First Monday of Advent
Scripture Reading for Today:
Under the Night Sky
by Steve Coupland
One of our farm chores that often falls to me is closing the animals up at night. As I wrap up my work and shut down my computer, the brightness of its screen gives way to my dark walk out under the stars to close up the chicken coop and ensure all of our animals have what they need for the night. On the walk back to the house, I stop to look up at the stars, to take in a big deep breath, and to exhale out the stressors of the day.
Advent is a season often characterized by waiting and walking in darkness, grasping for hope even as it feels fleeting and far off. One of the lectionary texts for today is from Revelation 15. Reading it, I found myself wondering what connects the bright awe-and-wonder-filled description of this scene with the darkness of Advent. That was when I noticed that the song these celestial figures were singing was a harmony of the song of the Lamb and the song of Moses.
The song of Moses finds its place in the story on the other side of the Red Sea, with a vast wilderness before them, and seemingly no possibility of turning back to Egypt. It is a song sung at dawn's light, after a nighttime crossing of the sea mysteriously and miraculously on dry land.
Amidst the evocative imagery of a parted sea, pillars of smoke and fire, and the thunderous pursuit of those behind them, we might forget or fail to see that they crossed under a blanket of stars, each retelling the story of a long-ago promise, each rekindling a hope for flourishing. Could it be that this community of wilderness wanderers found comfort in the darkness of the desert and the surprising beauty of the stars, just as Abraham looked to the stars, and the wisemen as they searched for Jesus?
As a transitional pastor here in Canada, I find myself walking with communities alongside their grief and through their darkness. As one who has wandered in my own wilderness, and as one who has become accustomed to walking along dark and winding paths, I have learned to take comfort in the unknown and the unknowing, in the apophatic, or wordless, tradition of our faith.
What if the surprise gift of this season is a vessel to hold our grief and our questions? What if the invitation is for us to embody a posture of open-handed wondering over and against our propensity to rush headlong toward the myriad joys of Christmas? Of all of the Church calendar seasons, surely it is Advent that feels most able to handle our doubts, our grief, and the dizzying flurry of questions we hold in weary hands.
At the outset of this Advent season, I take comfort in knowing that this is a kind of beginning to the story. It is my beginning. It is our beginning. It is beginning again for the Church. I’m reminded that the Hebrew day begins at nightfall - there was evening and there was morning the first day - and that our beginnings so often start in the dark. From the darkness of the womb to the birth of the first covenant under the starry sky, from a people walking in great darkness to the prayer Jesus offered in a garden throughout the night, surely this darkness is fertile ground for new seedlings of hope and life and flourishing.
Long before we arrive at the Christmas story of light arriving in the darkness, we find ourselves at the beginning of this beautiful season, at night, looking up at the stars in the sky, holding onto promises spoken and hope longed for. At this new beginning, can we stop to look up at the stars, take in a big deep breath, and settle into whatever beautiful surprises befall us this season?
A Breath Prayer for the Second Day of Advent
Take a few minutes to put your feet flat on the floor, to settle your body, to slow down, and start to pay attention to your rhythm of breathing. Breathe in a big deep breath through your nose, hold it for a few seconds, and then exhale deeply. Repeat this until you feel your breathing slowing and your body calming. Then consider praying these words:
Jesus, You are not overcome by darkness,
And You are with us in our grief and our doubts,
For You are the God who steps into dark places as light and life.
Inhale: In the darkness of Advent
Exhale: We wait for you Jesus
Amen.
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