More than a week into Advent and I am finally slowing to the measured pace of this liturgical season. It is my favorite. A time of reflection, hope and anticipation.

Perhaps it is the carol “O come, o come Emmanuel,” its plaintive chant, and early memories of singing it in my parochial school hallway, the waxy smell of the Advent candles. But for some reason Advent always makes me think of old stones and heavy draperies, the silence of the cloister. Because it is less trumpeted than Christmas, Advent has kept its ancient, monastic overtones. It is as barren as the earth scoured clean by winter winds. It is a preparation for the celebrations to come.