Friday, 26 December 2014
rural isolation...
The parish where I serve as minister is, geographically, one of the largest in the Kirk. Population, on the other hand, is small and very scattered. Isolation can be quite an issue pastorally amongst folk; nothing, however, prepared me for this...
Seen on a pre-lunch drive to some of the more remote corners of the parish :)
Thursday, 25 December 2014
Homily for Watchnight
I asked my folks for some bales of hay to get the 'feel' of a stable scene so we could do some all-age, interactive worship on 4 Advent...this is what they came up with! :) |
Really love the U A Fanthorpe poem - especially 'haphazard by starlight'.
Also really loved conducting Christmas worship for the first time as a shiny new minister.
Shattered, but ... wow!
And now, back to cooking Christmas dinner. Happy Christmas folks.
Homily for Watchnight
Primary reading: John 1:1-14
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts
be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
BC/ AD - a
poem by U A Fanthorpe:
This was
the moment when Before
Turned into After, and the future's
Uninvented timekeepers presented arms.
This was the moment when nothing
Happened. Only dull peace
Sprawled boringly over the earth.
This was the moment when even energetic Romans
Could find nothing better to do
Than counting heads in remote provinces.
And this was the moment
When a few farm workers and three
Members of an obscure Persian sect
Walked haphazard by starlight straight
Into the kingdom of heaven. ... ...
Turned into After, and the future's
Uninvented timekeepers presented arms.
This was the moment when nothing
Happened. Only dull peace
Sprawled boringly over the earth.
This was the moment when even energetic Romans
Could find nothing better to do
Than counting heads in remote provinces.
And this was the moment
When a few farm workers and three
Members of an obscure Persian sect
Walked haphazard by starlight straight
Into the kingdom of heaven. ... ...
We gather
together tonight, and as we gather,
we stand
on a threshold...
this is
the moment,
the time
of the year
when we
look back and remember
another
moment:
the birth
of a child long ago,
in a land
far away.
A longed
for child -
longed for
by a nation...
to rescue
and to
restore them;
A child of
promise and power
and yet, a
prince of peace.
A child,
who according to our reading from
John’s
gospel, bent the dimensions
of time
and space -
for this child -
the Word
made flesh -
was there
in the beginning...
was there before the beginning of all things...
the Word,
speaking all creation into being.
This is
the moment when we gather
to
remember the birth
of this
child...
who was -
who is - the light of all people,
the light
which shines in the darkness
and has
never been ...
can never be extinguished.
In this threshold moment,
amidst
tinsel, and glitter, and twinkly lights,
(pointed to stable animals in display)
not to
mention a flock of sheep,
a decent
herd of cows,
and possibly
more camels than you can
poke a
stick at,
we
remember and celebrate
the child
who was,
who is,
God.
It’s a
moment in time
that changes time forever:
for after
the birth of this child
things can
never,
will never,
be the
same again.
The
meanings of words will be redefined,
as the
Word of God breaks into the world
and the
kingdom of heaven
is
established on earth
in a
backwater village called Bethlehem,
in a
far-flung outpost of the Roman Empire.
Real power will be seen in vulnerability,
not
might...
all-powerful God
breaking
into finite human time and space
as all-vulnerable:
a baby in a manger -
God,
dependant on the hospitality
of the
human heart to take him in.
Old
systems and structures,
old ways
of doing things that benefit the few,
while
oppressing the least,
will be
challenged by the God-child born in the humblest, the least likely of dwellings.
Moments
collide:
past and
present -
and future,
for this
child - and all he represents,
is still longed for:
there’s still rescue and restoration that’s
needed;
there are
still places in the world -
places in
our hearts -
where
peace has yet to come,
where the
light must shine more brightly
to bring
hope to those who see only darkness,
and where
life-sapping, dehumanising structures
need
challenged.
We stand
on the threshold,
and as we
do
the light
that was coming into the world
is one who
shows all people a new way of living -
even now:
a new way
of living that is life-affirming ...
life-giving,
love-giving...
for the
child we wait for
is God’s
love-letter to the world:
the Word
who says
‘do not be
afraid’
the Word
who is a comfort to the weary,
consolation
to those who grieve.
God
becoming one of us
knowing us
completely
feeling
our pain, our joy;
sorrowing,
celebrating,
laughing,
weeping.
Feeling
the dust on his feet
breathing
the air we breathe...
