the Latin word “adventus,” which means “arrival” or “coming.” In the early church, Advent carried the sense of expectation, akin to a relative from the mainland visiting the islands after many years.
It was a word, and a liturgical season, that stirred anticipation and hope.
From its earliest centuries, Christians kept Advent not as a frantic countdown to Christmas, but as a season of preparation and expectation. It was a training of the heart to recognize the Lord who comes quietly, gently and faithfully.
Expectation is something we struggle with today, as we live in a world that has almost forgotten how to wait. Even small pauses make us restless: standing at a crosswalk and pressing the signal button, then pressing it again as if impatience could speed the timing. Or calling an elevator and tapping the button repeatedly, hoping the doors might magically open faster.
But this feeling of expectation and the desire for instant gratification goes far beyond buttons and crosswalks.
How many of us felt frustrated during Black Friday shopping, searching for the one item we wanted only to discover that it was sold out?
And even at Sunday Mass, how many of us have allowed our minds to drift, glancing at the time and wondering when Father’s homily, or the Mass, will be over?
These moments reveal something honest about the human heart: Waiting is hard to do, and being fully present is even more of a challenge. Yet, Advent gently invites us to a different way of framing our day-to-day lives.
Advent is an invitation to live in the present, to step back and absorb the world around us. It teaches us to grow more comfortable with waiting, to make space for silence, stillness and the subtle ways God speaks.
If there is one lesson this year has taught me, it is that all things happen in God’s perfect timing, not mine. Advent gives us room to relearn that truth.
It reminds us that not everything urgent is important, and not everything important demands immediacy. Holy waiting is not wasted time. It is sacred time.
Advent helps us slow down the hurried rhythm of our days and create room for grace. It invites us to let the candles glow quietly and to step away from the noise long enough to notice the small ways the Lord is already arriving in our lives: in our relationships, our parishes, our hopes and our need for healing.
In a world that rushes, Advent teaches us to rest. In a culture obsessed with “now,” Advent forms us in the grace of “not yet.” And in a time when so much arrives instantly, Advent reminds us that the most important arrival — the coming of Christ — cannot be forced. It can only be welcomed.
This year, the Advent season is framed by a unique grace. As we enter the Christmas season, we approach the conclusion of the church’s Jubilee Year of Hope. At its end, on the great feast of the Epiphany of the Lord, we will be invited once more to lift our eyes toward the God who reveals himself not in noise but in light, not in urgency but in faithful, unfolding love.
As we journey through this holy season, may Advent revive our sense of expectation. May Christmas renew our joy. And as the Jubilee of Hope draws to its close in the radiance of Epiphany, may we recognize with renewed gratitude the newborn Christ, who continues to come to us quietly, steadily and always with love beyond all measure.