Advent 27 : Making Room Whatever The Cost

Christmas Eve

Light is rushing in on darkness.  And it will bring to light great darkness.  We are about to step  into Christmastide, a bloody twelve days in which the Calendar observes Stephen, the first martyr of the Church (December 26); the Holy Innocents, those boys of two years and under murdered by Herod’s soldiers in Bethlehem (December 28); and Thomas Becket, murdered Archbishop of Canterbury (December 29).

Christ’s coming is Good News; but it is not always, and never only, good news.  And if we are to make room for his coming into our world, we shall need  to count the cost...

Advent 26a : Looking Backward, Looking Forward

Advent is about looking backwards, in order to look forward.  The Advent Antiphons are not accidental worship, but crafted, looking backwards in order to look forwards.  Taking the first letter of each Antiphon, and reading backwards, we spell out ERO CRAS, or ‘Tomorrow, I come...’

As we make room for Jesus throughout Advent, Jesus prepares to come to us, to inhabit our lives, to live in the room we have made for him. 
Tomorrow, he comes.

Advent 26 : Making Room In The Wrapping Of Gifts

I like choosing gifts to give to my wife at Christmas.  There is the ritual of choosing the gifts themselves - what to choose?  so many gifts that I would like to give: and to choose this, and that, is to have to let go of the possibility of giving these other things – and the ritual of wrapping them – I’m not a natural wrapper; it is a small labour of love.

And then there is the wondering: will she like what I have chosen? would she have preferred the thing I passed by?

God made his choice of gift, long ago, and hid it in the present-drawer of heaven.  And when the time came to give the gift, he wrapped it once in flesh and blood, then wrapped it again in flesh and blood, and gave it...and wondered: how will they receive what I have given?

Some received the gift with wonder; others reluctantly, at first, but growing to understand its true worth; still others didn’t even notice it; and some rejected it, forcefully, ungratefully.

The final Advent antiphon is ‘O Emmanuel’ or ‘God-with-us.’  The greatest gift of all, both longed-for and needed, and yet not obviously either of those things.

As we wrap our gifts, we might make room for Jesus by praying for the loved-one we wrap for...

O Emmanuel

O Emmanuel, our King and our lawgiver,

the hope of the nations and their Saviour:

Come and save us, O Lord our God.

Advent: making room for Jesus – in the wrapping of gifts.

Advent 25 : Making Room In The Craft Box

This time of preparation to celebrate Christmas is a time of making decorations and gifts.  That is how it was, traditionally, and that is what some are encouraging us to rediscover again.  Certainly, I appreciate receiving hand-made, home-made Christmas cards – the thought and work that went into designing and making something.  And certain Christmas works of art made by my children will be treasured for years to come.

The sixth and penultimate Advent Antiphon is ‘O Rex Gentium’ or ‘O King of the nations.’  It speaks of Jesus as the one who fashioned the human race from clay, and hints of the creative impulse of those made in the likeness of a Creator, a creative impulse that is shaped both by the condition of living divided from God and neighbour and by the salvation Christ brings with his coming.

I have set this prayer at the craft box.  You might get out coloured pencils and write it out – or even clay and inscribe it – or simply meditate on it while making a gift or decoration.

O Rex Gentium

O King of the nations, and their desire,

the cornerstone making both one:

Come and save the human race,

which you fashioned from clay.

Advent: making room for Jesus – in the craft box.

Advent 24 : Making Room Under The Light

Today is the shortest day of the year in the northern hemisphere, and it is surely no coincidence that, being composed in that hemisphere, the Advent Antiphon on 21 December is ‘O Oriens,’ literally ‘the East’ but meaning the Morning Star.  The Morning Star is the name given to the planet Venus at the stage of its orbit when it is visible in the night sky before dawn (that is, in the eastern sky – it is known as the Evening Star at the stage of its orbit when it is visible in the night sky after dusk; whether Morning or Evening, it is an exceptionally bright celestial body).

It is also a title given in Scripture to both the fallen angel who is thrown down on to the earth from heaven, and Jesus who also comes down to earth from heaven.  As such, it is first attributed to the one who attempted to take God’s throne, who rejected light and set themselves to establish darkness and the shadow of death; and then given to the one who did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking on human frame in order to serve humanity, coming as light that the darkness could not extinguish, but against whom death exhausted itself.

The Morning Star reminds us both that we live in a dark world, and that the dawn is coming.  The Morning Star is visible long before the dawn itself arrives; but guarantees that it is on its way.  It is a thing of beauty, and of hope.

