These words, concerning the Word, are among the most celebrated words ever written. They create a frame – a manger, if you will – in which to place the One who is both fully God and fully human; and just like the manger in which Luke tells us Jesus was laid, they are at one and the same time unworthy yet chosen and dignified by God-with-us. As we gaze on the manger, may we see the face of Christ.
These words are deep, pointing to a mystery beyond our understanding. Nevertheless, they speak to us with words of invitation and of challenge – invitation to us when we believe that all this is beyond our knowing, and challenge to us when we believe we are already in the know.
What does it mean to be a witness to the light (v 8)?
How might we (fail to) recognise (v 10) and receive (v 11) this light?
What does it look like, for the Word to have become flesh and made his dwelling among us (v 14)?
Let me offer these suggestions, as a start:
The-Word-become-flesh-and-dwelling-among-us looks like local churches coming alongside couples preparing to start out on the challenging adventure of marriage, or families adjusting to the addition of another member, or grieving the death of one of their own...
It looks like local churches running food banks for those who have been hit hardest by the recession; or youth clubs in areas where there are no other safe places where teenagers can gather together; or any of the other activities that make up the thousands of hours of voluntary service given by church members every week.
The-Word-become-flesh-and-dwelling-among-us also looks like this: the asylum-seeker, the sex worker, the elderly person who has lost control of their bladder and their memory, the disaffected youth, the Big Issue seller, the hurting and the hopeful, the person who rarely if ever comes into a church at a service of public worship because they don’t know what is expected or don’t feel worthy or capable of contributing to all that goes on. Jesus said that whenever we serve such people, we are – quite unaware – serving him, encountering him in our neighbourhood. Perhaps if we are only aware of the respectable people in our neighbourhood, or the people who do not make us feel uncomfortable, then we haven’t seen Jesus for some time...
You see, the-Word-become-flesh-and-dwelling-among-us is both incomprehensibly mysterious and earthily ordinary; bigger than our imagination can conceive, and so small we miss it, right under our nose, again and again.
And so, this Holy Night, what is it that God’s Spirit is whispering to your spirit?
Will you see me?
Will you welcome me?
Will you see me, and welcome me, in you?
Will you live in such a way that others get the opportunity to see me and to welcome me, too? Will you be a manger for the Christ child?
Such a whisper may bring us to our knees, in conviction of our failings, in wonder that God loves us so very greatly. And that, as John understood when he came to write down his account of Jesus, is the place of the beginning.
Happy Christmas! May you know both joy and peace, both grace and truth, both now and in the days ahead.
My Heart Is Now Become An Ark
In the past
God gave instruction to his people
to build an ark
out of acacia wood
covered with purest gold inside and out
and overshadowed by
gold cherubim.
Within the ark were placed those
treasured mementos
of God’s presence,
and so it served as promise
that in all the days ahead
God would meet with his people
at the ark.
My heart is now become an ark
of a renewed covenant.
Exodus 25:10-22
Exodus 37:1-9
Luke 2:8-20
Here is an outline I made for an all-age Nativity, which we used this morning. It is built around Luke 2:1-20. People had been invited to come dressed as their favourite character from the Christmas story. No line-learning is required; nor is it dependent on who turns up.
Welcome, introduction/explanation: everyone will be involved.
We sang a carol
Luke 2:1, 3
Has anyone come as Caesar Augustus? He was the first Emperor, the adopted son of Julius Caesar. When JC was stabbed in the back, Augustus took revenge on his killers, and proclaimed himself Emperor. He proclaimed his dead dad a god, and himself to be a living god, who had brought peace to the world. Caesar Augustus is the centre of his own universe; and though it is unlikely that anyone will have come dressed as him, there is a bit of him in every one of us. This, then, is an appropriate lead into confession. We use a form of confession, and absolution, from Common Worship.
Luke 2:4
Joseph is returning home for ‘Christmas’ – so anyone who has returned home for Christmas, as well as anyone come dressed as Joseph, gets to be Joseph. He was returning home not just to visit his relatives, but because he had no choice. Sometimes we have to return home for happy reasons – such as a significant birthday or anniversary – or sad reasons – such as a funeral. Life is full of highs and lows, and hopes and fears, to be held before God. Calling to mind a high point from 2012, we held our hands up high and thanked God for those things we wished to celebrate. Calling to mind a low point from 2012, we held our hands as low as we could reach, and thanked God that he never leaves us on our own, but is with us to comfort and strengthen us. Turning to 2013, we called to mind a hope, holding our arms out wide, and thanking God for giving us hope; then called to mind a fear, holding our hands close together, and asked God to fill our hearts with his love that drives out fear.