God becoming
one of us,
God being for us
and with us
God giving
us the right to be his children
his own -
his beloved.
That is the message of Christmas:
in one word -
love -
as the old
hymn goes:
‘Love came
down at Christmas
Love all
lovely, Love Divine;
Love was
born at Christmas,
star and
angels gave the sign’.
As we wait,
poised to welcome the Christ-child
once more
into our world,
and into our hearts,
the
message of Christmas
is that we
are loved by God
beyond our
wildest imaginings,
and called
by him to live in that love,
and to
love others -
to bring
light into the darkness,
to live
life in all its fullness
for:
‘Love
shall be our token,
love be
yours and love be mine,
love to
God and neighbour,
love for
plea and gift and sign.’
It is this love -
God’s love
for us,
and our
response to that love
that has
the potential and the power
to heal
and transform;
to restore
and renew -
ourselves
our
neighbours
the world.
It is this love,
shown in
the child in the manger,
that
enables us, in this moment -
together,
with shepherds, and wise men -
to walk,
haphazard by starlight
straight
into the kingdom of heaven.
Amen.
Sunday, 14 December 2014
'Meddling in politics' : a sermon for Advent 3b
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11
Luke 1:46-55
Let us pray:
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of
all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God, our strength and our
redeemer. Amen.
A friend of mine in Edinburgh texted me yesterday.
She was off Christmas shopping for her small
grand-daughter.
On a mission in the Disney shop, she scoured the
shelves looking for the desired item.
Not finding it, she found a member of staff
instead and said:
‘I wonder if you can help me - I’m looking for Prince Charming?’
‘I wonder if you can help me - I’m looking for Prince Charming?’
Quick as a whip came the reply:
‘Oh, aren’t we all!’
It’s only 11 more days until Christmas:
places are decked with boughs of holly - fa la la
la la...
If you go up to the big shops, you’re met with
wall to wall tinsel, glitter and Santas.
It’s only 11 more days until Christmas...
which means... we still have 10 more days
of Advent -
a season which can occasionally get a little
overlooked in amongst all the decorations.
I confess that Im an unashamed fan of Advent:
I love it.
The preparation,
the waiting,
allowing the anticipation
to build up over the weeks.
I love the first Sunday of Advent and hearing -
and singing -
that old hymn
O come, O come, Emmanuel,
which ushers in the beginning of Advent-tide.
It gets me every time - spine-tingly stuff.
As the weeks pass
I love the gradual in-breaking of light in the
darkness:
of hope...
at first, a wee flicker -
a reminder to lift up your heads
to look up
to look out
to see the signs promising new birth
the promise of a messiah
a deliverer...
That
light becoming clearer, stronger,
as we hear the cries of prophets,
like Isaiah, and John the Baptist
urging us to prepare:
‘don’t
dilly-dally: he’s coming,
the One we’ve yearned for:
the One who will rescue and redeem.
Get your houses, and hearts in order’...
And this
week?
the
flicker has grown to a blazing, angelic light:
earthly messengers make way for the heavenly messenger,
the angel, Gabriel.
Having announced to Mary that she’ll bear the
promised Messiah -
a sign of which, will be the birth of John the
Baptist
to the elderly Zechariah and Elizabeth,
the angel leaves a stunned young Mary...
who quickly makes ready to go and visit her
relatives -
possibly to see for herself if what the angel had
said was true.
Had she
been dreaming?
Or was this seemingly unlikely announcement
actually... going to
happen?
When she arrives, she knows this was no dream:
she meets a very pregnant Elizabeth -
whose child leaps for joy in the womb:
Overwhelmed, and rejoicing,
Mary then sings out that
great song of praise we know as the Magnificat.
Mary’s song follows in a tradition of women who
play key roles in the bible - and who sing songs of joy, and liberation from
oppression:
- Miriam, the
sister of Moses, who sings of liberation from the Egyptians after the
crossing of the Red Sea;
- the prophet and
judge, Deborah, singing of victory against the Canaanites - and the death
of their general, Sisera;
- Hannah, mother
of Samuel, singing for joy as she dedicates him to God’s service - the boy
who would grow up into a great priest, and anoint David as king during the
wars with the Philistines - David, who would defeat Goliath - the man no
other Israelite could overcome.
And Mary - young, faithful, and obedient to God’s
call - sings her song in the time of
the Roman occupation -
and looks ahead to God liberating his people once
more.