Domestic lights are a poor substitute, but nonetheless sitting in near darkness lit only by Christmas lights, candles, or a lamp engages our senses, heightens our awareness of the dark around us and the gift of light by which we can see.  And so I have chosen to set the fifth Advent Antiphon under the light.  (This one happens to be in my study, hanging from the snow-covered glass ceiling.)

O Oriens

O Morning Star,

splendour of light eternal and sun of righteousness:

Come and enlighten those who dwell in darkness

and the shadow of death.

Advent: making room for Jesus – under the light.

Advent 23 : Making Room At The Key Hook

Keys have both practical and symbolic significance.  At a practical level, keys represent freedom to come and go.  At a symbolic level, keys represent an additional authority conferred upon the key-holder.

There came a time when I was allowed to take a set of house-keys if I was going out on my own.  (This marks a progression of freedom, as previously I had been allowed to go out on my own, but was dependent on someone being at home to let me back in.)  But there came a later time when I was given a set of keys of my own.  Then I was free to come and go as I chose.  Of course, if I was out late this did not stop my parents from staying up until I got in.

The fourth Advent Antiphon is ‘O Clavis David’ or ‘O Key of David.’  Advent is not only about preparing to celebrate Jesus’ coming as a baby, but – and primarily – about preparing ourselves for his return.  Jesus is an adult, a key-holder; and though we are not his parents, like my parents when I was younger we wait for his return, not knowing when it will be, but knowing that he will come like a thief in the night.

Jesus uses his authority to secure our freedom.  And – like a thief in the night – he will set us free by entering where we have constructed our own defence mechanisms; where we are imprisoned not least by our own attempts to save ourselves from the darkness beyond.

But more than this: Jesus has given his keys to – has conferred his authority upon – his Church, in order that we might exercise his authority to release prisoners from the prison house.

This Advent, make room for Jesus at the key hook by being surprised by his coming, by pondering the wonder of his presence with us, and by asking whose prison we might unlock – in practical acts of loving service, in invitation to welcome the King, in proclaiming that the dawn of the Sun of Righteousness draws near.

O Clavis David

O Key of David and sceptre of the House of Israel;

you open and no one can shut;

you shut and no one can open:

Come and lead the prisoners from the prison house,

those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.

Advent: making room for Jesus – at the key hook.

Advent 22 : Making Room In The Closet

We have an expression in English that every family has its own ‘skeletons in the closet’ – dark secrets that you wouldn’t want anyone else to find out about.  Matthew’s Gospel starts with Jesus’ genealogy, in which every skeleton in the cupboard is brought out and paraded in full view.

There is Tamar: who sets out to entrap her father-in-law, disguising herself as a prostitute to take advantage of the recent death of his wife, with the deliberate intention of becoming pregnant, in payment for his mistreatment of her, his refusal to fulfil his responsibility towards her as her guardian after she is widowed twice-over.

There is Rahab: who, dedicated to (named after) a mighty chaos demon by her parents, grew up to become a prostitute, offering shelter and comfort to travellers, and who betrayed her own people by harbouring spies who came with the intent of overthrowing Jericho.

There is Ruth: who was from Moab, a neighbouring people descended from the elder of Lot’s daughters, who both got their father drunk in order to become pregnant by him after his wife and their husbands had died in the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah; and who herself, when widowed, took advantage of her relative-by-marriage in his drunkenness, in order to secure him as a husband.

There is Bathsheba: whose story is such an embarrassment that she isn’t even named, but identified as having been the wife of Uriah, one of David’s closest allies and military heroes; David, who when pregnancy threatened to reveal his adultery first tried to trick his friend in to believing he was the father and then had him set up to be killed in battle; Bathsheba who later had a surviving son by David, and involved herself in intrigue to ensure that her son, rather than any other son by David’s other wives, succeeded his father on the throne.

There is Mary: a girl waiting to enter into an arranged marriage as soon as she becomes a woman (i.e. has her first period), but whose very first egg is impregnated by the Holy Spirit (i.e. Jesus will spend three semesters in an unused or virgin womb, and three days in an unused tomb); a girl found pregnant by someone else, bringing disgrace on her family and the family of her betrothed.

This Jesus is not ashamed to own the skeletons in his family history; but, rather, comes to fully redeem dark secrets God has been redeeming over and over again.

