Advent invites us into stillness—into that quiet inner room where the soul listens for God. And into that space comes this simple, ancient word: robes. Long before robes appear on our bodies, they’re draped around our hearts. Some of us wear the robe of competence, stitched from the need to appear strong. Some wear the robe of invisibility, woven from old wounds and disappointments. Some carry the robe of sorrow—heavy, dragging at the edges.
And some wear a robe of joy that feels strangely out of place in a world frayed by grief.
Advent asks gently:
What robe are you wearing today? And who placed it on your shoulders?
God sees the inner garments long before we name them. Nothing hidden is hidden from him. Nothing worn in shame is beyond his touch.
Scripture reveals a God who pays careful attention to robes.
He clothes Adam and Eve after they hide in fear.
He wraps Elijah in a mantle of prophetic fire.
He commands priests to wear garments that remind them they minister in his presence.
He robes the prodigal with restored dignity before the boy can speak a single apology.
Always, God’s clothing is an act of tenderness.
And then Christ comes—entering our world not in royal splendor but in swaddling cloth. The eternal Word wrapped in the simplest of robes, as if to say: There is no garment of the human condition I will not wear with you.
To wait on God is to stand between what is and what will be. It is to live unclothed of certainties, stripped of illusions, while God slowly dresses the soul in trust.
Advent is not passive. It is the slow fitting of a new robe—
a robe of righteousness where we have worn shame,
a garment of praise where we have carried heaviness,
a mantle of peace where anxiety has taken root.
Sometimes God must loosen the old robe thread by thread.
Sometimes he lifts it off in one surprising movement.
Always he clothes us with himself.
The child we await will one day wear a robe shining with the glory of God.
But first, he chooses the robe of humanity—fragile, vulnerable, ordinary.
The One robed in light wraps himself in our darkness.
The One who will judge the nations first wears the robe of a servant who kneels to wash feet.
He does not dress himself apart from us; he dresses himself like us, and for us.
Inner Altar 