Yet Advent still carries its old wisdom. Beneath everything else, it remains a practice of attentive waiting, of preparing the heart, of noticing the subtle comings of G*d in the ordinary.
This Sunday’s readings turned my attention to that kind of readiness. Jesus says that life is unpredictable and easily missed if we drift through it half-awake. St. Paul says it is time to “wake from sleep” and live with clarity and intention. Taken together, they point toward a simple Advent invitation: pay attention. Live with openness. Don’t sleepwalk through the days. Something sacred may be unfolding even when we do not expect it.
This brought me back to the theme that has followed Advent for centuries: purity of heart. The word purity has accumulated an unfortunate amount of baggage. In the history of Christianity it has been used to shame, exclude, and divide. If purity is to be an Advent theme in 2025, it needs some careful rethinking.
Religious purity is the effort to get religion “right”—the correct vestments, the correct liturgy, the correct style of worship. Entire denominations have been built on the pursuit of ritual correctness. But this quest often narrows the heart rather than opens it.
Doctrinal or political purity is the fear of believing the wrong thing. The dread of being “unorthodox.” Many people think more broadly or differently than their party allows but keep silent because they fear being judged. When faith is policed in this way stifles the soul.
Sexual purity and its centuries of suspicion about the body have caused immense suffering. The cult of virginity, enforced celibacy, and the long shadow of guilt have distorted what is natural, healthy, and good.
Racial and ethnic purity is the most destructive version of all. Our recent history has shown how devastating racial purity is, as it divides people into those included and those excluded. It’s a path toward violence.
Each of these forms of purity excludes. Each draws a hard line and wounds those who fall on the wrong side of it. None of them prepares us for the coming of G*d.
If purity is to have meaning in Advent, it must point toward something deeper and more humane: purity of heart.
Purity of heart is clarity of intention. An undividedness. A way of living where desire, thought, and action point in the same direction.
Purity of heart is character. St. Paul’s ancient list in his letter to Galatians still holds: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. These grow slowly. They are the fruit of habit and practice, not external rules.
Purity of heart is relational. It turns us outward in compassion. It develops empathy.
Purity of heart is inclusive. It does not ask who is clean or unclean, correct or incorrect. It asks how I can show up with presence, integrity, and love.
Purity of heart watches for the subtle comings of G*d in a world that is always changing. Jesus calls us to stay awake. St. Paul calls us to wake up. Purity of heart is a way of doing both.
Advent returns with its gentle discipline: clarity, softness, attentiveness. The world may be noisy, but beneath the noise there is still a steady invitation to openness and compassion. A call to wakefulness. A reminder that the coming of G*d is not a single event but an ongoing possibility woven into the fabric of each ordinary day. Purity of heart, in this sense, is not about flawlessness. It is about openness. It is about living with attention, humility, and love.
That, I think, is preparation enough.
+Ab. Andy