The third Antiphon is ‘O Radix Jesse’ or ‘O Root of Jesse,’ a title which highlights both Jesus’ ancestry – descended from Jesse – and God’s work of redeeming our past – the root or stump from which a chopped-down tree grows back, straighter than before.  I have chosen to set it at the closet, wardrobe, or chest-of-drawers.

O Radix Jesse

O Root of Jesse, standing as a sign among the peoples;

before you kings will shut their mouths,

to you the nations will make their prayer:

Come and deliver us, and delay no longer.

Advent: making room for Jesus – in the closet.

Advent 21 : Making Room At The Advent Ring

The second Advent Antiphon is O Adonai.  ‘Adonai’ is a title, meaning ‘Lord’ or ‘master’ and given to God in the Jewish tradition; it is a grammatical plural in form (i.e. literally ‘Lords’), which has particular significance for Christians, who believe that God is ‘One God in three persons’ (Trinity).

Throughout Advent, an Advent Ring sits on our dining-table: four candles surrounding a central candle.  Some years we have placed a decorative wreath around the ring; this year we have not.  The central candle represents Jesus, the light who is coming into the world, whom we wait for.  The four surrounding candles, lit accumulatively on the four Sundays of Advent, represent the Patriarchs, the Prophets, John the Baptist, and the Virgin Mary.  In this way, we prepare for Christmas by telling the story of God’s salvation, framed in a particular way:

that God called one man, Abraham, from whom he would call-forth a people, through whom he would bless all peoples;

that in  his commitment to his plan of salvation God sent prophets to call his people back into relationship with him when they went astray – including messages of promise that God would send one who would save his people;

and then, fast-forwarding towards the main event, that God sent John to prepare the way for Jesus’ coming;

and that God called Mary to be the one through whom the Lord would be born into the world - through whom a people would be re-gathered, through whom all peoples are to be blessed...

It is a story of faithful obedience to God’s call, of faithful response, of believing that all things are possible for God acting in covenant partnership with human beings (for a start, there are three miracle births in this telling: Abraham and Sarah’s son and John the Baptist are both born of mothers too old to ovulate; Mary’s son born of a virgin – literally, a girl who is yet to ovulate).  It is a story in which we are invited to place ourselves, to find our place, to write our chapter.

The O Adonai Antiphon recalls the fire of the burning bush, and calls on the Lord to come bringing light to our darkness – by redeeming us with an outstretched arm – and so I set this prayer at the Advent ring.

I like to light the Christ-candle throughout Advent, and to light the other candles from it.

O Adonai

O Adonai, the leader of the House of Israel,

who appeared to Moses in the fire of the burning bush,

and gave him the law on Sinai:

Come and redeem us with an outstretched arm.

Advent: making room for Jesus – at the Advent ring.

Advent 20 : Making Room Online

Today we enter the Advent Antiphons, a series of ancient prayers said (traditionally, sung) in the evening from December 17 to December 23.  Each Antiphon is based on a particular title ascribed to Jesus, the coming king.  My intention is to suggest a place in the house where we might make room for Jesus by meditating on these prayers.

The first antiphon is O Sapientia, or O Wisdom.  Today, the internet gives us unprecedented access to information, and indeed to other people’s knowledge – knowledge being an understanding of how to interpret and present information.  But just as information is not knowledge, so knowledge is not wisdom...

O Sapientia

O Wisdom, coming forth from the mouth of the Most High,

reaching from one end to the other mightily,

and sweetly ordering all things:

Come and teach us the way of prudence.

Other ways in which we might make room for Jesus online include:

from the side-bar of this blog, I link to Common Worship Morning Prayer, Evening Prayer, and Night Prayer;

check out the digital story of the nativity;

catch up with the Church of England’s online advent calendar.

Advent: making room for Jesus – online.

Advent 19 : Making Room In The Vegetable Rack

I’m currently sharing my study with a cardboard box of root vegetables.  This particularly handsome chap is a celeriac – surely the inspiration for the Ood race in Dr Who.

Root vegetables are overlooked.  They aren’t the glamorous stars of the vegetable world.  They are, properly, dirty – pulled from the earth (though those root vegetables supermarkets deign to sell are thoroughly washed, air-brushed up).  They aren’t the sexy tomato, beaded with raindrops.  (And yes, I know that technically the tomato isn’t a vegetable; but as the saying goes, “Knowledge is knowing that the tomato is a fruit; wisdom is knowing not to put it in a fruit salad.”)

