The etymology of words never fails to fascinate. Despite a lifetime of fluency of a native tongue, there are deep truths to be revealed in the roots of our modern lexicon. From the old French word atentif (​“​expectant,​”​ ​“​hopeful​”​) do we derive the word “attentive.” Fewer words better describe the posture of the Advent liturgical season.

Before moving from Philadelphia to the rural Deep South, my notion of attentiveness rested upon what was required to jerk my car into the faster moving lane during rush hour on “the Schuylkill” (Interstate 76). Moving from a frenetic pace of life into a slower culture closely connected to the land, I have developed a vastly different understanding of being attentive ​that​​ ​ is clearly a purer one. A popular rural interest that helped to shape my understanding of attentiveness since moving has been hunting.

While sitting in a hunting tree stand, a canopy of leaves enfolds the hunter. Aching toes and a tingly nose remind​ ​the hunter of his own mortality within the inescapable chill. Ever so slowly, the sun begins to color the horizon and break through the darkness that originally greeted the hunter at his perching. Rustling of leaves forces this quiet observer into a flurry of discernment as to the creature below. Being attentive is the only mode of the morning.

The watchfulness of the hunter informs a great deal about the receptive posture needed throughout Advent as we await the coming of the Christ ​C​​hild. An undeniable amount of discipline is required to be a successful hunter​ —​ ​ ​​and​ attentive stillness. It is a sport that serves as an interesting antidote to the fast-paced, instant​-gratifi​cation​​ ​culture of ours. A person wakes long before dawn to quietly get into place to watch and wait for God’s provision. No noise can be made by the keen and watchful hunter, as he is forced into a posture of hopeful expectation.

Life for the hunter outside of the woods is shaped by a world created by man that has diminished the need to wait, and​,​ consequently, his ability to maintain patience. The ordering of the natural, as designed by God, requires our willingness to endure cooperation. Stillness affords a clarity that a harried and distracted pace cannot provide.

​​The moment boredom or silence threatens, we ​often ​seek to instantly preoccupy ourselves by reaching for a gadget, remote​ ​ or shiny object. Should the hunter be unwilling to wait in the stillness and instead take a moment to scroll on a phone, he would defeat the purpose of his endeavor and miss his opportunity for success. ​​​

Analogously, the quiet observation of our lives helps our awareness of Christ’s presence. It is in the preservation of stillness of the present moment that we give space for God to break in. Avoiding the temptation of distraction while resting in the quiet forces us to face ourselves. It is in these moments that self-reflection takes place and we can no longer avoid our own shortcomings​ ​ and chiefly our lacking and longing that only Christ can heal. The story of Advent is of insatiety, one of a starving world that only Christmas — in its true sense, as in the coming of Christ — can satiate.

With the celebration of Christmas traditions comes exuberance and beauty​;​​ ​ it lifts us out from the seemingly mundane. The material things of Christmas fill the void. So we, as a society, skip over Advent straight to Christmas, forfeiting the opportunity to grow and attune our senses like the hunter, listening and watching for the Lord. Just as the hunter needs to acclimate to the terrain to discern anything that might indicate wild game is near, we must likewise understand the vast terrains of our soul​ ​ and interior li​fe​​ ​ to encounter God. This is something that can only be achieved by pressing into the discomfort of the God-sized hole in our lives​ —​ ​and​​ ​ we must first be still in order to recognize​ it​.

​​What the hunter seeks, however, satiates for only a time. Though it may lend to the quiet necessary to face our own nothingness in our efforts to seek Christ, ultimately it is only the manna from Christ that nourishes unconditionally.

The Church in her wisdom has carved out periods of time within the liturgical calendar to be present to the stillness through a fast in preparation for a great feast. Although Lent is the most recognizable fast, Advent is also a paired​-​​ ​down season with a comparable feasting end. The fast, however, is in the simple observation of Advent found in the expectant longing for the coming of Jesus.

In Theology of Home IV, Arranging the Seasons, I wrote that “a Christmas celebration after the pregnant pause of Advent is much more prosperous due to the filling of a longing that only Christ can satiate. But first we must uncouple ourselves from our distractive attachments that otherwise preoccupy the space for the good, the true, and the beautiful.” When we take advantage of this preparatory time of Advent to uncouple ourselves from the distractions that tether us, we make ourselves available to recognize the signs of Christ at his coming.

Creating an attentive atmosphere within our homes is key. While the landscape of the garden sleeps in December, abundant varieties of fragrant evergreens stand out in contrast. ​ ​​C​​​lippings can be made into Advent wreaths or garlands to be placed around the home. The popular practice of rediscovering the fullness of salvation history with a Jesse Tree is a wonderful way to introduce an expectant posture to children, anticipating the Messiah with the stories of characters from the Old Testament. A prominently placed ​Nativity beckons our attention when it is decorated with greens and straw is placed within the empty manger. As Advent traditions grow within the home, while we permit ourselves to reside within the stillness of ​ ​​the season​, we will be ready to be satiated by the Lord in his coming.

“As the deer longs for streams of water, so my soul longs for you, O God” (Psalm 42:2).