Mary’s song of joy also picks up on the theme of
the prophet Isaiah:
both describe the characteristics -
the attributes of the One coming to deliver his
people.
Both making incredibly
political statements while doing so.
I often hear the comment that religion and
politics shouldn’t mix -
that people of faith shouldn’t meddle in politics:
leave it well alone.
.... And
every time I hear it,
I immediately think of the Magnificat - Mary’s
song;
and of the many statements that Isaiah,
and the various prophets of the bible make,
in fact, the bible is
riddled with politics -
not party
politics as we understand,
not the gesture politics of point-scoring,
but the real
stuff:
the politics concerned with the commonweal -
caring for people and forging a society that seeks
the best for all -
creating a place where every human being is
treated with dignity
and encouraged to flourish and blossom:
as Isaiah’s oaks of righteousness,
they will be a planting of the Lord for all to
see.
Don’t
meddle in politics?
We have a God who can’t help but meddle - get involved - in politics:
a God who intervenes and liberates his people from
captivity;
a God who demonstrates throughout the pages of the
bible
a distinct bias towards the poor, the
marginalised, the alien and the stranger.
And, to quote a current internet meme:
if anyone asks you:
‘what would Jesus do?’
remind them that flipping over tables and chasing
people with a whip is within the bounds of possibilities...
That particular political challenge to the
religious authorities alarmed the political movers and shakers as well...
it prompted Jesus’ arrest and execution:
Jesus’ death was a political one.
So, if we’re created in God’s image
and called to follow Jesus, his Son,
it would be more
surprising if people of faith
didn’t
get involved in politics.
Again, not necessarily party politics -
although challenging the system from within has a
noble tradition -
but the sort of politics that questions
systemic systems of oppression;
that questions the meteoric rise in food banks in
the UK
and the ever-widening gap between the richest and
the poorest people in society;
that questions the scapegoating of the most
vulnerable
and casts a quizzical eye at tax loopholes,
zero contract work hours;
that questions the blunt instrument of government
that
doesn’t distinguish between everyday immigrants
and asylum seekers who may be executed if sent
back home.
Mary’s song, Isaiah’s prophecy, are hugely
political statements:
they challenge the status quo of economic Darwinism -
that the ones with the
greatest social advantages always win.
They sing and prophesy of God’s economy:
where the invisible are seen and raised high;
where the powerful are brought down from their
thrones;
where the broken-hearted,
the bereaved,
will be comforted
restored
and in turn
will restore and renew and build up the devastated
ones
the devastated places.
The song, the prophecy, is about salvation in the
widest possible terms:
salvation is not merely ‘pie in the sky when you
die’ -
it is also about here and now.
I’m reminded of the Christian Aid motto:
‘we believe in life before death’.
‘we believe in life before death’.
What is salvation?
It’s good news:
it’s about healing, liberty, release, comfort.
It’s about ‘the year of the Lord’s favour’ - this
is a reference
to the Jewish practice of a having a ‘jubilee’ year -
a year in which debts were wiped away, slaves were
freed,
fields were allowed to rest,
land was returned to original owners.
Salvation is about restoration -
a restored city, an abundant garden -
in the Isaiah text;
it’s about re-evaluation:
putting value on those deemed worthless,
raising the humble,
noticing the unnoticed - this from the Magnificat.
Salvation is - should be - transformative:
as we
are transformed, so we, in turn,
become instruments of transformation.
In this
way, salvation is missional:
our texts observe that all who see God’s people
will acknowledge that they are a people whom God has blessed:
‘righteousness and praise spring up before all nations.’
Salvation is
also about the hereafter -
but, in the present,
we all have the good work of helping to bring in
God’s transformational justice to the world.
As Mary said ‘yes’ to God,
so that is our
choice - as Christ’s body -
to say ‘yes’ to being the people of the good news.
For, ‘to be missional is to live as people of good
news, liberation, justice, and comfort
in such a way that the world may take notice
and be drawn to the ways of God...
So long as Christians live as divided people,
known to the world as those who judge, fight, and exclude, the church will fail
to be missional, no matter how much money it gives and how many missionaries it
sends.’
[Scott Bader-Saye Feasting on the Word]
As God’s people -
good news people -
we are joy-bringers.
As we rejoice and delight in the Lord,
so that joy is shared with others.
In this Advent season,
as we rush towards Christmas
we look forward -
not so much to the coming of Prince Charming
but to our Prince of peace
our Liberator Lord,
and as we do so,
we find our own songs of joy -
and in this way, that first flickering light
continues to grow and glow,
and burn even brighter.
