Pulling out the decorations is always like opening a time capsule. “Do you remember when we got that one?” These little treasures mark the milestones of our lives. “That’s the ornament we got the year Jack died.” “The kids made that in elementary school!” Decorating the tree becomes a ritual of memory, a journey through the bittersweet mosaic of our shared past. In our family, we have a tradition of buying a special ornament whenever a family member or animal companion passes on. It might sound morbid, but it’s a deeply meaningful ritual that brings joyful memories as the years go by. Each ornament becomes a little tribute, a reminder of those we’ve loved and lost.
Outside, winter has fully arrived. We’ve had snow on the ground since before Thanksgiving, a constant white blanket that makes the season feel truly settled. Just a few weeks ago, we were in that liminal space of autumn’s retreat—one day crisp and golden, the next with a sharp, icy wind from the north. Now, there is no mistaking the season. Each morning, we hear the urgent honking of geese overhead, their flight a testament to time’s passage.
These seasonal changes have turned my thoughts to time—the fourth dimension. We live in three dimensions: length, breadth, and height. But time is what makes these dimensions dynamic, showing us how things change and evolve. Take our Christmas tree: over the past forty plus years, we’ve added to its collection of ornaments, each carrying a story, a memory. Each time we decorate it, we create a snapshot—a moment frozen on the timeline of our lives.
We experience time as a sequence of events: life moves from A to B, one thing following another. Time is how we mark change, and life, at its core, is constant change. A meaningful life is, in part, how we navigate this unending transformation—from infancy to childhood, from adolescence to adulthood, through middle age and beyond.
Yet there is another dimension beyond the fourth—one that mystics and sages across traditions have called eternity. It is the dimension of the divine, the spirit, perfect rest, and changelessness. It is beyond time, beyond the flux of past, present, and future. These mystics have taught us that the way to live with the endless changes of life is to connect with the eternal—a still point where there is no change, only peace.
Advent invites us into this mystery. It directs our gaze to the strange, unsettling beauty of apocalyptic literature. “The End is near,” warns the sage. “Be ready!” These texts speak of urgency and vigilance: “Notice the fig tree, or any tree. When the leaves come out, you know that summer is near”; “Be careful, or your hearts will be weighed down with carousing, drunkenness, and the anxieties of life. Be always on the watch and pray that you may escape all that is about to happen.”
At first glance, apocalyptic writings seem to offer a linear view of time. Time has a beginning and an end—a countdown to an ultimate conclusion. But what if these metaphors are not meant to be taken literally? What if they are not about a future event we must await, but about a present reality we must awaken to?
What if apocalyptic texts are pointing us to the eternal present? Each moment is a threshold. Each moment contains change, trial, joy, and the coming of the Child of Humanity. Each moment is when we are called to tap into the eternal, to open ourselves to the divine and transcendent.
But how do we open that window onto eternity? Mindfulness, meditation, and prayer are the keys. These practices allow us to pause and see each moment as it truly is: a window into the infinite.
Advent is a season of preparation—not just for Christmas, but for the eternal present. Make this a good Advent. Stay awake. Stay mindful. And in each moment, may you glimpse the divine.
+Ab. Andy