Coming, Confidence and Candles

I attended the beautiful and haunting Advent Carol service at Bradford Cathedral last night. Many folk love a Christmas Carol service, but there's much more drama in the Advent version, which includes much more of the service conducted in near darkness. This meant that we were required to read our service sheets in the gloom, which initially proves quick tricky, but before too long my eyes had adjusted to the darkness around me and I could read the words to the carols with clarity.

And so it is with Advent.

As Christians we are obliged to take seriously the gloom and darkness that's around us. Darkness of unbelief (often in our own hearts), of sin, of sorrow, or grief, of pain, of loss, of a sense of being exiled in a hostile place, of not sensing where God is...and the darkness of our own death.

But we are called to read God's word carefully amidst this darkness. And one of the places we, as Anglicans, feel we can find God is in the pages of Isaiah.

During this Advent I'm setting myself a serious challenge. I want to blog every day: as a spiritual discipline. I want to really dig deep into Isaiah, and the lectionary has already done most of the hard work by weaving the majority of the book into morning and evening prayer for the coming season, and beyond into Christmas and Epiphany. Indeed, All Saintstide started us off. This means that bookending the Christian year is the glorious vision of Isaiah.

Yesterday morning, we read Isaiah 2:1-5 and I think we see the major Advent themes in these five verses: Coming, Confidence, and Candles.

Firstly, Coming.

The word, "Come" appears four times (v.2, 3, 5):
"In days to come" - a future perspective
"Many people shall come" - a future promise
"Come, let us go up" - an invitation to worship God
"Come let us walk" - an invitation loyalty and faithfulness to God

Many of us pray, every day, the Lord's prayer, which includes the line, "your kingdom come".

Now I don't know about you, but I find it helpful to linger sometimes on phrases or words in the Lord's prayer (this of course is only possible if you're in the habit of praying it on your own (and out loud)). I am always forced to think carefully what I'm praying for when I say 'your kingdom come', for this is not as straightforward as it might seem. After all, how many of us really truthfully want God's kingdom to come now, in all its glory? Would we be embarassed at what God might find?

But of course, we must pay attention to Isaiah. Where he says, "in days to come" it could refer to Jesus' first coming. Consider the promise of one who will 'judge' and 'arbitrate' (v.4). This has echoes in the great promise of Isaiah 9 and 11, that one is coming who will be the judge, one anointed by God. This Messianic hope in Isaiah is fulfilled in Jesus. And maybe Isaiah's talk of 'the mountain of the Lord's house' being raised up isn't so much an eschatological vision, as a metaphor for the cross of Christ?

Advent, then, is about coming: the Messiah born to reign and a returning Lord to usher in his completed kingdom. When we pray, 'your kingdom come' we are praying for both. There is that fervent hope (cranked up to fever pitch in Advent) that God would finally return, but also that renewed sense of how we need the saving work of Jesus, that his kingdom can begin to reign in our hearts, minds and lives.

So what?

I think we respond to this theme of Coming by inviting people to come too.

We encourage our brothers and sisters to keep on keeping on. How many of us have a Christian friend who needs to be invited back to church over the season? What a great opportunity.

But we also invite those who don't know Jesus. We do so much to celebrate but how much effort do we make to get folk there. And then when they come do we sparkle, shine and radiate that joy? Do we speak about the cross and resurrection at Christmas? Do we look to Jesus' promised return?

And I would also invite you to pray that ancient prayer, with all its multi-layered meanings, 'Come, Lord Jesus'.


Secondly, Confidence.

This brief passage is full of Hope. If Coming is the first big Advent theme, then Hope is the second.

And Hope is about much more than our future home with God in eternity - although this must come to dominate our prayers as we reflect more and more on the darkness of our own sin. We see a present hope that this world might be transformed... now.

We see the image of nations streaming to God's city, God's mountain.
We see the image of tools of war beaten to till the land.
We see men longing to worship.

But....(there's always a but)...we doubt it, don't we? We show an alarming lack of confidence in God when we doubt his ability to transform a fallen and falling world. We rob ourselves of hope when we expect nothing to happen, when we accept the status quo. We do this chiefly with our own lives: God can't do anything about this or that sin, or this situation...