Kept in the cool and dark, root vegetables don’t go off quickly.  In fact, some will last for months.  This meant that historically they were the staple of our winter diet.  And this gave rise to great versatility: soups, mashes, winter salads, stews, roasts.  Today, we can fly vegetables in from warmer climates, or grow them in controlled conditions.  The root vegetable has gone out of fashion, out of favour; and with it, we have lost the versatility we once had.

Root vegetables are tasty and nutritious; and, for those with eyes to see, beautiful.

When God told Isaiah that he would one day send his servant, who would establish God’s justice, having first suffered and then been exalted, he said that there would be nothing in his appearance to draw people to him: indeed, he would be so marred, so disfigured, that those who looked on him would be appalled (Isaiah 52:13-15).

At his most marred on the cross, perhaps Jesus wasn’t such a gorgeous baby.

When he grew up, he told those who were drawn not by his celebrity good looks but by his disturbing teaching and wonderful miracles that he was the bread of life: that is, that they needed to make him the staple of their spiritual diet, that he would provide spiritual sustenance day after day after day, where spiritual sustenance was in short supply.  Perhaps, to these islands – to any land where it is always winter and never Christmas? – he is the potato, the turnip, the celeriac of life?

This advent, make room for root vegetables.  And as you do, make room for Jesus.

Advent: making room for Jesus – in the vegetable rack.

Advent 18 : Making Room At The Fireplace

One of the things I greatly appreciate, but have so far never had the opportunity to do in a home of my own, is to sit in front of an open log fire in winter.

The secret to being able to enjoy a log fire in winter is to take the time to split logs throughout the rest of the year.  It is a slow, careful process of making sure you have the resources you will need to get through the lean time.  Not long ago, an older local man showed me the log-pile at the side of his house; I wonder whether a younger man would have the patience?

It strikes me that this time of year we have a tendency to combine a flurry of additional activity with the peak in coughs, colds and man-flu, thus making ourselves susceptible to illness.  We run ourselves down.

Perhaps our pacing is somewhat out.  Yes, there are certain activities which by definition belong to this season.  But perhaps if we find ourselves fitting-in too many Christmas dinners, socials and parties, it is an indicator to us that we are connected to too many communities at once.

Jesus told his disciples, go to one village at a time, and look for one person who will welcome you through serving you.

You can only fit so many people around a fireplace.  Perhaps Advent is rightly a time to slow down, not speed up.  To ask, who are the people who have helped me stock the log-pile this year – who have put in the time investing in our relationship over the course of many months – and to prioritise spending time with them over other invitations and opportunities.

That is not to deny the place of networking – of connecting people who have you as an acquaintance in common.  But it is to attempt to address the hectic nature the approach to Christmas has built up around it.

In this way we make room for Jesus at the fireplace, by taking time to honour those who have ministered to our physical, emotional, intellectual and spiritual needs.

Advent: making room for Jesus – at the fireplace.

Advent 17 : Making Room In Special Food

One of the best things about this time of year is eating mince pies.  For those visitors from other lands, the mince pie is a British Christmas tradition.  The best are home-made: a small shallow disc of pastry, filled with sweet mincemeat (a concoction of dried fruits and spices – and at one time, though no longer, minced beef), and topped with a five-pointed glazed pastry star.

In this form, the mince pie represents the nativity:

the pastry disc represents the manger (most likely a bowl-like depression ground-out of the stone floor of the home);

the mincemeat filling represents the straw;

and the star represents the baby Jesus (the five-points represent head and limbs; and by using a star rather than a ‘baby’ shape, represents Jesus as the Bright Morning Star that signals the coming breaking of the dawn).

The mincemeat needs to be visible between the points of the star – the straw the baby nestles in.  Totally encased mince pies are plain wrong.

We love eating mince pies in our house; and we love helping to make them – rolling and cutting out the pastry, spooning on the mincemeat, brushing on the glaze – though only Jo is competent at making the pastry.

However, the mince pie has been contentious among differing Christian communities and traditions in British history.  Indeed, the mince pie was banned by Puritan parliamentarians during the so-called English Civil War (at least three consecutive conflicts, involving England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland) for being a Catholic corruption of true faith.  It symbolises the repression of one group by another, on the basis of a particular set of beliefs – the persecution being all the more poignant given that those who claimed to worship the Prince of Peace were opposing one another.

And so the mince pie represents our own prejudices: those places where we espouse a dogma of division over a recipe of reconciliation.

Take.  Eat.