Luke 2:5
Mary is visiting the in-laws – so anyone who is visiting (or has visited) their in-laws for Christmas gets to be Mary, along with anyone who has come dressed in the part. At this point, we light the fourth candle on our Advent wreath, and pray together using resources from Times and Seasons.
We sang a carol
Luke 2:6-16
Here are several more characters: Joseph’s relatives (those hosting Christmas), the shepherds (those whose plans have ever been disrupted at Christmas), and the angels. With each new set of characters, the number of children and adults at the front grows. At this point I handed out 16 key words/phrases taken from the Bible reading, and made observations on ways in which Christmas is for people who identify with any of these categories. The words I chose were:
census; Bethlehem; first baby; not enough room; night-shift; glory; afraid; good news; great joy; a Saviour; company of angels; praise God; peace; spread the word; amazement; treasured.
We sang a carol
Intercessions: An open time for people to call out the things on their hearts, using the formula, “We pray for...Lord, in your mercy: hear our prayer.” (we all join in the response hear our prayer); followed by joining in the Lord’s Prayer.
Luke 2:17-20
The final characters in the story (for those who haven’t identified with any of the other characters yet) are the neighbours. What do you make of the Christmas story? It is both invitation, to enter-into the Story, and challenge, to tell others.
We sang a carol
Closing prayer and blessing (again, we used resources from Common Worship).
Mary sings a song (Luke 1:46-55), a song glorifying God, a song that is still declared daily by many Christians around the world. But before we look at her song, we need to understand why she sings. Mary is expecting a child, a son, and this son’s birth will be a sign.
Mary has been told, by a messenger from God, that she will have a son. This son will be called the Son of the Most High, the Son of God. We need to understand what that would have meant to Mary. In time, Jesus’ disciples came to the conclusion that he was the Word of God made flesh. In time, the Church came to articulate their understanding of the Trinity – one God in three persons, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. But Mary did not know that. Mary would not have understood the angel’s words to mean she was giving birth to the Second Person of the Trinity. Mary would have known that the titles Son of the Most High, or Son of God, were attributed – without any suggestion of divinity – to David, king of Israel described as a man after God’s own heart, a man who pursued obedient covenant relationship with God. A man who had unified the tribes of Israel into a nation that enjoyed peace in the land God had given them, for the first time; a man whose descendants parted company, dividing into the northern kingdom of Israel and the southern kingdom of Judah; a man who was distantly related to her husband, Joseph. And her son will restore David’s throne.
What is more, Mary is a virgin; that is, a young woman. Now, listen carefully to what I am going to say. I am not denying the traditional belief that Jesus’ conception was miraculous, but we need to recognise that a virgin being with child is not, in itself, unprecedented. It has a very significant precedent, as a sign. When Judah is threatened by Israel and Damascus, the prophet Isaiah tells king Ahaz that God is giving him a sign (Isaiah 7): a virgin will have a son; before the child is old enough to know good from evil, Israel and Damascus will have been defeated by the Assyrians. So Judah will be spared from Israel and Damascus. However, Judah itself will be besieged by the Assyrians, and this will be a time of judgement unlike any they have previously known. All this came to pass. God was with Judah and miraculously intervened to bring an end to the siege of Jerusalem, but the people did not turn back to him and ultimately fell to the Babylonians instead.
God speaks to Isaiah about other sons, born to other women, as signs of what God is about to do (Isaiah 7, 8, 9). Micah also speaks of a woman who will give birth to a son (Micah 5). None of these prophecies are, in the first instance, about Jesus. But they create a ‘type’ that Jesus’ birth will fit into (which is why most are read around Christmas).
So when a young woman about to be married is told that she will have a son who will restore David’s throne, her question, “How will this be, since I am a virgin?” is not one of mechanics (how will I get pregnant?) but of significance: according to the precedent, a virgin with child is a sign that God will judge, not restore. And Gabriel’s reply – which is also about significance, not mechanics (yes, this birth, like several other births in Scripture, is miraculous; but Scripture is never concerned with how God does what he does, it is always concerned with what miracles signify) – is that God’s departed presence will return and cover the faithful with his protection.
