The Promise of Advent

On the eve of Advent, I went with my sisters and my dad into the mountains behind my parents’ house in Montana. These are the forests of my childhood; these are the same trees that have stood tall, just minutes South of my backyard, for as long as I’ve been alive, and longer.

It will never fail that, walking through these forests on a blue-bird day no warmer than 20 degrees Fahrenheit, the air I breathe will form crystal clouds and the soppy grayish clouds in my mind will clear.

It isn’t conscious, and it isn’t always by choice. My sisters truly had to tear me away from my work and pull me into what was good for me (they always know when I need it the most). Nevertheless, hopping down from the passenger side of my dad’s pickup truck — just as I did when I was a little girl — and taking in that breath of air that freezes one’s lungs so fast one can’t help but cough, I felt clarity take over like an instinct of survival.

There’s probably something to that, neurologically, but it has to be spiritual too, you see, because clarity didn’t come alone. The feeling was accompanied by a sense of expectation, and even confidence. Better yet, a sense of hope.

It was as though there was a promise somewhere in those snow-fleeced trees. A promise that the suffering of now will not last. That evil can’t touch everything.
That this world is good, and I am good, and God is Good.

In his teeny tiny meditatio, Out of Solitude (1974), the Dutch priest and professor
Henri Nouwen writes that “the mother of expectation is patience.”

He explains the tension we feel so often in the simultaneous suffering and joy of our spiritual longing, and he frames the relationship between those feelings in terms of the advent every mother anticipates from the moment she learns she is to bear a child. Nouwen puts it this way:

“The French author Simone Weil writes in her notebooks: ‘Waiting patiently in expectation is the foundation of the spiritual life.’ Without patience, our expectation degenerates into wishful thinking. Patience comes from the word patior which means, ‘to suffer.’ The first thing that Jesus promises is suffering: ‘I tell you, you will be weeping and wailing...and you will be sorrowful.’ But he calls these pains birth pains. And so what seems a hindrance becomes a way; what seems an obstacle becomes a door; what seems a misfit becomes a cornerstone.

Jesus changes our history from a random series of sad incidents and accidents into a constant opportunity for a change of heart. To wait patiently therefore means to allow our weeping and wailing to become the purifying preparation by which we are made ready to receive the joy which is promised to us.”

For Nouwen, all expectation must be tempered with patience, and all patient suffering contains a promise. He encourages us to cultivate a virtuous expectation by continually asking:

“What is the promise hidden in this event?”

When we acknowledge each event in our own individual lives, and practice asking this question — "what is the promise hidden in this event" — we dispose our hearts to openness toward the ultimate event, which is not a moment in history so much as the everlasting Personhood of Jesus Christ and his relationship of self-giving love with God the Father and the Holy Spirit. In light of that ultimate event, we are left to contemplate the promise of our encounter with Jesus Christ in the Word through the event of his Incarnation.

The promise of Advent, then, is not only that this time of expectant suffering will end with the birth of the baby at Christmas. It is, further, the promise is that our suffering is, in reality, a way, a door, a cornerstone, to the triumph of Jesus Christ over death.

To the extent that we cultivate our own patient expectancy,
we participate in the life of the Trinity.

If you’re reading this thinking… “say what?!” … I sincerely invite you to join us in this year’s Advent Seminar, where Jessica and I take you into a deep exploration of the reality of our faith, what we mean when we profess it, and how the birth of a baby in Bethlehem connects to the place God has made for YOU in Heaven — all to prepare your heart for the Incarnation of God at Christmas.

And we’re with you every step of the way. Trust us: there is nothing more beautiful than hearing those Hosannas at Christmas Mass when you know deep in your heart what it means to sing along with the angels proclaiming His birth!

Register here for this year's Advent Seminar!

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Register here for this year's Advent Seminar! 〰️

And speaking of promises, here’s a promise the team at Hazelnut Catholic makes to you:

We know your time, money, and spiritual energy is precious. We want you to know that at Hazelnut Catholic, we make everything ourselves. We feel strongly that you deserve the best quality of presentation in all of our educational materials and spiritual aids. This means that we value the authenticity, prayer, time, expertise, and effort we put into creating these materials —not to mention that we create our materials as an active participation in the Trinitarian life and a cooperation with the Holy Spirit!

For that reason, we don’t use Generative AI to create images, produce our slides, or write our content. Between the two of us, we have over 40 years of professional experience, a doctorate, multiple certifications, and several peer reviewed publications in multiple fields. We draw on the depth of our expertise and training to create all materials for our offerings, including the aesthetic and sound designs.

We also create every document, slide, video, and idea all on our own with the aid of the Holy Spirit. All images are licensed, used with permission, or taken by our own hands. Every design we have created is our own, and even the editing process is painstakingly poured over by our own hands, eyes, and hearts. We think it’s important that you receive total authenticity from us in our message and in our methods.

Also, while we occasionally use AI to help us stay organized and on schedule, we never ever share any of your information, ideas, or details with any AI models.