“It is winter in Narnia,” said Mr. Tumnus, “and has been for ever so long...always winter, but never Christmas.”
The quiet desperation of winter awaiting a thaw isn’t only seasonal, it’s deeply personal. So many of us walk into Advent feeling the deep, deep winter in our souls—always winter, never Christmas. And it feels like it’s been winter for ever so long.
Some of us haven’t heard Him since fall, seen Him since summer, felt Him since spring; we feel like the frontier of Narnia, under the rule of an enchantress, covered in a seemingly endless blanket of cold. Our prayer feels empty and our souls feel numb. We trudge into another Advent, wondering if this time we’ll actually experience the warmth of that stable.
Lewis gives the answer to this metaphor through the mouth of Mr. Beaver, just a few short chapters after the words spoken by Mr. Tumnus; he says, full of hope: “They say Aslan is on the move—perhaps has already landed.” In a way, he’s just rearticulating the words of St. John: “The Word became flesh, and dwelt among us.” He is on the move, barreling towards the winter that seems to have claimed your soul. He’s coming with light and warmth, a light that the darkness cannot overcome. He may not have arrived yet, but He’s landed—and He won’t show up a moment too late.
Our Advent cannot be about nailing our preparation, or a superficial focus on only culture’s festivities—it has to be about this hope...that Christ is on the move, that “perhaps he’s already landed.” Yes, it’s been winter for so long. But the declaration “never Christmas” isn’t true, not for us. The thaw may be slow, but it’s coming for you. When it feels too cold, say those childlike words to yourself—Aslan is on the move. He’s already landed.
The tension of human life so often finds itself between despair and hope. Our eyes so easily see the winter...we have to teach our hearts to recognize that yes, we won’t be free of the seasons of this life until we pass away from it. Winter will come again and again, but thanks be to God—so will Christmas.
He’s on the move again this year, no matter what the past months have held, no matter what you’ve done. He’s on the move for you, for me. Every flicker of an Advent candle whispers the hope—that He brings the warmth of spring to our winter. It begins again in the quiet light of a stable, in an Infant’s cry that will steadily grow, in time, into a Victor’s roar…
