The Sacred Wait: How One Family’s Table Talk Redefines Advent and Modern Education
The purpose of Advent has long been understood as a season to prepare the human heart for Christ’s coming, to look back with gratitude at His humble birth, and to wait with steadfast hope for His eventual return. For many families, however, this liturgical season offers more than just a countdown to Christmas morning; it provides a profound laboratory for faith, presence, and the unscripted spiritual inquiries that children inevitably bring home from the world.
Robert Bortins, the Chief Executive Officer of Classical Conversations and a father of three, recently reflected on how the quiet, often challenging art of waiting has transformed his own household’s understanding of spiritual formation. In an era dominated by relentless schedules, digital distractions, and institutionalized learning, Bortins argues that the unhurried nature of Advent points back to a foundational truth of family life: that the most enduring questions of faith do not arrive on a syllabus, but rather at the dinner table, in the ordinary flow of an unhurried Sunday afternoon.
A Question After Communion
The reflection on modern patience and family discipleship began with a routine moment in a very ordinary setting. Following communion at his family’s church, the congregation recited a familiar liturgical creed in unison: “Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ is coming again.”
Shortly after the service concluded, Bortins’s nine-year-old son turned to him with a blunt, disarming question that cuts to the core of Christian theology: “We’ve been saying this for nine years. When is He coming?”
It was a query that defied a tidy, pat response. Yet, as Bortins came to realize, his son’s inquiry embodies the very essence of Advent itself. It also touches upon one of the overarching challenges of family life: learning how to navigate the tension when the things individuals wait for—whether divine intervention, personal milestones, or simple daily answers—do not arrive according to a human timetable.
The Theological Weight of Advent
To understand the gravity of such a question, one must first look at the meaning of the season. The word "Advent" derives from the Latin adventus, which translates simply to "arrival" or "coming." Spanning the four weeks leading up to Christmas, the liturgical season invites Christians to simultaneously commemorate Christ’s first historical advent in Bethlehem and anticipate His promised second advent.
In doing so, the season asks believers to inhabit the exact same spiritual tension that the Old Testament saints endured for centuries. The divine promise is absolute, yet the ultimate fulfillment often tarries. Echoing the ancient observations of church father Saint Augustine—who famously noted that human hearts remain restless until they find their rest in God—Advent serves as a rigorous training ground. It redirects the inherent restlessness of the human spirit into enduring hope, reminding believers that divine timing operates far outside human constraints and that purposeful work occurs even in the silent hours of waiting.
Why Faith Questions Surface at the Family Table
What struck Bortins most profoundly about his son’s inquiry was not merely its theological depth, but its organic venue. The boy did not raise his hand in a formal Sunday school classroom, nor did he wait for a school bell to signal the end of a scheduled discussion. Instead, he turned to his father in the unscripted space of their own home, in a moment neither parent nor child had planned.
This spontaneous timing mirrors the timeless instruction found in Deuteronomy 6:7. Ancient Hebrew law did not instruct parents to enroll their children in weekly seminars to learn the commandments; rather, it commanded them to discuss spiritual truths continually—when sitting in the house, walking by the way, lying down, and rising up.
The historical model of soul formation was always intended to take place within the unhurried, repetitive rhythms of daily domestic life. It is precisely within these domestic spaces, free from the rigid constraints of institutional bells and schedules, that children feel safe enough to voice their hardest, most probing questions about existence, suffering, and faith.
The Economic and Domestic Realities of Presence
This conviction regarding the home as the primary center of education forms the ideological backbone of Bortins’s recent book, SILK: More Kids, More Wealth. The acronym stands for Single Income, Lots of Kids. While the book addresses the economic viability of traditional household structures at length, its core thesis is fundamentally cultural and theological. It examines where, and by whom, the questions that truly shape human character are ultimately answered.
A child who wonders aloud about the return of Christ, who grapples with the problem of human suffering, or who questions why a family must decline certain cultural luxuries accessible to neighbors, requires a parent within immediate earshot. Furthermore, that parent must possess the luxury of time, emotional presence, and theological grounding required to sit with the question rather than delegate the responsibility to an external institution.
According to Bortins, no educational institution, regardless of its academic excellence, can fully outsource the intimate presence required to guide a developing soul. Building a household that allows for this level of attentive availability requires a deliberate structural and financial design.
The Classical Vision of the Household
In classical philosophy, thinkers like Aristotle referred to the household, or the oikos, as the foundational human community. It represents the primary sphere where human life is first directed toward the good long before a broader civic society takes form. This classical framework resonates deeply during the Advent season, which is inherently domestic in its observance. Whether gathered around a simple wreath or watching the slow progression of candles burn down week by week, families practice a form of waiting that modern technology cannot accelerate.
Educators and parents understand this principle intuitively. Just as a farmer plants seeds in September without witnessing a harvest until spring—or perhaps years down the line—teachers sow academic and moral truths that may not manifest in a child’s understanding until much later. The sudden realization, the moment of clarity, or the delighted epiphany rarely arrives on a synchronized calendar; it emerges in due time.
However, modern economic pressures often make this kind of domestic patience difficult. When both parents are stretched thin across full-time employment and demanding institutional schedules for their children, the margin of time required to sit with a nine-year-old child’s theological inquiries simply evaporates. Important conversations are postponed, deferred, or reduced to hurried answers delivered on the way out the door.
A household organized around a single income and the steady presence of a parent at home creates the structural precondition necessary for genuine discipleship. True instruction in the home relies heavily on the simple reality of someone actually being in the home to listen.
Echoes From Ancient Philosophy and Modern Literature
Long before modern educational debates emerged, classical philosophers recognized the supreme importance of the early domestic environment. Plato, in his treatise Laws, argued that the most decisive years of a child’s moral formation occur under the consistent, observant care of parents who shape habits and affections long before formal schooling begins. A parent perceptive enough to recognize when a child’s inquiry stems from genuine spiritual wonder rather than idle curiosity is performing the most critical educational work imaginable.
This theme of rootedness and patient endurance also echoes through modern literature, most notably in the works of J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. In Tolkien’s legendarium, it is the seemingly unremarkable, unhurried inhabitants of the Shire who ultimately prove equal to the greatest trials, having been formed slowly through a culture that cherished permanent, enduring things rather than rapid advancement.
Similarly, in The Abolition of Man, C.S. Lewis warned that a culture losing its confidence in objective moral values risks producing individuals with intellects and appetites, but lacking a formed moral center—what he termed "men without chests." Such a moral center, Lewis suggested, is cultivated slowly through intentional education in truth, goodness, and beauty, much like the patient conversations that take place around a family dinner table.
The Continuing Tradition of Hope
When Bortins ultimately answered his son’s question regarding the return of Christ, he did not offer a date or a simplistic timeline. Instead, he reminded the boy that Christians have awaited Christ’s return for nearly two millennia, and that this shared patient expectation serves as a bridge connecting generations of believers.
By anchoring the discussion in biblical passages such as Isaiah 40—which promises that those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength—the family viewed their daily questions not as interruptions, but as invitations to deeper faith.
As families navigate the holiday season, the challenge remains to reclaim the unhurried nature of domestic life. Whether through the quiet observance of Advent or the deliberate restructuring of daily routines to prioritize parental presence, the ultimate lesson of the season is that the wait itself is meaningful. For parents willing to stay in the room and sit with difficult questions, the domestic table remains the primary place where enduring faith takes root.