Mary’s pregnancy is a sign, that God is about to act in both judgement and deliverance. And that is why Mary rejoices in song: God’s judgement and deliverance are worth rejoicing over, because the world needs both.
God’s coming judgement is worth rejoicing over, because corporately as the human race we sense that things are not right. We see that even in very recent days, not only in tragedies in our news, but also in the widespread expectation of an apocalypse – which we might laugh at, but betrays a significant recognition at least at a subconscious level, that our civilizations deserve to be judged.
God’s coming deliverance is worth rejoicing over, because corporately as the human race we long for something better, something that we recognise – again, perhaps subconsciously, and in the face of the posturing of humanism – we have not been able to achieve ourselves.
There is so much in the world – so much within each one of us – that needs turning on its head: pride scattered, rulers brought down, humility lifted up, hunger fed, greed emptied. And yet not one of us is competent to hold justice and mercy together, to meet our need for both to be done.
That is one reason why Mary’s song is still said or sung each day, at Evening Prayer.
Unless we take on the discipline of Mary’s song, we will fear God’s judgement as applied to our own lives and not embrace it.
Unless we take on the discipline of Mary’s song, we will distort the message of God’s judgement, declaring injustice against the weak to be God’s judgement on the powerful, as some Christians in America have declared the recent school shooting to be God’s judgement.
Unless we take on the discipline of Mary’s song, we will grow to doubt God’s interest in mercy, or distort it into cries for our own vindication.
But if we sing, and allow this song to shape our lives, then in countless little Christmases, Mary’s son will come into his world again, not only as a sign to his people destroyed by Rome in AD 70 and to his first disciples who survived the end of their world in that apocalyptic event, but as a sign to those who would respond in every time and place, until he comes again in glory to judge the living and the dead.
In the words of an ancient Christian prayer prayed each year on the twenty-third of December:
O Emmanuel, our King and lawgiver,
the hope of the nations and their Saviour:
Come and save us, O Lord our God.
O Emmanuel
When he comes
I shall be completely undone;
undone, undone,
and made complete.
The life that always was
of God’s great plan,
hidden within for now –
constrained by my weak flesh –
shall then be birthed
for all to see,
on that great day
on that great day
on that great
and terrible Day.
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.
O Rex Gentium
One day, out of the blue
a caravan of travellers came to town,
exotic in their clothes and tongue.
They came in from the west –
the road of dreams –
but pitched their tents towards the east,
to indicate they came in peace,
as father Abraham himself had done.
They set up camp, and all the while
the eyes of every Bethlehem child
held every move: our sentinels.
All, except one: my son.
Like any boy his age, he did not lack
boldness of heart, inquiring eye...
but nonetheless,
he looked up from the dust
in which he drew –
unfolding stories with a sweep –
and then turned back
to his own occupation. Sure enough,
when they were ready,
they came to him.
They next day, they were gone again,
as suddenly as they had come;
off on their onward journeying,
in search of precious hope
and rising faith
and costly love.
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.
O Oriens
O you planets, on your sure
Orbits – set at his command – now
rolling into rare alignment;
in unison proclaim the news
entrusted to your care:
now is the time: earth’s
saviour is revealed!
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.
O Clavis David
Christ is the Key
that opens every door:
that unlocks bound-up heaven
that unlocks bound-up hell;
that overturns our fear with love
our enmity with friendship
our boastful pride with quiet modesty
our riches with emptiness
our emptiness with riches.
Christ is the Key
that opens every door:
that unlocks bound-up earth
that unlocks bound-up heaven;
that overturns our rule with grace
our wounds with healing balm
our brokenness with noble company
our dignity with troubled minds
our troubled minds with dignity.
Christ is the Key.
By the time John comes to write his Gospel, at the end of his long life, he has come to understand that Jesus is the Word of God made flesh. Later still, the Church comes to articulate the Doctrine of the Trinity. I believe that it was the Holy Spirit that led them to these points. But I also believe that it is anachronistic to think that Mary understood Gabriel’s message (Luke 1:26-38), that her son would be known as the Son of the Most High and the Son of God, to mean that she would give birth to the Second Person of the Trinity. This description – without any claim to divinity – was ascribed to king David; and Mary would have understood the angel’s message as God’s intent to restore David’s kingdom.