Make room for Jesus by allowing him to confront our confident certainties with his child-like innocence and wonder; by embracing humility; by redeeming a troubled history, to point to a restored future;

by bringing together the sharp and the sweet – suet, apple, raisin, sultana, currant, candied peel, soft dark brown sugar, orange, lemon, almond, cinnamon, nutmeg, brandy – to create something truly celebratory.

Advent: making room for Jesus – in special food.

Advent 16 : Making Room In Smell

Smell is, apparently, the most evocative of all the senses, the one that leaves the deepest embedded imprint on our memory.  In fact, smell can trigger memory that lies deeper than our conscious memory: there is a perfume scent I sometimes catch as a random stranger passes by me in the street that I know is somehow associated with my early childhood.  Was it a scent my mother wore back then?  Was it something I tasted, even?  (For scent and taste are closely related.)  I can’t access it – not helped by being too reserved to call after a stranger and ask, “What perfume are you wearing?” – but this particular smell tries to stir a memory I can’t bring into focus.

Christmas has its own smells: mince-pies, fresh from the oven; fir tree sap; frankincense and myrrh candles, or infusers.  Smells on which memories will become entangled, inhaled, lodge themselves deep within.

Frankincense and myrrh, of course, with gold, were gifts presented to the infant Christ by the magi, or astronomer-astrologers who read his coming in the skies and set out on an epic journey to find the new-born king (he may have been two years old by the time they found him).  Incense, which covered the smell of blood sacrifice; myrrh, which was used to embalm the dead: strong smells, both of them.

Do not underestimate the significance of smell as a means of making room for Jesus in Advent.

Advent: making room for Jesus – in smell.

Advent 15 : Making Room On The Shoe Rack

The shoe rack sits just inside the front door.  It is a place of transitions: of putting on our shoes in order to go outside; of taking off our shoes, and perhaps putting on slippers, as we come in to the house from outside.  A place of arrivals, and departures.

How might we make room for Jesus, at the shoe rack?

During Advent, why not read through the Gospels keeping a particular eye out for stories that are set just as Jesus arrives in a place, or as he sets out for another?  What you will discover is that these transition-points, on which the story turns, are time and again places where, in one way or another, the king is welcomed and his kingdom is ushered-in: in miraculous healings; and intimate conversations, through which the eyes of the heart are opened.

It would appear that at transition-points, the door between heaven and earth waits to be opened.

In these places of arrival and departure, the kingdom of heaven makes its arrival, and lives on earth set out on a new departure – following the bright star where it may lead, into the unknown, into danger, into a different journey.

During Advent, why not pay special attention to those first encounters on leaving or entering your home:

asking Jesus if there is a particular word that he would have you speak into that person’s life;

a particular new world he would have you speak into being?

Advent: making room for Jesus – on the shoe rack.

Advent 14 : Making Room In The Midst Of Everything Else

There is so much that needs to be done in preparation for Christmas...

At times – and especially if there are any other factors in our lives that drain us, as there so often are – it is as much or even more than we can do to get done what needs to be done.

At times, we just need to take time out.  Re-focus.  Pray.

Pray, even though prayer is elusive; even though the Christ-child, the King of Heaven, is elusive.

And then step back in to the day.

These prayers, for the morning and for the evening during Advent, are taken from Common Worship.

Advent: making room for Jesus – in the midst of everything else.

Advent 13 : Making Room On The Christmas Tree

So far I have been reflecting on how we might go about making room for Jesus at the centre of our lives through Advent, using the everyday spaces and furniture of our lives.  But we can also do so through making seasonal-specific changes to our homes, by introducing things into rooms that we will pack away, and bring out again year after year.

Yesterday we bought and decorated our Christmas tree.  It stands in the corner of our living room, to the side of the fireplace, in front of the book-case: a Norwegian fir tree, indoors.  Out of place – like a baby occupying a manger.

Our Christmas tree decorations tell one story, and write another.

They tell the story of Christmas past: olivewood manger scenes; needlework wise men; china Santa Clauses (St Nicholas, a Christian bishop, who threw three bags of gold coins through the window to redeem three daughters of an impoverished widower from having to go into slavery, and so both acted-out the story of Christmas and gave origin to the tradition of giving gifts); wooden gift boxes; glass angels; trumpets; stars; sheep...

And they tell the story of Christmas future: for each of our children receive a Christmas tree decoration as a special gift from their godparents each year, which will build up into a collection for them when they leave home and have a tree of their own.  [I know there are some people who read this blog who buy my children gifts at Christmas, and I would respectfully ask that you don’t give them individual Christmas tree decorations, as this is a special godparent tradition.  Thank you.  Of course, we have also been given Christmas tree decorations as a family, which is another matter altogether.]

