Our Advent Candles are Wonky - Matt Way

Last Sunday marked the beginning of the church year, and with it the opening of the Advent season. And with that, came one of my personal favourite liturgical flourishes: the Advent wreath, and the lighting of the candles.

As we went to light them at the weekend, it was pointed out that they were looking a little… precarious. Indeed, as the first pillar was adorned with the warmth of festive flame, it responded with a wobble and a wave, gently threatening to topple over and set the whole place on fire.

It was a little unnerving.

But as I reflected later in the week, I began to wonder whether unnerving might actually be just what we need at this time of year. Perhaps wobbly, wonky candles are the Advent metaphor we deserve.

Advent, you see, is the liturgical sister of Lent. They feel quite different, so we don’t often think of them this way, but they share a great deal in common. Both seasons precede a major festival. Both invite us to reflect and prepare, to watch and wait, and to resist the cultural insistence that everything must be immediate, effortless, and cheerful. In this way, Advent, just like Lent, leads us to consider the sum of our lives.

It causes us to take stock, and it asks one of my favourite questions: How’s that working out for you?

The choices chosen, the priorities prioritised, the life lived- how’s it all working out?

When you step back, does your life do what you would hope it does? Or, like our candles, is it a little wobbly- alive with warmth and light, yet also teetering, threatening to tip and burn the whole thing down?

Perhaps that language is a little incendiary (pun intended). But if we’re honest with ourselves, most of us will recognise something familiar here. We’re all a little wonky. All of us carrying hurt, guilt, or shame. All of us leaning too heavily at times towards doing over being, or control over trust. All of us running, in one way or another, from lament, from connection, or from our deepest inner knowing.

When you think about it, that is a little unnerving.

And yet, I’ll say it again, maybe unnerving is precisely what Advent is for. Advent makes space. It invites courage. It gently dares us to ask:

Where have I settled for a way of doing or being that falls short of the fullness of life God invites us into?

Where have I gone all in on something that is quietly draining me rather than nourishing me?

Where is my life asking for a different rhythm right now?

If this Advent is to deliver us to more than Christmas pudding and the King’s Speech, aren’t these the kinds of questions we ought to be asking? I think so.

So if this weekend you notice the candles wavering and wobbling, make no mistake: this isn’t wonky worship. It’s a liturgical lean, a quiet invitation to repent, to reorient, and to rediscover our way.

This Advent, may we have the courage to heed their call.