This raises a problem for Mary: she is a virgin. Her question – How will this be? – ought not to be understood as a question of mechanics (how can I become pregnant? – news that a bride will become a mother is not unusual) but of significance: how can a virgin giving birth to a son signify the restoration of David’s kingdom, when the Scriptural precedent is that a virgin giving birth to a son signifies that the Davidic line of kings is soon to come to an end? (Isaiah 7 – and, indeed, the following several chapters – read far enough, and you’ll come across yesterday’s Root of Jesse. In the immediate, the northern kingdom of Israel was destroyed, while the southern kingdom of Judah was besieged but delivered: it was, however, to be the Beginning of the End.) (Here I am not denying the traditional Doctrine of the Virgin Birth, but rather denying the unscriptural belief that it signifies something unique, without precedent.)
Likewise, Gabriel’s response is not concerned with mechanics (how God will do this – Scripture is rarely if ever concerned with how God does things, which is why faith and science are not incompatible but complementary) but with significance: what previously symbolised God giving his people over into the hands of their enemies will be reversed because God’s presence is about to return to his people, and his protective presence will cover them. As in Isaiah’s time, the people are about to be destroyed. Yet in this moment of crisis, God will reverse the fortunes of the people, bringing down false rulers and raising up the humble (as Mary recognises in her song of praise, Luke 1:46-55).
So God is about to do something which will restore a Davidic king on David’s throne. And here is why it is important that we understand Son of God to refer to Son of (his father) David, and not jump straight to Second Person of the Trinity: David is king for many years before he takes up his throne; years spent hidden in a cave, while those broken by Saul’s mad reign are drawn to him and find themselves formed into a community of Mighty men and women. This is the significance, as in Advent we look to Christ’s return, to his taking his throne: that Mary’s son, the hidden king, receives the broken and confers upon them dignity and purpose, still.
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.
O Radix Jesse
When God came into the world,
it was as one entrusted not to kings
or priests or generals
but to a carpenter:
to one who knew not how to rule,
or broker rites, or break resistance,
but one who knew the life of
trees -
which one to choose,
to trust, for every purpose.
One whose trained eye could tell
what lay beneath outward appearance,
whose skill could fashion habitable space
for saint and sinner, Jew and Gentile.
From the beginning
God had known
this was the call
to which he must apprentice.
The very act of human living involves the repeated discipline of receiving life and letting-go of death, as we breathe in oxygen and breathe out carbon dioxide. In God’s breath-taking vision, trees take in carbon dioxide and give out oxygen: an exchange that calls on us to shepherd trees well, and, as long as the mutual interdependence of all creation is honoured, guarantees that we are not consumed.
One of the ancient images of Jesus is the Root of Jesse. As a tree cut back will grow again if its roots remain, so Jesus is the re-growth of David’s family line (Jesse was David’s father; David, king of Israel; and David’s line cut off at the Exile – defeat and a series of exiles and later returns – under the Babylonian empire).
But there is more to the image of Jesus as tree than that: echoes of the Tree of Life, and of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil (knowing right from wrong); echoes of the ark in which survival was secured in the days of a Great Flooding of the Cradle of Humanity...and of the ark of the Covenant, symbol and sign of God’s presence with his people; echoes also of the crucifixion, and of the exchange where God takes on himself the sin (the death that exists when we live in disharmony) of humanity, in so doing destroying sin, and extends his own righteousness (the life that exists when we live in harmony) to us.
O Radix Jesse
O Root of Jesse, standing as a sign to 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.
O Adonai
He falls, arms outstretched,
at my feet. His eyes meet mine,
imploring me to lift him up
and hold him in my arms;
my heart is in my mouth, again.
He runs, arms outstretched,
to my side. His eyes meet mine,
imploring me to lift him up
and hold him in my arms;
my heart is in my mouth, again.
He dances, arms outstretched,
before the fire. My eyes meet his,
inviting him to lift me up
and hold me in his arms;
my heart is in my mouth, again.
He hangs, arms outstretched,
from a tree. His eyes meet mine,
imploring me to lift him down
and hold him in my arms;
my heart is in my mouth, again.
Exodus 3
O Adonai
O Adonai, and 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.
