I write about Stuff

It’s that time of year again. The tree is twinkling in living rooms across the country, cakes are being baked, and festive socks—whether tastefully wintery or cheerfully garish—are pulled out from the back of drawers. December hums with carols, from ancient hymns to modern pop classics, and many of us long for more time to decorate, cook, and simply enjoy the season.

But here’s the question: what would it look like to do Christmas differently? Why do we buy so much stuff, pile our calendars with endless events, and measure the season by how much we consume? Advent and Christmas were never meant to be about frantic schedules or shopping lists. Scripture reminds us, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth… but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven” (Matthew 6:19–20).

December carries a tension. On one hand, there is joy in gathering, feasting, and celebrating. On the other, there is the pull of consumerism—the pressure to spend more, do more, and be more. What if instead of chasing perfection, we embraced the simplicity of Christ’s coming? What if we saw Advent as a time to disconnect from the noise and reconnect with God, with family, and with the hope that entered the world in Bethlehem?

Challenging a Consumerist Advent

Advent and Christmas carry deep meaning in the Christian tradition: a season of preparation, anticipation, and finally celebration. Advent is not just about tidying the house or stirring up the pudding—it is about preparing hearts, waiting in hope, and abstaining for a time so that joy may be fuller when it arrives. There is a unique satisfaction in looking forward, in practicing patience, in living with expectation.

But what happens when this season of waiting is overshadowed by something else entirely? What does it mean when Advent is transformed into twenty‑four days of indulgence, each box of a calendar offering another treat, another purchase, another excuse to consume? Why do we buy so much stuff? Why do we equate generosity with shopping bags and credit card bills?

Of course, some will say: why not? Why shouldn’t we treat ourselves? Why not shower friends and family with gifts? And yet, is that really the heart of Advent? Scripture reminds us, “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Matthew 4:4). Advent is not meant to be a puritanical punishment, but neither is it meant to be swallowed up by consumerism.

True generosity is not measured in receipts. Advent calls us to something deeper: to welcome others with love, to share food and fellowship, to give of ourselves in ways that reflect Christ’s coming into the world. The season is not about endless consumption, but about preparing room—for God, for hope, for peace, for one another.

Adventus

The word Advent comes from the Latin adventus—a coming, an approach, an arrival. For Christians, Advent is more than a countdown to Christmas; it is a season of preparation, of waiting, of looking forward both to the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem and to His promised return. What would it look like to treat these weeks not as a rush toward shopping and parties, but as a time to pause, to pray, and to reflect on our relationship with Christ? Advent is also the beginning of the Christian year, a reminder that time itself is oriented around His coming.

Advent doesn’t begin on December 1, but on the First Sunday of Advent, which can fall anywhere between November 27 and December 3. There are always four Sundays, each carrying its own symbolic meaning—hope, peace, joy, and love. These themes echo the ministry of Jesus and remind believers of what is to come. Churches often mark the season with an Advent wreath, lighting a candle each week. Isn’t it striking that this ancient practice of waiting and watching may well have inspired the modern Advent calendar, though the original was about patience and anticipation rather than chocolate or trinkets?

The season of Advent gives way to Christmas: a time of celebration beginning on December 25 and stretching to Twelfth Night on January 5. But here’s a question—why December 25? Scripture doesn’t give us a date, and historians suggest Jesus was unlikely to have been born then. The early Church likely chose the day because of its proximity to the winter solstice and existing festivals like Saturnalia in Rome or Yule in Norse tradition. By aligning Christ’s birth with celebrations of light and rebirth, the Church proclaimed Jesus as the true Light of the World, fulfilling the deepest longings of every culture.

So Advent is not just about waiting—it is about re‑orienting our lives around hope, peace, joy, and love. It is about patience, restraint, and anticipation. And it asks us: are we preparing only our homes and calendars, or are we preparing our hearts for the coming King?

Modern Advent

So why is it that today we so often equate the festive season with shopping bags, endless treats, and a month‑long feast? How did Advent—once a season of waiting and restraint—become a season of indulgence?

Much of what we now think of as “traditional Christmas” actually comes from the Victorian era. Historians note that Christmas was essentially “rebooted” in the nineteenth century. Gift‑giving, once tied to St Nicholas’ Day (December 6) or New Year’s Day, was shifted to Christmas Day. Christmas trees, puddings, cakes, and even the cultural mood of the holiday were popularized by figures like Charles Dickens and the royal family. The Victorians, living in an age of industrialization and empire, created not only new customs but also a new pastime: Christmas shopping.

Fast‑forward to today, and the influence of global capitalism has only intensified. Supermarkets and advertisers sell us a ready‑made vision of the “perfect Christmas”—complete with advent calendars stuffed with chocolate or cosmetics, gingerbread lattes, and novelty jumpers. The association between shopping and Christmas is now so pervasive that we hardly notice it. But should we? Should we continue to let consumerism define our Advent?

There’s an irony here. The early Church once aligned Christmas with pagan festivals like Saturnalia and Yule, re-framing them around Christ’s birth. But while that shift pointed people toward values of patience, hope, and restraint, our modern culture seems to have flipped the script—promoting impulsiveness, excess, and greed. Advent was meant to teach us to wait, to prepare, to long for the coming of Christ. What would it look like if we reclaimed that vision today?

Conclusion

Advent was never meant to be swallowed up by shopping lists and glittering advertisements. It is a season of waiting, of longing, of preparing room for Christ. The Victorians may have reshaped Christmas into the festival we recognize today, and modern capitalism has only amplified the consumerist side of the holiday—but the heart of Advent still beats with hope, peace, joy, and love.

So the question remains: what would it look like to reclaim Advent? What if we resisted the pressure to buy more and instead embraced patience, generosity, and worship? What if our calendars were marked not by sales and deadlines, but by prayer, Scripture, and acts of kindness?

The gospel reminds us, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5). Advent is about holding onto that promise. It is about remembering that Christ came once in humility and will come again in glory. And in the meantime, we are invited to live differently—to prepare our hearts, to resist the noise, and to let the true meaning of Christmas shape our lives.