Isaiah rebukes this apathy. We are called to an active, vibrant, obedient and confident hope. God has promised to act - and he will.

Isaiah speaks a lot about Israel - God's children. They are the leaving, breathing vehicle God works through and with to reach the world, which is why he's so angry about their sinfulness and apostasy. They were chosen to be the sign of hope, but they failed to live up this.

In the same way, the church of God, the body of Christ is to be that sign of Hope. We are to love and live for God.

So what?

Advent is a brilliant time to rethink how we engage with Church and the theme of Hope. What is it you hope for? What do you long for? Have you doubted God?
Spend some time as you read the promises of Isaiah to consider how you've become stuck in a rut with regard to worship and prayer.
How might your church reinhabit that role in its community as a sign of hope?


Thirdly, and finally, Candles.

We walk in a dark world, but we do so "in the light of the Lord" (v.5)

Okay...this may seem like a really weird theme to focus on, but consider how integral the theme of light is. We have candles, Christmas tree lights, and (where they're still affordable) we have civic decorations.

One of the major differences between Lent and Advent is light. In Lent, we get progressively more and more dark, as though hope is slowly draining, which all culminates on Good Friday with the horror of God's crucifixion. This darkness heightens in Passiontide and is sustained by a season of tough fasting.

Advent does the opposite - we should find ourselves getting steadily brighter and brighter.

In preparing for Advent this year, keen to be 'changed' by it, I got rather confused beginning to see Advent as a second Lent, a second opportunity to be tough on myself; I even considered giving things up (although I'm still trying to ration my chocolate intake!). I think this is also because I've been getting quite negative about my weaknesses. In fact, in a recent interview I genuinely struggled to list my strengths, my abilities, my light side.  You recall where I said (above) that the hope for eternity grows as we see more and more of the darkness of our own sin? Well, perhaps Advent is different from Lent in that we allow more and more of God's light, God's present activity to try and break in now.

Advent is about candles - and candles are about light; they're also about birthdays. Christmas and Birthdays are times for presents. Have you recently considered your gifts? Yes, the gift of Jesus, the light who has come into the world, into your world, but also the strengths, abilities and talents God has given you? This is a new thought for me. How might I use Advent to reflect on the light God has placed in me? We're so naturally inclined to be self-deprecating, to focus on our status as sinners, and not enough on our status as Saints.

And in thinking about gifts/presents, consider how Isaiah refers to the law and instruction - he's referring to God's word. We too have this inestimable gift - the Bible. One thing that struck me last night was how much Bible we read at the Carol service, how much was sung. We too must allow our lives to be saturated in God's word.

So what?

Well...spend time in Advent reflecting on Light. Get a candle and light it in your home, while you pray, while you eat...and let that candle stir memories of birthdays and Christmases gone, allow some light and joy to grow in you.
Also, commit more time this Advent to reading God's Bible. This is a great gift. Add an extra reading, or challenge yourself to read Isaiah, or start to read it with a family member, ensure Advent talk of Christmas is focused on the feast of the nativity, remind people of the Bible story. And have fun with it, make games...don't let the season rob joy from you. Play Frank Laubach's game of minutes - try to read more, to think more about God.
And finally, reflect on the light that is in you. You yourself are a great gift to the world.

Coming. Confidence. Candles.

Jesus. Hope. Light.

I hope and pray this Advent will be a time of rich joy, renewed hope and refreshing fellowship.




[There is a fourth theme to Advent that isn't covered in this passage, though. I think that a fourth C exists - COLOUR. We are aesthetic beings - we care about how things look - and colours are very evocative. The season has a focus on death so you might expect blacks to predominate, but instead we use purple, the colour of penitence. Although we allow bursts of kinder hues to break through, not least on the 3rd Sunday of Advent when we use a pink/rose candle (for Gaudete Sunday). And Isaiah reflects this spectrum. We find ourselves reading of judgment for sin in God's word against the nations (Chapters 13-23) but then quickly shift to kinder more hopeful themes in following chapters. Isaiah is often divided into two parts: chs 1-39 and 40-66: a book of judgment and a book of hope. And death is profoundly both of these things for a Christian - a judgment and hope]

Preparing for Advent

Nine years ago, while worshipping at St Augustine's (Bradford) I led prayers immediately prior to Advent. I used an online article I'd found to frame my intercessions which included prayers for Iraq and Sudan. In preparing for Advent this year I've been prompted to seek the same article out, and I found it here.