O Sapientia
This child is relentless
in his love for the world,
always asking questions,
seeking understanding –
the most amazing questions;
as if he sees his fingerprints
in everything around
and wants to know,
from sun and rock and leaf and calf,
from ant and hyrax,
locust, lizard...
Do you see, too?
Proverbs 30:24-28
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.
Once upon a time, a long, long time ago
in a land far away lived an old man and an old woman.
Life had not been bad to them, exactly,
but in their hearts each nursed a secret sorrow.
Day after day after day, the old man looked out
across the wilderness and wept as he called by name
the sons and daughters never born to them.
Night after night after night, he looked out
into the dark sky and called to mind
life-moments that had never come to pass.
One evening, as day gave way to night,
God visited the man and said
Look again at the wilderness
Look again at the night sky
Look closer than before: what do you see?
Beauty in the wilderness, beauty in the night sky.
And God said, So shall your descendents be:
more numerous than the crystal-grains of sand
more numerous than the diamond-glittering stars
formed in great pillars
formed in great constellations
marks and signs for all those who would make their way
through this uncertain world,
giving direction, sustaining hope.
So shall your descendents be.
This, then, is why we are the ones
called to Rejoice!
For we look closer-than and see
For we look farther-than and see
God, the Creator and Sustainer and friend
has not left us on our own:
tomorrow he comes!
Today is Gaudete (Rejoice!) Sunday. Rejoice, because light is breaking into darkness (Isaiah 9); because rain is coming to transform the wilderness (Isaiah 35). Not in denial of the darkness and the wilderness in our world - in our lives - but in the certain hope that by his coming among us (Advent), God transforms our communities. Today we light a pink candle to mourn with those who mourn and, simultaneously, rejoice with those who rejoice.
Tomorrow marks the start of the Advent Antiphons, ancient Christian prayers that run between 17 December and Christmas Eve, and spell-out, in secret code, the message: TOMORROW HE COMES!
We are fragile. We like to pretend that we are strong, but we aren’t.
Homeless people aren’t lazy or worthless. Most of the time, they’ve been hit, by a marriage breakdown or the death of a child or domestic abuse or the loss of a job, have struggled to hold their life together, and not been able to. They are just like those of us for whom life is going well at present – something none of us should ever take for granted.
People who walk into schools and kill children and teachers aren’t any more evil than you or me. They aren’t good-for-nothing failures, or whatever other term of abuse we might be tempted to categorise them as. Some might have wilfully given themselves over to acting in evil ways, but it won’t do to label mass murderers evil as a means of seeing them as the exception and not the rule: as with the homeless, there but for the grace of God go I.
Wherever we live, our societies are full of people who are struggling, who are withdrawing. The irony is that in this position, we get ourselves into a catch-22: with the best will in the world, it is hard to reach out to someone who is heading away from the reach of those who try to show love. I saw this over and over again when I was working with university students who were dealing with an intense social and academic environment with – especially in the case of international students – homesickness and culture-shock thrown in for good measure.
It only takes a couple of things to spin out of their regular orbit in our lives at once, and we get drawn into a downward spiral out of control. In such circumstances, frustration is normal and understandable. Life can lose its value – not only our own, but those of others, family and stranger alike. Anger is natural, and illogical: can be directed against the world at large, and at ourselves.
Make it relatively easy for anyone in such a place to get hold of firearms, and the potential impact on the community is massive and tragic.
As an outsider looking in, as a friend, I cannot understand why America does not amend its gun control legislation (I cannot see how the Second Amendment to the Constitution equates to carrying concealed automatic and semi-automatic weaponry), and I also long to see a completely different approach to mental illness (effectively criminalizing it is...madness).
But what I want to end with this evening is an endorsement of and encouragement to the churches across America and across my own nation and in countless other places; faithful communities who are reaching out to broken people in love. Yes, it is hard at times. It is hard to love broken people: because of their brokenness, because they run from us, because of the ways in which their brokenness offends or mirrors our brokenness. It is hard, almost impossible: indeed, without the Holy Spirit in us and with us, quite impossible. And yet, day after day, night after night, the church is there. The church, that gets so much bad press.
And so, take heart. Grieve for the world we live in. Lead our neighbours in repentance – in a change, in how we perceive situations and people, not from the world’s perspective but from the perspective of heaven – and belief – living a different way, forming society in truer ways. Hold fast to good. Be of good hope.
