Today we celebrate the feast of St Stephen, the first Christian martyr. I’m reflecting on this from the 1st reading:
“Stephen, filled with the Holy Spirit, gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God…”
This wasn’t a “happy ending” in any human sense. It happened as Stephen faced a violent death. This led me to think about the difference between a Christmas movie and the nativity.
I love a Christmas movie, the cheesier the better. With their beautifully decorated scenes and cosy gatherings that happen with minimal effort and stress they’re great background for getting Christmas cards written or presents wrapped.
Yet I know it’s not real. Even as we long for that happy ending we know that the reality of our lives is completely different. When our happy endings do come they are hard won and often appear a bit battered.
The nativity doesn’t offer a happy ending, instead it offers hope, new life and consolation however messy our lives are. It comes to us with a small, vulnerable, outsider baby, conceived in suspicious circumstances and born in a stable. It’s hard to imagine a less “Messiah-like” beginning. Yet, because our own lives are messy, imperfect and uncertain it is precisely the beginning we need.
The false promise of a “happy ever after” can leave us feeling we’ve failed to make the mark in some way. The alternative and real promise of the God of love who chooses to come to dwell with us in our messy and vulnerable live, brings us hope and consolation whatever we face in life.
Where are you aware of the God who offers to dwell with you this Christmastide?
Category: Divine Office
From the archives:
At vespers this evening we’ll sing the last of the O antiphons, O Emmanuel, “God-with-us. It always seems to me that it refocuses our attention on the meaning of Advent:
“Emmanuel, our king and lawgiver, for whom the peoples are waiting, and their saviour: Come to save us, Lord our God.”
It reminds us that all the longing and waiting of Advent will end with a promise fulfilled. At just the moment when the waiting might begin to feel like too much the antiphon calls us to keep hoping, keep looking for the light of Christ’s presence to come and transform our lives.
The times we’re living through make Advent seem longer and darker than it used to. The various wars, the economic crisis and a world that is generally more volatile and less stable all make it hard to be hopeful. The struggle required to negotiate the challenges we face leaves little energy for hope or joy. Yet even in such dark uncertainty we’re called to wake up, to become aware of the presence of Emmanuel, God-with-us.
The antiphon has reminded me that however dark and uncertain our lives seem, whatever we are living through, and however well or not so well we handle that, Christ will come and dwell in our lives with us, bringing his healing, life giving light into whatever darkness we face.
Where do you need Christ’s presence with you this Advent?
Today we sing the 6th O antiphon, O Rex Gentium, O King of the nations. It can be tempting to dismiss this antiphon because kingship can seem like an outdated or untrustworthy notion in our days. We live in times that are generally suspicious of leaders and authority figures can encourage us to distance ourselves from this challenging antiphon. But the antiphon, and the gospel, present a different view of kingship, leadership and power:
“O king of the nations, whom they long for, the cornerstone who made two into one: come and save humankind, whom you formed from the earth.”
The King of the antiphon, the one we long for is not like the earthly rulers we’re used to. He doesn’t abuse or misuse power, he doesn’t overwhelm or manipulate others. Instead he comes quietly, refusing to trample those who feel crushed by life. With gentleness and kindness he reaches out, offering hope and consolation to all who grieve and suffer.
He is the saviour, the servant king of the Gospels, come to dwell with his people. He washes the feet of his disciples, and cooks them breakfast by the lake of Tiberius. He doesn’t come with the pomp or power of earthly rulers. He comes gently, kindly, compassionately and courteously into our lives, offering us hope and solace in these painful and challenging times.
What do you long for from the coming of Christ the King in this challenging Advent?
Today’s gospel, the visitation, is one of my favourites. I’m always touched by the encounter of these two women as they both face unexpected and uncertain circumstances. I’m struck by Mary’s courage as newly pregnant she sets out on a dangerous journey to visit her cousin.
I’m touched by Elizabeth’s wisdom and insight as she faces the fulfilment of a dream she had given up on. They both life in difficult circumstances, their lives limited by the ever present threat of an occupying army. In the midst of so much uncertainty their encounter is a powerful witness to the reality of love, hope and trust. Full of joy and the Holy Spirit Elizabeth cries out:
“Blessed is she who believed that the promise made her by the Lord would be fulfilled.”
In their challenging, and uncertain circumstances Mary and Elizabeth were able to hold fast to that promise, regardless of appearances to the contrary. We’re living through uncertain times ourselves, more challenging than I’ve ever known or could have imagined.
We can’t ignore or underestimate the effect that has on us. Yet, like Mary and Elizabeth, even in those circumstance we are called to live with hope and trust. We are called to discover God’s promise for us today and to trust it will be fulfilled in ways we beyond our imaginings.
Where are you called to trust in God’s promise today?
Today we sing the 5th O antiphon, O Oriens, O rising sun. On the darkest day of the year we’re called to sing out the glory of the eternal light. As we face challenging and uncertain times the liturgy offers us this:
“O rising sun, glory of the eternal light, and sun of justice: come shine upon those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death.”
Coming on the shortest day, at the darkest point of the year, it tells us that however deep the darkness is it will not overpower us. It points us beyond death and darkness, proclaiming that they will not have the last word. It reminds us that seeds of light that are already quietly germinating in that deep darkness, preparing to bring us into new life.
It seems to me that it’s especially important to focus on the coming of the light in this dark time of year, and in these dark times we live in. Otherwise it might be too tempting to succumb to that darkness that can seem so all embracing.
Whatever we might be facing. However bleak things might feel or appear to us the light of Christ will come into our lives with it’s promise of new life and hope just as the sun will return and the days lengthen.
