I used to be one of those people who would complain about the Christmas creep, that disgraceful shifting of the beginning of the Yuletide marketing season earlier and earlier into November (or even October!) with each successive year.

Then I had children. And on the day when my eldest child, at the tender age of three, looked out the car window and declared in a huff that “thoth Chrithmath decorathionth are pre-ma-ture!” I realized that perhaps I had overdone the complaining a little.

One of the beautiful transformations of parenthood, though, is that it can make us see not only the world through new eyes, but also our traditions. Since becoming a mother, I have in fact been drawn to traditions more and more, especially those connected to the rhythms of the Christian liturgical year. And so I became able to change my approach from a negatively-framed one — stop it with the early Christmas, already! — to a positively-framed one based on my growing love for the pre-Christmas season of Advent.

So into Advent traditions I dove. The first year, I started off by draping purple (the traditional color of Advent) ribbons on the mantel. Another year, I bought a purple tablecloth and made purple and pink cloth napkins. Yet another year, I added a purple-and-pink quilted table runner.

And right from the beginning, I led my growing troop of children on a yearly ramble around the neighborhood to gather greens for an old-fashioned Advent wreath. To the usual greenery and one pink and three purple candles, I also one white “Christ candle” in the center of the wreath, to honor my mother’s family tradition. Then, like so many other families, every Advent evening at dinnertime we light one, two, three, or four candles and sing “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” in the candlelight. Finally, on Christmas Eve we light all five candles for the first and only time that year, to the glorious strains of “Joy to the World!”

And that is when Christmas in our home begins.

But last year, we found that we really wanted to celebrate Advent in a more social way as well — to have something Advent-y to do in community beyond attending Mass. And so we organized our very first (outdoor) community Lessons and Carols.

In case you are unfamiliar with this tradition, the Festival of Lessons and Carols is a beautiful Christian service that arose within the Anglican Church in the late 1800s and has quietly grown in popularity over time. It is ecumenical in its content and so inviting that even those who are not religious will likely enjoy it, while for Christians it conveys a deep spiritual meaning. The Lessons and Carols tradition carries within it a great sense of mystery and wonder: the growing, thrilling anticipation of the great miracle of the Incarnation at Christmas. The service is one of light just beginning to enter into the darkness.

The basic form of the service alternates Advent carols with prayers and scripture readings covering the journey of mankind from the Fall all the way to the Gospel of John. Traditionally, there are nine lessons; knowing that our friends’ babies and toddlers could only withstand so many, however, we reduced these to seven in our version. And since its longstanding title holds that is a festival, we thought it would pair marvelously with a convivial potluck dinner. We also decided to hold the service outdoors as a walking procession in our neighborhood, for we love the outdoors and we wanted to gather more families than could possibly fit in our home. Traipsing along in the twilight with our lanterns and flashlights seemed fitting to the spirit of the thing, as well. It could make concrete the spiritual seeking of light in the darkness and the metaphorical journey from sin to redemption described in the readings. Adding movement to the service would also, we thought, help the many children in attendance refresh themselves, behave themselves, and pay better attention.

Here is how it worked: We (a dozen families) gathered at a local school’s barn and left our crockpots of hot food and thermoses of hot drinks there, the door tightly shut against any potential animal interlopers. We all then headed to the field beside the barn for the first carol, reading, and prayer.

Well begun, we then meandered down the lane to a new spot, and a volunteer led the next carol (limiting the verses as needed), reading, and prayer. We continued on, avoiding walking in the road as much as possible, and interspersing the more formal parts of our service with the climbing of fallen trees and reminders from yours truly to the excited kids that, “When we are about to begin a reading, our bodies are still, our mouths are quiet, our ears are listening, and our hearts are open.”

(That worked better with some kids than with others.)

After our final stop at a neighborhood church, where the children sang the last carols with wonder and awe before the Tabernacle, it was back to the barn at top speed — no more warnings not to run too far ahead! After a quick blessing of the food, the children were unleashed upon the waiting hot dogs, the parents dug into the salads and chilis, and we celebrated together well into the night, with the moon illuminating the sky just enough for the dads to supervise the older kids playing in the field after dessert. Cleanup was quick and easy with so many willing hands about, and we left the barn and the neighborhood just as we had found it.

It wasn’t perfect. Babies cried. Kids fought over flashlights. Faces grew cold. I led the carols with a voice half-disappeared by laryngitis. We even ran out of hot dogs (heaven forfend). But we left with full hearts . . . and it wasn’t even Christmas yet.


If you would like to try organizing your own such event this year, remember that there is no Lessons and Carols police to tell you how to do it. This is a service that you can freely adjust to suit your own needs. If your home is small and you don’t have a barn handy, limit it to just two or three families. If you’re in college, do it with your friends or housemates. If a potluck dinner would be overwhelming, just pass around some cookies instead. If you are not a walker, or want to include folks who may be less mobile, find a largeish living room, light some candles, and gather ‘round the piano or fireplace or home altar for an indoor service (which is more traditional anyway).

There is, likewise, ample room for creativity in the choice of readings, carols, and prayers. You can pull together whatever songs and scriptures you’d like, compose the prayers, et cetera. But in the event that you did not have “Plan out all the details of a quasi-liturgical Advent ceremony” on your pre-holiday to-do list, we’ve gone ahead and done all the work for you. Just download H&F’s lovely, ten-page, Lessons & Carols program (below), print out a bunch of copies, and you’re ready to go.  

We wish you a very blessed Advent!