Amen.
Sunday, 7 December 2014
'Prepare the way of the Lord': A sermon for Advent 2B
Isaiah 40:1-11
Mark 1:1-8
Communion Sunday.
Let us pray:
may the words of my mouth
and the meditations of all our hearts, be acceptable
in your sight,
O God our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
By now you
will have worked out
from our
service,
that today is
the second Sunday
of this
season of Advent:
our season of
waiting and watching for the Lord to come.
It’s a time
of anticipation
of preparation
-
of putting
out the welcome mat:
getting our
church,
our homes,
...
our hearts
in order...
all better to
welcome into the world
God’s love
revealed:
the child in
the manger;
Emmanuel,
Prince of
Peace,
the King of
kings
...the Son of
God.
Our two
readings this morning reflect that theme
of anticipation
and preparation.
We hear the
plan of God revealed through the voices of his prophets -
Isaiah and
John the Baptist.
Two prophets,
separated by
many centuries
but both
proclaiming good news
to the people
of God.
We talked a
wee bit about the background to the book of Isaiah last week:
of the
kingdom of Israel being overwhelmed
by the might of the Babylonian Empire,
and of the
exile of the Jewish people
to the heart
of that empire:
to the great
city of Babylon itself.
Isaiah’s good news to these captives?
That the time
is at hand -
freedom is
coming
the return to
the Promised Land is imminent -
God has
heard their cry
and offers
words of comfort to his people:
Isaiah is
bidden to ‘cry out’ as God’s messenger...
and the
message?
‘all people
are like grass...
all their
glory is like the flowers of the field...
the grass
withers, the flowers fall:
for the
breath of the Lord blows upon them...’
and while the
grass may wither and flowers fall,
Isaiah
reminds his listeners that the one thing that does remain,
that endures
for all time...
is the word
of the Lord:
‘the word of
our God stands for ever’
An oppressed,
defeated, people are reminded
of their
mortality by God:
they, like
the grass will wither...
How, exactly,
is this
good news?
Implicit in
the reminder is that what they face
is common to all
humanity -
from the
least to the mightiest:
yes, they’ll eventually wither and fall,
but, so will
the great and powerful Babylonians:
their empire
will also fall like the
flowers
and disappear
in the dust of the desert.
But there’s
more:
whether
Israelite, or Babylonian,
the breath of
the Lord blows upon them all -
the real power here is not Babylon,
it’s God -
the God who
comes with power -
and there’s a
military allusion here -
God is strong
and powerful - his arm rules for him -
an arm that is weapon-bearing:
this is an image of warrior-God.
this is an image of warrior-God.
But it’s followed
almost immediately with a different
kind of power -
a different
image:
the power of
God is seen in both might
and in
tenderness:
the arm that
carries the sword, or the spear,
is also the
arm that will gather his
his people -
his flock -
like lambs
and that
beautiful phrase:
‘he carries
them close to his heart’.
Good news
indeed:
the path will be made straight -
there will be no obstacles,
no stumbling
stones:
less of a
path - rather, a wide and open highway -
where God’s
glory will be revealed
God’s love,
will be made known
to the whole
of humanity...
not just the
Israelites:
all will see and marvel
at the God who loves his people so.
It’s this
message of Isaiah -
written to
the people of God under
the yoke of a
powerful empire -
that the
writer of the gospel chooses as his
starting point to tell
‘the
beginning of the gospel about Jesus Christ, the Son of God’.
To the people
of God, now living under the yoke of the Roman
Empire -
dispossessed
in their own land -
the words of
the prophet Isaiah are intended to remind them
that God has not abandoned them:
that God will rescue them,
that God is still speaking.
And so,
within a breathtaking two verses,
we are
suddenly confronted -
introduced -
to John the
Baptist,
the last and
greatest of all the prophets of God.
John of the
wilderness:
wild and
strange.
His costume
and countenance intended
to reflect
the prophets of old -
dressed in
camel hair, and leather belt;
existing on
locusts and wild honey.
His message:
one of repentance - no light and fluffy stuff for John.
The message
of repentance is tied into the bigger theme
of anticipation and preparation -
repentance, and the
washing away of obstacles
that get in the way of a relationship with God,
is part of
getting ready to meet the one more powerful than even John:
the One who
comes to rescue his people once more.
