There is a Christmas song from the 1960s musical, Mame, titled “We Need a Little Christmas”. The song is sung by the synonymous main character as she chases away gloom by dancing around and prematurely decorating her mansion with Christmas decorations; the classic Christmas traditions mentioned in the lively number include decorating the house, eating fruitcake, and singing carols around the piano. While the function of the song fits the plot of the musical and the needs of the characters in that moment (“...right this very minute…”), the song has always given me a bad aftertaste of the point of Christmas: it makes Christmas feel saccharine, even medicating.

A few months ago, I recall noticing that several people had their Christmas trees up in their houses at that time. While I respect folks’ rights to decorate their house as they wish, seeing Christmas appear as early as the beginning of October causes me concern. A bigger concern of mine: once the decor is up, I perceive that the average human loses the energy and interest to make it all the way to December 25 to be able to celebrate the actual holiday (to say nothing of the tree’s ability to make it that long). To prove my point, last year, I read a disturbing collection of social media posts in which various people posting anonymously shared the same sentiment: these people were tired–exhausted, even–of Christmas, and they were desperately begging their readership for suggestions of how to feel better. The worst part? It wasn’t even halfway through December when these were posted.

Hymn and song writers from generations past to present times have filled the voices of the faithful with repertoire that provides hope and comfort, with phrases that remind us that the celebration of Christ’s birth requires our mental and spiritual preparation. “Prepare the Royal Highway” and “People, Look East” are two that come to mind, with direct, unapologetic commands to wake up, be watchful, and prepare for Christ’s coming. While Advent’s admonishments shouldn’t be taken literally–there is no highway to prepare, and it won’t do you any good to stare into the eastern sky–they are to be taken metaphorically: have hope in the Lord and prepare your heart!

Whenever someone tells me to wake up, they’re usually either a conspiracy theorist or a gaslighting political commentator. But in the case of Advent, Christians should not be afraid to take this advice to “wake up”. Advent requires our hope–the trust in something unseen–and the refusal to succumb to the world’s demands of evidence and scientific facts in order to justify the action.

We should not be afraid to hope, but we also live in a dark, sin-ravaged world. Lately, the refrains I have heard of others’ fundamental rights being violated, of innocent people being assumed guilty based on the color of their skin, and of peacemakers being ridiculed as they seek reasonable conversation, gives me every reason I might need to give up on hoping for the day when there will be no more tears, pain, or fear. But yet, because of what God does for us on Christmas, sending His Son who will ultimately bear the aforementioned (and countless more) sins on the cross, I have hope.