Astrophotography, like the season of advent, forces you to wait, be still, and look for the light. I’m often described as “a chicken with its head cut off” when I’m taking pictures at sunset and sunrise, trying to soak up all of the golden light before it’s gone. I’ll run around on mountain summits, numb to the cold, gloves off, snapping away at the light coming over the horizon. But most of these sunrises and sunsets I observe through a lens finder, not with my own eyes. With astrophotography, you set the camera up and wait for intervals of 15, 30, sometimes 60 seconds trying to capture the night sky. But not only do you wait, you must also remain still. Any movement that slightly jostles the tripod and the exposure is ruined. And in this stillness and waiting, the gaze is moved upwards, to soak in the innumerable stars above. Especially on the darkest nights, the eye is particularly drawn to the light of the stars when everything else around is dark and unable to make out. 

And this is the same thing advent gives us the space to do. Yet we have to be counter-cultural to do it. Our world runs around with its head cut off during the holiday season, viewing such a sacred, glorious time as if through a mere view-finder. In this rush, we become numb to ourselves and the world around us. Advent is a protest and an important one if we want to see the world as it really is. However, waiting in stillness in the darkness is uncomfortable. It means we must face all the darkness around us, both inside and out. It is only there, though, in that uncomfortable, overwhelming darkness that our gaze then turns upward and turns towards the light—the light that is there and the light that will come with the dawning of a new day. 

I can’t help but think of the goodness of our Creator that He created the darkest nights to be pierced with the most brilliant stars. We need only wait, be still, and look up.