We stand, shaken but not overwhelmed. For we are not alone.
The Massacre Of The Innocents
When they came
and cut our children down
before our eyes
we realised:
this was not the
foreigner intent
on crushing us into submission;
these men were of our own,
our flesh and
blood.
It was not evil –
in some projected-outward sense –
that visited our quiet town
that day; it was
the dark and fearful side of
who we are.
And where was
God With US
in this? He’d slipped
across the border,
gone away,
to be among our enemies
until we turned
away from fear, humbled ourselves –
for only then could he return.
How long, O Lord?
Deliver us from evil.
Deliver us from
US.
You can read about the massacre of the innocents in Matthew 2.
The First Word And The Last
Words don’t exist
in splendid isolation:
all words become
within the world.
Vaults and spans
become cathedrals,
joined by so many
words they gather
in a chapter.
Envy and hate;
faith, hope and love:
all become action.
All words become.
The Word
from whose utterance
all other words
act or react,
the Word became...
flesh
and, without words,
said hold me close –
and as I grow,
what might become?
Take, Eat
What is the taste of motherhood
if not meals half-abandoned
left to go cold, while she attends her child?
What is the taste of motherhood
if not a meal eaten in haste, left on the table
as her brood is gathered-up and bundled out the door?
What is the taste of motherhood
if not exodus? For motherhood reflects
the Mother-heart of God.
The Advent ring or wreath is a great way of telling and taking-part in the story that leads us to Christmas. They are easy to make, and have great visual impact as the centre-piece of a dining table in the home (or, on a larger scale, in a church building) and as such they present a good opportunity to invite neighbours to learn how to make a festive decoration and understand their symbolism.
To form a wreath, you will need a ring of oasis (available from florists or garden centres), and a selection of evergreen foliage – holly, ivy, pine – to insert into the ring and arrange.
Whether you go for a wreath or not, you will need candles, with appropriate holders. The candles are lit, sequentially, on each of the four Sundays of Advent leading up to Christmas (and at the dinner table will probably be lit at each meal in between): one candle on the first Sunday, two on the second, three on the third, and four on the fourth. Traditionally, one would use:
a central white candle, which may be larger than the others, symbolising Jesus the light who is coming into the world;
surrounded by four candles – three blue, purple, or red candles and one pink candle.
Here, you have several choices. Some people save lighting the white candle until Christmas Day, or perhaps Christmas Eve; while others light it each time the candles are lit, lighting the other candles from it. (In a church setting, this candle may even be processed in, with all other lights out; and the congregation might or might not follow it in.)
Blue or purple are the liturgical colours (that is, the colours of Church symbolism) of Advent. Blue is associated with expectation, our waiting attentively for Jesus’ return. Purple is associated with repentance, our ‘turning around,’ orienting our lives with the perspective of heaven rather than the perspective of earth, with God’s ways rather than a stance of human independence. Red is a traditional non-liturgical alternative, a western cultural association with this festive season.
The pink candle stems from a Mediaeval tradition of making the third Sunday of Advent and Lent a moment of relief in a season of pentitence. The third Sunday in Advent is traditionally known as Gaudete Sunday, from the Latin ‘to rejoice,’ a theme taken from Isaiah 35 which is often read in churches on this Sunday, and picked up in a traditional song of praise at the opening of the service.
There are also a number of variations in what the candles symbolise – allowing for plenty of creative celebration – but the most common symbolism in the Anglican tradition is: the first candle for the Patriarchs, the second for the Prophets, the third for John the Baptist, and the fourth for the Virgin Mary.
The Patriarchs (and Matriarchs) are Abraham (and his wife Sarah); their son Isaac (and his wife Rebekah); and their son Jacob (who had twelve sons by four women). Their stories, recorded in the book of Genesis, are messy, to say the least; and ground Jesus’ story in a particular people called by God through no merit of their own, chosen to be the means by which all peoples would be blessed. Abraham is the father of Jews, Christians and Muslims, three faith traditions very much in conflict today – a big-picture expression of the conflicts we see in any family.
The Prophets were those sent by God to call his unfaithful people back to him, back to their calling to be a people through whom all peoples would be blessed. At times, their unfaithfulness caused God to use those other peoples to judge his own people; yet again and again, it is when God’s people are sent against their will to other nations that they most fully express the calling to be a blessing. Among the writings of the prophets, recorded in the latter part of the library we know as the Old Testament, there are several ecstatic utterances that point to future events of judgement and restoration for God’s people, which Christians believe are (or will be) fulfilled in the person of Jesus.