I've decided to reproduce the piece in my blog as well, which I invite you to read in a spirit of prayerfulness. I've added some guides and prompts to help you take the theme on and into Advent.

I think the message of this piece is so important:

Do not get so sucked into Christmas preparations you lose yourself, that you become emotionally drained and emptied. Advent is a season where we reacquaint ourselves with HOPE, but all too frequently we're obsessed with guaranteeing the JOY of Christmas we fail to remember that when the great food, loving family and thoughtful presents are a memory, we're still in need of a Saviour. Hope speaks to our real, true, deep selves.

I pray you are blessed this Advent, and that you'll pause (however briefly) beforehand to prepare yourself.

Preparing for Advent

Getting in touch with myself

One of the best ways to prepare for the very special season of Advent is to 'get in touch with ourselves'. It may sound odd, but one symptom of our contemporary lives is that we can often be quite out of touch with what's going on in our very own hearts. We are about to begin Advent, right at the time our western culture begins Christmas preparations. It is a busy time, and our heads are filled with details to remember. And, it is a time of emotional complexity that is part of this holiday season - with all of the expectations and challenges of family and relationships: who we want to be with and who we struggle to be with. So, our hearts are a bit tender, if not completely defended from experiencing anything deeply.

[Take time to slow down, relax and think about the coming weeks. Imagine those scenarios with friends and family. Recall how previous Advents/Christmases have left you feeling]

We are about to hear some very powerful and stirring readings from Isaiah, the Prophet. We will re-enter the ancient tradition of a people longing for the coming of a Saviour. We may remember the days of our childhood when we longed for Christmas to come, because it was a magical time of receiving gifts. As adults, we have to ask ourselves: what is it I long for now? The answer won't come easily. The more we walk around with that question, and let it penetrate through the layers of distraction and self-protection, the more powerfully we will experience Advent.

[Set yourself the challenge of 'walking around with a question in your mind': what is it I long for now? Maybe you could keep a trinket or note in your pocket to remind you about the quesiton during the day. I've sometimes used a Duplo brick, or a small stone. Share any thoughts you might have with a loved one. Pray about answers that come to you]

Salvation from...

We are about to read and pray about the expectant hope of Israel, as expressed through Isaiah. The images we will be using are about darkness and gloom - about thick clouds covering the people - and about hunger and thirst. They are images that attempt to capture a sense of what we feel when we are distant from God. There are many images about war and conflict. They express the powerlessness and anxiety we experience when we feel vulnerable and defenseless. Most of all, there are images of a future day - a day that can only be called the Lord's - when all the tears will be wiped away, when there will be plenty to eat and drink, and when there will be no more conflict and no more war. God's salvation will be made known. God's victory will be complete.

[In what ways are you spiritually hungry and thirsty? Do you feel distant from God? Cut off? Alone? Do you feel like you've been in a battle spiritually? Tell God about these feelings. Bring them to mind during Advent as you hear of the promised Saviour]

These are very precious days for us to come into intimate contact with our own need for salvation. It is a time to make friends with our tears, our darkness, our hunger and thirst. What is missing? What eludes my grasp? What name can I give to the 'restlessness' in my heart? What is the emptiness I keep trying to 'feed' with food, with fantasy, with excitement, with busyness? What is the conflict that is 'eating at me'? What is the sinful, unloving, self-centred pattern for which I haven't asked for forgiveness and healing? Where do I need a peace that the world cannot give?

[Use these questions to examine your walk with God. What do you need, right now, from God? Ask]

Coming to know where I need a Saviour is how I can prepare for Advent. I am preparing to listen to the promises, listen to these rich texts announcing the liberation I can tuly long for. When my heart is open, when my hands are open, when my mouth is open and ready to ask for freedom, healing and peace, then I am ready to begin Advent.

