December 13th, Advent Day 17
I was born in Salt Lake City, Utah; a great-great-great-great-granddaughter of Mormon Pioneers. I have an ancestor that died in Nauvoo, Illinois, defending the Temple there when angry mobs stormed in with tar, feathers, and fire. Another relative died from cold and starvation in Winter Quarters, Nebraska in 1847. The lucky ones that made it to Utah, sunburned and tattered with their handcarts were directed to settle in parts of the Utah desert where Native Americans attacked, husbands married more than one woman, and there were too many mouths to feed from the barren ground. Despite all of this, I have entire other branches of my family tree full of people who were converted in Denmark, Germany, and England, and actually chose to leave their families and lush green European lands for the harsh life of the high desert and a persecuted people. Faith can make people do some crazy things.
When I was 18 years old, I decided to leave the Mormon faith for various reasons. I wandered around in my own spiritual wilderness for about 12 years before I decided to attend RCIA classes and convert to Catholicism. I liked that they advertised themselves as the original church that Jesus set-up – a far cry from the very American-made faith that I had grown up in. Unfortunately, the Catholic Church my husband and I went to was led by a rather unlikeable priest, so we decided to see what the Episcopalians down the street were like. After attending one service, we knew we had landed in the right spot. It was here that I first learned about the seasons of Lent, Pentecost, and Advent. For whatever reason, Joseph Smith didn’t think those were necessary, so I had never celebrated them before. A year later we moved to Germany, and I discovered how truly amazing the season of Advent was. Yes, chocolate Advent calendars were a must, but everywhere one looked, there was a countdown to Christmas Eve. The Rathaus (Town Hall) in Stuttgart had its office windows made into a calendar with a different window for each day that would be lit up once their time came, and Advent wreaths and their candles were laid out proudly in every shop. People were still shopping for Christmas gifts, but Santa wasn’t really a thing, and there was less of a hustle and bustle and more of a joyful preparation for the coming of the baby Jesus.
During this time of year, I like to “look again” at my past and my present. I wonder if my European ancestors in the dry, powdered snow of Utah still made themselves an advent wreath for their simple tables. When I left the LDS church, I used to think that they were looking down on me with scorn, ashamed that I would throw away the thing that they had worked so hard for. But now I like to think that they must be happy to know that I have embraced my faith again, albeit in a different way, and am sharing those old traditions with my daughter.