Advent 2012 (First Saturday)
O Come O Come Emmanuel
O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
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
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
O come, Thou Day-Spring, 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.
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.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
O come, O come, Thou Lord of might,
Who to Thy tribes, on Sinai’s height,
In ancient times did’st give the Law,
In cloud, and majesty and awe.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
Advent 2012 (First Friday)
“Lots of people these days are seeking recollection, writing books about it, urging us to do it. It seems like a nice idea all right – until you try it. What a lot of the books don’t tell you about is the terror. To know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge may mean not knowing much of anything else.
With the peace and quiet of recollection may come the stark edge of fear that this doing nothing, this being, this offering of oneself for God to be the actor, cannot possibly be enough. It all seems so passive. Do something, produce, perform, earn your keep. Don’t just sit there. It may be good and well for Mary to offer space in herself for God to dwell and be born into the world, but few of us possess the radical belief such recollection requires.
What matters in the deeper experience of contemplation is not the doing and accomplishing. What matters is relationship, the being with. We create holy ground and give birth to Christ in our time not by doing but by believing and by loving the mysterious Infinite One who stirs within. This requires trust that something of great and saving importance is growing and kicking its heels in you.”
– from “To Be Virgin” by Loretta Ross-Gotta, Watch for the Light: Readings for Advent and Christmas
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Advent 2012 (First Thursday)
We are still waiting for snow.
We’ve seen flurries now and again, but the inches we’ve been promised have yet to materialize.
This sixty-degree day is mocking my hope. It’s hard to believe in snow when the sun is this warm. I’ve decided it will be easier if I stop thinking about it. If I stop hoping.
If snow will come when snow will come then what is the point of anticipation? What is the point of hopeful watching? If the end result will be the same (because snow will come when snow will come), then why not pass the time thinking of other things? Why not try to forget that I have new sleds hidden in the basement?
And yet, because this waiting for snow corresponds with Advent, I can’t quite accept that waiting is pointless. I wonder if our waiting does something. Could the end be different not simply because time has passed but because we have waited and watched with heavy, hopeful hearts?
It hurts to wait. Especially when we do not know how long our wait will last. When we have no idea when the end will come.
How long, Lord, how long?
And, of course, I’m writing about more than snow. I’m writing about snow, and spring, and babies, and degrees, and jobs, and weddings, and healing, and hope and peace and love.
How long, Lord, how long?
Waiting is like wind. It appears to be just nothing, but it can do so much. I don’t mean that it teaches us some lesson, though, I suppose that is sometimes true. I mean, rather, that the waiting itself shapes us, changes us, makes us ready in some hard to grasp way.
Snow is snow, but snow we have waited for …
Snow we have longed for …
Snow we have watched for … it is what snow was always meant to be. It is more itself because we have changed.
We now have eyes to see.
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