God, in love,
made human;
modelling a
life lived in love;
demonstrating
that
love in his death;
and, in and
through the power of love -
overcoming
death for us all.
Love - in
life, in death, in resurrection...
but love that
starts simply, humbly,
and overturns
our understanding of power -
power shown
in the utter vulnerability and helplessness of
a baby, in a
manger.
God’s mighty
and powerful love shown
in frail flesh
and blood and bone.
‘Prepare the
way of the Lord!’ the prophets cry.
And here, and
now, that is our task to do -
today, and
every day.
As Christ’s
body here on earth -
we are called
to tell of that
'love divine,
all loves
excelling -
joy of heav’n
to earth come down.'
Called to
proclaim the good news:
that God is
still speaking
that we are
loved.
And that,
whatever those who have power over others may think -
the grass
withers, the flowers fall...
their power,
their empires
will diminish -
for it is not
they who get to have the last word -
it’s God - in Jesus - the Word made flesh...
the
embodiment of love:
through Him,
all things were made,
in Him was
life,
and that life
was the light of all humanity -
the light
setting us free.
That is who
we prepare for
that is who
we proclaim
until He
comes again to fulfil all things.
That is who
we remember in the meal
that we share
in this morning.
In this
season of Advent
as we prepare
and anticipate
God’s coming
among us as one of us,
let’s pause,
and close our eyes just for a moment and as we do,
let’s make
our own paths straight -
let’s lay
aside those things in our own lives that get in the way of
loving God...
... ... ...
...
In bread,
in wine,
love is made
known;
we are
restored, renewed,
refreshed by
His love -
a love that
never fails.
for the Word
of God stands for ever:
And so, as
God’s beloved people,
let us
rejoice in the good news
that frees us
to proclaim
His love
and to
prepare for his coming again this Advent and at the
end of all things. Amen.
Monday, 1 December 2014
'O that you would tear down the heavens!' A sermon for Advent 1B
High time I got to blogging again! Slightly distracted over the last several weeks, having moved and been inducted into new charge... *big grin*
This morning's sermon to kick off Advent - and possibly my favourite Advent reading.
SERMON ‘O, that you would tear down the
heavens’
Isaiah 64:
1-9
let us pray:
May the words
of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight,
O Lord, our strength and our redeemer.
Amen.
O come, O come, Emmanuel,
and ransom captive Israel,
that mourns in lonely exile here
until the Son of God appear...
It’s the
first Sunday of Advent:
the beginning
of a new church year.
New life
Hope renewed.
From Advent
last year,
through to
Christ the King Sunday last week,
we’ve moved
through the various church seasons - the liturgical calendar -
and, as we’ve
done so, as a community,
age-old,
familiar stories from the bible have been heard.
Our Gospel
readings will have covered the birth, life, ministry,
death and
resurrection of Jesus
Other
readings from the New Testament will have focused upon the community of
followers,
and of making
sense of what it is to follow Jesus.
Over the
course of Old Testament readings through the year,
we’ll have
been reminded
of the
journey of the people of Israel:
from
wandering in the wilderness,
to the
establishment of a nation,
to the
overthrow of that nation
and of exile
and return.
There have
been stories of great leaders chosen by God;
and stories
of God’s prophets -
calling some
of these same leaders
to follow and
trust God more closely...
to lead the
people wisely and well.
Overall, in
both Old and New Testaments,
we, as God’s
people have journeyed with God’s
people - through the ages,
journeying
together as we try to understand who this God is that we follow,
and how to
live - how to be - his people.
Our Old
Testament reading this morning is set in a time
when God’s
people find themselves in dire circumstances:
when all
around them feels dark;
where the
flicker of hope is all but extinguished.
The nation of
Israel has been comprehensively defeated
by the new
superpower in the neighbourhood, the Babylonians.
Those who are
deemed valuable:
the elite of
the nation,
the best and
the brightest,
have been
summarily marched off to the great city of Babylon to live out their years in
exile.
Throughout
this approximately 70 year period, the prophet Isaiah, and his followers, act
as God’s messengers to the defeated, despairing people of God -
as voices of
hope when all seems hopeless.
Voices
holding the people of God.
and God
to account.
This
particular passage is a cry of rage and lament;
the prophet’s
plaintive call to God to act -
‘O that you would tear open the
heavens and come down’
It’s a cry
calling upon God to make himself known
to his people
and their
captors.
The prophet
asserts that
by redeeming
- rescuing Israel -
God’s name,
God’s power
will be made known.