In these dark days where is the eternal light beginning to dawn in your life?
Today at Vespers we’ll sing the 4th O antiphon, O Clavis David, O key of David:
“O key of David, and ruler of the house of Israel: who open and none can close: close and none may open: come bring out of prison the captive who sits in darkness and the shadow of death.”
It speaks of a deep and powerful yearning for freedom that lives within all of us. We each long for freedom from all that would restrict our growth and development. We desire the freedom to become the people we are called to be, to nurture the talents we’ve each been given.
This yearning for freedom is deeply personal and individual, yet there is more to it that that. The past few years have taught us some hard lessons about freedom. The pandemic, the suffering of war, the economic crisis, the worsening ecological situation all point to the fact that this freedom we desire can’t only be a personal, individual freedom.
It has also to be a communal freedom, a freedom that is willing to sacrifice individual freedoms for the common good. It has to be a freedom that is willing to put the needs of others before our own.
In chapter 72 of the Rule St Benedict tells us that Christ brings us “all together” to everlasting life. It seems to me the same is true of the freedom Christ offers us, we accept it for each other as much as for ourselves.
What would enable you to accept the freedom Christ offers this Advent?
From the archive for the third O antiphon:
The third O antiphon, O Radix Jesse, O root of Jesse, takes up the image of the root of Jesse that stands as a “signal” to the nations.
“O Root of Jesse, who stands as a signal for the peoples, before whom kings will be silent, to whom the nations shall pray: come to free us, delay no longer.”
For me it speaks of Christ, the root of our being, grounding us and nurturing us so that we will bear “fruit that will last”. In these challenging and uncertain times is easy to feel uprooted and disconnected.
Life has become increasingly uncertain. Many of the structures & institutions we relied on have become very unsteady. It feels as though everything we thought was trustworthy has become unreliable. The ground we thought was solid under our feet has turned out to be shifting sands.
This leaves us all too aware of our vulnerability and fragility, both as individuals and as communities. In that situation the thought of being rooted in Christ, and Christ being rooted in our hearts is especially consoling and hopeful.
In these uncertain times what helps you to stay rooted in Christ?
Some thoughts from the archives for O Adonai. This evening at Vespers we’ll sing the second of the O antiphons, O Adonai, O Lord God.
“O Lord God, leader of the house of Israel, who appeared to Moses in the burning bush and gave him the Law on Sinai: come to redeem us with outstretched arm.”
It takes us back to one of the passages of Scripture that touches me most deeply, Moses’ encounter with God at the burning bush. Moses is engaged in the most ordinary of daily activities, looking after his father-in-law’s herds. Then God breaks into his life in its ordinariness, messiness and uncertainty in a completely unexpected way.
Curiosity compels Moses to turn aside when he sees the bush aflame, and he is drawn into an encounter with God which is challenging and life changing beyond anything he could have imagined.
In the uncertain times we face yet again this antiphon has a very particular message. It tells us that the God of love who came to Moses and the burning bush can also break into the ordinariness and uncertainty of our daily lives and set us aflame. Facing hard and challenging times it’s good to remember that the God of love who reached out to Moses because of the cries suffering people also hears our cries and comes to redeem us.
As we move through Advent where do you need the redeeming touch of God in your life?
Something from the archives as we begin the O Antiphons. These prayers developed by the early church call on Christ to come and save us. They never directly used the name of Christ, but take up the titles used for the Messiah in the Old Testament. They change the whole tone of Advent, increasing the sense of anticipation and expectation.
Yesterday we began with O Sapientia, O Wisdom:
“O Wisdom, who came forth from the mouth of the Most High, reaching from one end of creation to the other, strongly and sweetly ordering all things, come to teach us the way of prudence.”
This antiphon always take me back to the Creation, to the Spirit hovering over the waters as God brings new life out of chaos. I’m always especially drawn to the especially to the image from Proverbs of Wisdom playing and delighting in God’s presence at the Creation.
We’re living in challenging and chaotic times that make us increasingly aware of our smallness and vulnerability. Our need for the hovering Spirit to draw new life and hope out of these chaotic times becomes clearer every day. By recalling our beginnings O Sapientia reminds us that our beginnings are in the heart of God. However chaotic and disturbing our present might be we are created and held in the love of God.
As we move through Advent where is wisdom drawing you back into the love of God?
Advent is the coldest, darkest, lowest time of the year. That time when we are most aware of our fragility and vulnerability, when it can be easy to lose sight of the Lord’s radiance.
It’s the season when it seems most tempting to give in to despair and hopelessness as everything around us seems dark, cold and colourless. It’s a time when we need to be reminded that the light of the Lord’s love has not disappeared from our lives.
Today we’re celebrating the feast of St Lucy. This morning we we sang a hymn written by one of our sisters that captures both the darkness and the vulnerability of Advent and the hope that St Lucy points us towards.
A young woman martyred for her faith, St Lucy reminds us that, however dark our world might seem, the light has not been wiped out of our lives, instead it is planted deep within us waiting for the right time to burst forth into new life. This morning we sang:
Deep in the darkness seeds of light are sown,
The joyous Light the dark has never known;
Beneath the ground the living waters sing,
And secret streams new life, new gladness bring:
Before the seas were shaped the Fountain played,
And Light shone out before the stars were made.
The words of the hymn offer us hope. They remind me that however dark life might seem there are seeds of light hidden in the darkness, waiting, germinating, preparing to put out shoots when the time is right.
As we approach the shortest day, the lowest point of the year I am grateful for St Lucy’s gentle light reminding us to look towards the Lord’s radiance and directing us to new life and new hope.
What seeds of light are sown through your darkness this Advent?