One of the things that I have learned from the parents of now-grown-up-children is the significance of building special family traditions around Christmas.  These have created space for the story to go on being told and celebrated in their lives, whether they choose to be actively involved in a faith community throughout the year or not; and created a social glue that binds the family together as a relational group even after children have left home.

I don’t especially want you to adopt our traditions, but to create your own, that work for you, and to celebrate them.

When Christmas comes to an end, and the tree is taken out of the living room, the room feels bigger than it was.  By adding something into the space, living with it for a while, and then experiencing its removal –

like adding Mary and Joseph and Jesus to a family home, including the animals, that had already filled its guest room, and living with them for several months and possibly up to two years before they left –

we have the opportunity to reflect on what we have but sometimes fail to notice, use to God’s glory, and give thanks for.

Advent: making room for Jesus – on the Christmas tree.

Advent 12 : Making Room In The Empty Chair

If I wasn’t already aware of it, this job makes it painfully clear that Christmastime is a hard time of year for a very many people.  I want to reflect on such experiences, using the image of the empty chair.

There is the chair that is empty because a loved one has died since last Christmas.  It is literally the chair they used to sit in, and they are not there now.

The empty chair may also represent a life that has not been known, but has been longed for.  For the single person who has watched their friends marry, and is facing yet another Christmas without someone to share life with, the empty other half of the sofa.  For the couple who have yet again failed to conceive in the last twelve months, the empty high chair.

The empty chair may represent an emotional, rather than physical absence – for the woman trapped in a loveless marriage; for the child whose aging parent no longer knows who they are, the man whose wife no longer recognises him.

So many empty chairs.

Advent is a season of unfulfilled but not abandoned hope.  Advent does not pretend that our present night is glorious day; but does not let go of the promise of a bright dawn.  Advent is necessary: Advent is a cure to the soul disease of despair and to the soul disease of triumphalism.

Advent recognises that we wait for Christ to come, and that when he comes we will be made whole, in heart and soul and strength and mind.

Through Advent, as you walk into a room where there is an empty chair, let it be a prompt to you to make room for Jesus:

in bringing to him the ‘empty chair’ in your own life, asking him to sit and be enthroned there over our hopes and dreams, exercising his rule of peace, the experience of healing;

in bringing to him the ‘empty chair’ in the life of a friend or neighbour, work colleague or family member, and asking him to be their comforter and hope now, and always.

Advent: making room for Jesus – in the empty chair.

Advent 11 : Making Room In Your iPod

Like the Sony Walkman and Discman before them, but with a far greater capacity, the iPod and other MP3 players have blurred the boundaries between inside and outside.

Music evokes something within us that few other things would seem able to touch.  Through Advent (and, indeed, the twelve days of Christmas) why not carry with you the music of the season, tapping-into memories of Christmas past.

There are both Advent and Christmas carols.  Advent carols tend to be quite mournful, whereas Christmas carols tend to be quite joyful – and it is important that we embrace the opportunity Advent presents us, which is quite distinct from Christmas.  Advent has a mournful quality to it because we recognise that the world is not as God wills it to be; and that, while the kingdom of heaven continues to pour in through tears in the thin membrane between heaven and earth, the world will not fully be as God wills it to be until Christ returns.  Advent carols express the reality of this present dark world, and the hope we have, light shining in darkness, light that at times burns very dim, but is not extinguished.

We have forgotten how to hold fragile hope in dark places, to shelter candle-light from the wind.  Advent carols resonate with the mournful hope that the Jewish tradition has nurtured in their darkest hours.  I have heard some Christians say that the Jews mourn because they still await their Messiah, who has come.  How arrogant!  I still wait for the Messiah to come.  Even though I believe he came once before, I wait and long for his coming.  The world is a dark place.  My Christian brothers and sisters – along with believers of other faiths – are persecuted around the world.  In the West, we have little experience of trouble; but mournful hoping is an essential component of authentic faith in God as revealed through Jesus.  Advent is a very necessary counter-part to the joyful celebration of Christmas.  Advent carols are a beautiful counter-part to Christmas carols.

This advent, why not download albums of seasonal music, and prioritise them in your listening, allowing the sounds to shape us as we make room for Jesus in our lives?

Advent: making room for Jesus – in your iPod.