John the Baptist was the one sent by God to be the last in the line of prophets who pointed to Jesus’ arrival – in continuity with the likes of Isaiah, to prepare the way. John was a relative of Jesus (we use the term ‘cousin,’ but that should not be understood in the very limited sense it has in western cultures today), whose birth, like that of Jesus, was a God-initiated disruption of expectation. It is John’s week that employs a pink candle to speak of a moment of joy. John’s presence at the table also reminds us of our own baptism, of the promises we made or which were made on our behalf, and which we may or might not be continuing in.
The Virgin Mary is the mother of Jesus, the one chosen by God to bear his own coming into the world as fully-God and fully-human, in order to lift humanity, forever, into the unity in community that God enjoys. She is an example to us in obedient partnering with God in the good news, to be worshipped in the sense of given true worth (whereas folk-Catholicism venerates Mary too highly, folk-Protestantism errs in the other direction: those uncomfortable with the use of the word worship in relation to Mary ought to remember that it is an optional vow for a husband to promise in relation to his wife in the Marriage Service. In Church of England tradition, one of the ways we honour Mary is to pray with her – the Magnificat, based on her song in Luke 1 – each evening). The key thing to remember is that Mary’s candle is not the pink candle. People commonly assume that the pink candle is for Mary, because we associate pink with girls. But in western art Mary is traditionally presented in blue, and until very recently in western culture red/pink were associated with masculinity and blue with femininity (interestingly, pink is now being reclaimed as a masculine colour in men’s fashion).
You might like to say a prayer at the lighting of each candle. Prayers for each of the four candles and at the lighting of the central candle on Christmas Day (taken from Common Worship: Times and Seasons) you could use include:
Week 1:
God of Abraham and Sarah, and all the patriarchs of old, you are our Father too. Your love is revealed to us in Jesus Christ, Son of God and Son of David. Help us in preparing to celebrate his birth to make our hearts ready for your Holy Spirit to make his home among us. We ask this through Jesus Christ, the light who is coming into the world. Amen.
or
Lord Jesus, light of the world, born in David’s city of Bethlehem, born like him to be a king: be born in our hearts at Christmas, be King of our lives today. Amen.
Week 2:
God our Father, you spoke to the prophets of old of a Saviour who would bring peace. You helped them to spread the joyful message of his coming kingdom. Help us, as we prepare to celebrate his birth, to share with those around us the good news of your power and love. We ask this through Jesus Christ, the light who is coming into the world. Amen.
or
Lord Jesus, light of the world, the prophets said you would bring peace and save your people in trouble. Give peace in our hearts at Christmas and show all the world God’s love. Amen.
Week 3:
God our Father, you gave to Zechariah and Elizabeth in their old age a son called John. He grew up strong in spirit, prepared the people for the coming of the Lord, and baptized them in the Jordan to wash away their sins. Help us, who have been baptized into Christ, to be ready to welcome him into our hearts, and to grow strong in faith by the power of the Spirit. We ask this through Jesus Christ, the light who is coming into the world. Amen.
or
Lord Jesus, light of the world, John told the people to prepare, for you were very near. As Christmas grows closer day by day, help us to be ready to welcome you now. Amen.
Week 4:
God our Father, the angel Gabriel told the Virgin Mary that she was to be the mother of your Son. Though Mary was afraid, she responded to your call with joy. Help us, whom you call to serve you, to share like her in your great work of bringing to our world your love and healing. We ask this through Jesus Christ, the light who is coming into the world. Amen.
or
Lord Jesus, light of the world, blessed is Gabriel, who brought good news; blessed is Mary, your mother and ours. Bless your Church preparing for Christmas; and bless us your children, who long for your coming. Amen.
And on Christmas Day:
God our Father, today the saviour is born and those who live in darkness are seeing a great light. Help us, who greet the birth of Christ with joy, to live in the light of your Son and to share the good news of your love. We ask this through Jesus Christ, the light who has come into the world. Amen.
or
Lord Jesus, Light of light, you have come among us. Help us to live by your light to shine as lights in your world. Glory to God in the highest. Amen.