The world's sap has sunk...

Tomorrow is the longest night of the year…correspondingly we have to endure its shortest day. And as if to rub our noses in it, the weather has turned decidedly grim. It’s one thing to be cold, but at least crispiness and sub-zero mornings make us dream of a white Christmas. Dark mornings, gloominess, wet and windy weather all induce a deep reluctance to get up: duvet weather.

Like the animals, it’s an attractive option to hibernate through the dark of winter.

And the darkness is spiritual.

 

 

The beginning of Advent is marked by the excitement and unquenchable optimism that Christ is coming to reign…we sing ‘Lo! He comes…’

However, this year I’ve found myself (not unlike the passage of Lent) becoming steadily more gloomy spiritually as the season has progressed. Instead of the dimmer effect – steady growth from dark to light – it’s been a gradual darkening: from dark to darker! And I think it’s John Donne’s fault:

Tis the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s,

Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;

The sun is spent, and now his flasks

Send forth light squibs, no constant rays;

The world’s whole sap is sunk

 

These are his opening words from ‘A nocturnal upon St Lucy’s Day’

Traditionally, St Lucy’s Day, 13 December, was regarded as the shortest day of the year – hence the idea of the “year’s midnight”…and the evocative assessment that “the world’s whole sap is sunk”.

St Lucy is a 4^th century martyr. Around Lucy certain legends have developed, not least the persistent idea that her eyes were removed before her death. However, this idea is unfounded, and absent in the many narratives and traditions, at least until the 15th century. But it’s rather poetic isn’t it. This beautiful young maiden, whose name, Lucy, is derived from the Latin for light (lux), has the one thing removed that casts light within – her eyes. She is, before death, consigned to darkness.

Liturgically, St Lucy’s day is followed by St John of the Cross Day who famously penned the poem, ‘The Dark Night of the Soul’. Happy.

Indeed, not only does St John’s poetry witness to the darkness that so often engulfs the human spirit, thrusting us into realms and periods of detachment and difficulty, seasons of isolation, even from God, when all is dark about us. But St John’s life itself witnesses to the darkness that accompanies walking with Christ. He was jailed in a monastery, where he was kept under a brutal regimen that included public lashing before the community at least weekly, and severe isolation in a tiny stifling cell measuring ten feet by six feet; not what you’d call palatial. Rarely, he was permitted an oil lamp, and he had to stand on a bench to read his prayer book by the light through a hole in the wall. He had no change of clothing and a meagre diet of water, bread and scraps of salt fish. A very real and no doubt soul-searchingly depressing period of darkness.

 

And then as if these two saints of the church were not enough, we were all confronted with the darkness of human nature in the massacre at Sandy Nook Elementary School. Sadly, the murder of 20 children only made me weep, and remember the Holy Innocents…Why, Lord? Why such darkness? How do we as Christians sing “my heart is full of admiration…” and so on, when we are confronted with evil?

On the same day I had a few hours to myself in the evening and possessed by a curious mood I decided to watch ‘Schindler’s List’ and so was plunged into more soul searching as I pondered afresh the torment and horror of the Final Solution and the death camps.

Whatever hopefulness that greets Advent, it has given way to a despair that accompanies the frank realisation of the state of the world. A spirit of evil and darkness seems to brood over the lives of man.

But in fact, maybe this is precisely the correct trajectory we take in Advent.

As I’ve remarked before, Advent is NOT about imagining we live in the Before Christ times; make-believing that we are shepherds and wise men waiting for the Messiah. No.

But something has to happen to our Advent cry. To sanctify and purify it. 

At the end of the liturgical year we reflect on the lives of the saints and the promise of eternal life in God’s presence in heaven: the last and eternal things. This naturally gives way to Advent where we begin the year eagerly expecting Christ’s coming. We are often expressly admonished to be joyful in this season. We are told – this is not a second Lent. We are reminded that the season is not penitential in nature.

Really?