In the midst
of lonely exile in Babylon
feeling
abandoned by God
God’s people
wait,
wait for him
to appear.
But why, even when feeling abandoned,
is there a
hope
an
expectation
that God might appear to them?
That God might
just rescue them?
O come, O come thou Lord of might,
who to thy tribes on Sinai’s height,
in ancient times didst give the law
in cloud and majesty and awe...
As Isaiah
calls upon God
to tear open
the heavens and come down,
he reminds
the exiles of their past -
And, it would
appear, he also reminds God.
There’s some
history here.
There’s a
relationship that needs to be looked at:
there’s a
covenant - an agreement -
binding God
and his people together.
While God’s
people are to honour, serve, worship, love, and be faithful to God...
The Lord of
might - mysterious, majestic, and awesome,
is bound:
bound to
protect and to lead his people.
Isaiah
reminds God:
‘you did awesome things’
‘you did awesome things’
One such
awesome thing is found in the
giving of the
law on Mount Sinai -
the law showing
how to love God
and to love
neighbour -
and through
doing so,
to create an
ordered, harmonious community:
the peaceable
kingdom...
a foretaste
of the kingdom of heaven.
Isaiah
recalls the unexpectedness of God -
the awesome
God who,
when giving
the Law
does indeed
come down from the heavens
breaks
through into finite time and space
and makes
himself more fully known
on the
mountain...
and, as he
does,
causes the
mountains to quake
and to tremble...
Isaiah says
to God:
‘You’ve done this before..
come and do
it again...
act on behalf
of those who wait for you’
To the people
waiting in near-darkness
a spark of
hope is being kindled.
O come, thou Rod of Jesse,
free thine own from Satan’s tyranny;
from depths of hell thy people save,
and give them victory o’er the
grave...
Will God free
them?
He has done
so in the past -
he can do so
now
and in the
future.
From the
depths of hell that is exile in Babylon
there will be a return to the Promised Land...
But there
will also be more waiting -
the people of
God will continue to await the promise of a coming Messiah
and the
fulfilment of all things once they arrive back to Palestine...
Several
hundreds of years later,
far away from
Babylon,
and in a
backwater of the Holy Land itself - Bethlehem -
the cry of
Isaiah echoes through the land -
God tears
down the heavens and comes down:
the promised
Rod of Jesse.
A mighty
deliverer -
gurgling in a
manger.
The expected
appearance:
so thoroughly
unexpected.
The promise
of hope
made flesh and
bone...
to rescue
God’s people from the tyranny and fear of death,
as he
overcomes it
by his own
death, and resurrection:
the resurrection
life that kindles hope
of a new life
for all humanity.
O come, thou Key of David, come,
and open wide our heavenly home;
make safe the way that leads on high,
and close the path to misery...
What are we
waiting for?
We wait for Jesus,
the Key of David...
who will come
again
and fling
open the gates to our heart’s home;
for Jesus, who
leads us safely to a place of rejoicing,
a place of
hope.
We need not
fear
for we are
not doomed to destruction and loss:
God loved the
world in this way -
that hope was
born among us -
divine and
yet human -
that whoever
believes in the Son will not perish,
but have life
everlasting.
We need not
fear
for we don’t
have to accept that hunger and poverty and injustice will always win...
We have hope
-
for the one
in whom we trust
and for who
we wait
has come to
give life, life abundantly, justly.
We need not fear
for violence
and hatred will not prevail -
for unto us,
a child is born,
unto us, a
Son is given
and the
government shall be upon his shoulder,
his name
shall be called wonderful councillor, mighty God, the Everlasting, the Prince
of peace.[1]
We need not
fear,
for there is
hope and light and life:
the day, the
hour is coming...
Soon and very
soon
we are
going to see our king -
tearing open
the heavens,
breaking into
human history,
walking among
us
with us:
God, in Jesus;
God who is for us.
This is our
hope,
this is what
we watch and wait for over Advent -
we await the
one who is the ground of our being
the one
closer to us than breathing.
As we wait to
remember,
and celebrate
anew the coming of the Christ child,
have courage
be not afraid,
the light of
hope will never be put out...
O come, thou Dayspring, come and cheer
our spirits by thine Advent here;
disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
and death’s dark shadows put to
flight...
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel
shall come to thee, O Israel.
Amen.
[1] riffing on
a theme from Daniel Berrigan’s ‘Advent Credo’
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