This past Sunday, November 26, as I waited in a quiet sanctuary for worship to begin, a friend and his wife joined me in my pew. My friend is also a retired clergyperson, and he leaned over and asked, “Is it the First Sunday of Advent?” “No,” I answered quickly and with confidence, “it’s Christ the King Sunday. Advent begins next week.” He showed me the bulletin in his hands, the same bulletin I’d been handed on my way into the sanctuary but hadn’t looked at closely. There on the cover in bold letters was, “The First Sunday of Advent.” This congregation had chosen to begin Advent a week earlier than the traditional liturgical calendar. We both laughed, because we both had the same reaction: Initially, mild horror at this departure from tradition, followed quickly by the realization that it was unlikely anyone else in the sanctuary noticed or cared, and humble self-recognition at our knee-jerk attachment to tradition; in particular, to a human-designed liturgical calendar.

A few minutes later, another retired clergy colleague came and sat across the aisle from us. When he came over to greet us, I asked, “Is it the First Sunday of Advent?” Without missing a beat, he said, “No, it’s Christ the King Sunday. Advent begins next Sunday.” We showed him the bulletin, and watched his face go through exactly the same emotions we had experienced. He said, “You know, it really makes sense,” and the three of us shared another good laugh at ourselves.

The liturgical calendar orders the church year into seasons and festivals that follow the life of Christ. One purpose of this calendar is that as followers of Jesus, we might shape our lives according to his life. Another is that the annual cycle gives worshipers meaning, structure, anticipation, and routine in the same way birthdays, holidays, vacations, and anniversaries shape our lives outside the church. The seasons include Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Holy Week, Easter, Pentecost, and “Ordinary Time,” which covers the parts of the year not included in one of the other seasons. I love these liturgical seasons. I love that each season has a color for use in worship, for paraments (those cloths that cover a pulpit, lectern, or communion table), clergy stoles, and other worship materials: Purple or blue for Advent (you get to choose!); white for Christmas, Epiphany, and Easter; purple for Lent, red for Pentecost, and green for Ordinary Time. I love that each season is associated with Christian themes: Advent with hope, Christmas with joy and Incarnation, Epiphany with revelation, Lent with transformation and penitence, Easter with resurrection and new life, and Pentecost with the work of the Holy Spirit.

Just as Jesus explained that the Sabbath was created for humankind and not the other way around, I love that we can adjust the liturgical calendar to fit a congregation’s needs. One reason this Advent adjustment makes sense this year is that what would traditionally be the Fourth Sunday of Advent falls on Christmas Eve. By beginning Advent a week before the traditional date, this congregation will observe the Fourth Sunday of Advent on December 17, and Christmas Eve gets to be just Christmas Eve. I served as the pastor of churches that did not make this adjustment those years that Advent 4 and Christmas Eve fell on the same day. On Sunday morning, December 24, few people want to hear about something other than Jesus’ birth, even if they still plan to come to a candlelight service that night. I humbly confess that it hadn’t occurred to me to make this adjustment. Hence, my laughter of self-recognition. Someone said, “It is not by accident that humor and humility come from the same root word. If you can laugh at yourself, you’ll always have plenty of good material.”

Which is why I’m posting this blog. We can love our church traditions, and still recognize that they aren’t carved in stone. They’re just traditions. They’re designed to enhance our worship and guide our growth in faith and practice, but they need to meet the needs of the church. Like many (if not most) other aspects of church life, rigid attachment to “the way we’ve always done it” doesn’t serve us well. And deserves our humble laughter.

© Joanne Whitt 2023 all rights reserved.