I would contend that any serious engagement with the Advent readings, and much of this is in Isaiah, makes us reflect on the nature of our fallenness:

“The earth lies polluted under its inhabitants” (Isa. 24:5)

“He [man] cannot save himself” (Isa. 44:20)

The prophet points at the sins of indolence and laziness (47:8), of sorcery and astrology (47:12f.), of idolatry and pride (44:9-23; 47:7). The prophet says sin is rebelliousness “from birth” (48:8b).

In essence, we frequently and persistently turn away from God: we forget him (Isaiah 51:13).

Perhaps it is entirely fitting that this period from 13^th to 21^st December represents the dark heart of winter (and why the counterpoint of Gaudete Sunday is so refreshing. My friend Bryony preached on this on 16^th December). This week is the grim core of Advent, when we are finally worn down by the weather, the world, sin and our adversary, the Devil, who features in our readings from Thessalonians. We are afflicted on every side. Like the Psalmist, David, we might well say, “I am in the midst of lions; I am forced to dwell among ravenous beasts…”(Psa 57:4)

And then when I look inside…I realise I am one of those lions, I am one of the beasts. I am my own darkness.

 

So what do we do?

We cry that great Advent exclamation: WAKE UP, DO SOMETHING, LORD! SAVE US (Isa. 51:9)

And the beautiful truth of this season is this: the hope of a world redeemed can only be sustained when we have in our heart the truth of a promise fulfilled: a baby born. We can only trust God to be faithful, because he was faithful to his promises of old to come into the world to comfort and console us. And it gets better!

“We know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus” (2 Corinthians 4:14).

Advent is viewed through the lense of Christmas. Advent Hope is assured because of the Christmas Incarnation, and the Christmas Incarnation set into motion the life that leads to real life. Christmas is seen through the lens of Easter. Easter is the feast of feasts.

I am consoled and comforted this Advent because I am reminded once again that Jesus is coming back to judge and redeem the world. I can trust this will happen because God is faithful. His faithfulness is proven in the nativity – he fulfilled his promise – that God would come to save us. And this is THE great promise – that God would defeat the evil that came into the world – a defeat seen in the EASTER triumph.

 

So, John Donne, you may well be right. The world’s sap has sunk – and sadly we see signs of this decay day by day. But hope…hope is what drives us on. The hope of a Son: a son to save, to redeem, to judge, to comfort and console. A son who came, who died, who rose, who ascended, and who will come again.

A light. A light that has come into the darkness. And will never go out.

 

 

No smoke without fire

"For wickedness burned like a fire,
consuming briers and thorns;
it kindled the thickets of the forest,
and they swirled upward in a column of smoke" (Isaiah 9:18)

Sin is conspicuous. Certainly, we seek to hide it from God, from ourselves, and our loved ones; but sin leaves marks - stains. All too often in my life I have sought to conceal my deepest darkest sins from my wife, but through a combination of her knowing me very well, and changes in me, she knows - and God knows immediately.

This verse has struck me because of the saying, 'there's no smoke without fire', which is all well and good, and often misapplied, but in my life I wonder if people talk about my behaviour, my habits and wonder about what underlies it. I have often been in the habit of running late, but this has lately evolved into a lax attitude to informing people where I am, and what I am doing. I fear that in not working and living transparently, openly and fairly I am opening myself, and therefore, God to criticism.

This is no admission of guilt - but a sense of how my actions might cause people to infer things about my character.

Naturally, we should seek to please God only, but we are God's hands and feet.

This in turn prompts me to consider other points in God's word where reference is made to fire:

"See, the day is coming, burning like an oven, when all the arrogant and
the evildoers will be stubble; the day that comes shall burn them up, says the
LORD of hosts" (Malachi 4:1)

"The work of each builder will become visible, for the Day will disclose
it, because it will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test what sort of
work each has done" (1 Corinthians 3:13)

Both verses speak of a future day of judgement. A day Christians need not fear, for we shall not enter heaven, graciously, on the basis of our works. Instead, God will seek to test our works, our offering to Him. Sins and their record will be burnt away, but works of gold, silver, stone, etc will remain.

As I wander through my days, and as I reflect on the lives of countless Saints before me this All Saintstide, am I seeking to build with gold, or am living a life of conspicuous sin, where folk speak not of my godliness, but rumour on my character?