In the dark of night, the sky gives no hints that the sun will rise again. And yet we look with expectancy for another day to come. We remember the reliable regularity of a sun that rises in the sky every day of our lives.
In the earliest moments of dawn, the darkness must give way to the unstoppable light that fills the heavens. Advent comes to the weary pilgrims, crossing the crushing expanse of night. Like the promise of a coming dawn, it reminds those with crushed dreams and broken hearts that the Son has come, is coming and will come again.
I have known darkness that clouds and fills the lungs with smothering despair. And by God’s unspeakable grace, I have seen the light of a day that I thought might never come again. This advent I remember, and I rest in the utter faithfulness of my Creator.
Showing posts with label meditation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label meditation. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
The Word Made Flesh retreat
I'd like to invite you to my next retreat on July 20-21. Each time I prepare for a retreat, I begin to get the sense it is the most important retreat I've done. I think this has to do with timing. At this point in time, a retreat on embodying the word of God in our lives is the most important thing for me. There is a deep stirring in my soul about about the gift and responsibility to be people of the Word.
If we look back through the history of our faith, we see how words continue to have power long after the speaker dies. God speaks the world into being. Moses wrote out the commands of God and the world still finds guidance in those words. David recorded his prayers, and we are still learning to pray from David. Isaiah proclaimed a vision of the world transformed into peace and his words still echo throughout the world thousands of years later. Paul wrote letters to his friends and the church continues to be shaped by those words. The Holy Spirit stirs and inspires His people across time to speak a true word, to proclaim His word and in so doing we change the world.
How can we be the people who speak rightly? How do we embody God's word? How do we follow the guidance of Solomon and James in our tongue? These are the kind of ideas we'll consider as we reflect upon speech through the eyes of the Celtic Christians.
Below is a little more about the retreat I am currently preparing. I invite you to come and spend a weekend with us.
The Word Made Flesh: Becoming witnesses in word and deed.
A retreat meditating upon the power of the word in our life and the lives of the Celtic Christians.
July 20-21
In our fourth Celtic Christianity retreat, we will consider the power of true speech to change the world. Jesus comes as the "Word made flesh" and speaks as one having authority. The Scriptures assure us that the "Word of God" will not return void. Yet our words often seem to fall to the ground. We live in a time and culture where images take precedence over true speech and words seem unreliable.
The ancient Hebrews and the Welsh both considered their language as a gift from God. They realized the power of speech to change the world. The writer of Proverbs reminds us that the power of life and death are in the tongue.
On the weekend of July 20 -21, Brad Getz and I will join with others to meditate upon the gift of speech, the power of words, and the call to tame our tongue. Drawing from the Bible and the fire of the Welsh poets, we'll spend the weekend considering how we ourselves might learn to cultivate a speech that lives beyond our time.
As with all Spring of Light retreats, there will be time for teaching, group interaction, personal reflection and eating. We'll meet at the Living Room (for directions email me). Since we're having at our building, there will be no registration fee.
If you'd like to come, please let me know (doug (a) springoflight.org) and I'll send you more information.
If we look back through the history of our faith, we see how words continue to have power long after the speaker dies. God speaks the world into being. Moses wrote out the commands of God and the world still finds guidance in those words. David recorded his prayers, and we are still learning to pray from David. Isaiah proclaimed a vision of the world transformed into peace and his words still echo throughout the world thousands of years later. Paul wrote letters to his friends and the church continues to be shaped by those words. The Holy Spirit stirs and inspires His people across time to speak a true word, to proclaim His word and in so doing we change the world.
How can we be the people who speak rightly? How do we embody God's word? How do we follow the guidance of Solomon and James in our tongue? These are the kind of ideas we'll consider as we reflect upon speech through the eyes of the Celtic Christians.
Below is a little more about the retreat I am currently preparing. I invite you to come and spend a weekend with us.
The Word Made Flesh: Becoming witnesses in word and deed.
A retreat meditating upon the power of the word in our life and the lives of the Celtic Christians.
July 20-21
In our fourth Celtic Christianity retreat, we will consider the power of true speech to change the world. Jesus comes as the "Word made flesh" and speaks as one having authority. The Scriptures assure us that the "Word of God" will not return void. Yet our words often seem to fall to the ground. We live in a time and culture where images take precedence over true speech and words seem unreliable.
The ancient Hebrews and the Welsh both considered their language as a gift from God. They realized the power of speech to change the world. The writer of Proverbs reminds us that the power of life and death are in the tongue.
On the weekend of July 20 -21, Brad Getz and I will join with others to meditate upon the gift of speech, the power of words, and the call to tame our tongue. Drawing from the Bible and the fire of the Welsh poets, we'll spend the weekend considering how we ourselves might learn to cultivate a speech that lives beyond our time.
As with all Spring of Light retreats, there will be time for teaching, group interaction, personal reflection and eating. We'll meet at the Living Room (for directions email me). Since we're having at our building, there will be no registration fee.
If you'd like to come, please let me know (doug (a) springoflight.org) and I'll send you more information.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Rhythm
Rhythm
I feel the strain of Coltrane’s Sun Ship
clashing, rattling hacking at
my thoughts, my bones, my soul.
Dissonant energies tug through
myriadic movements
that grate my focus
to fleeting distractions
of blurred activities.
Nonstop sloth.
Gasping, choking spitting,
I jump and jerk forward,
one step closer to nowhere.
Falling I sleep, exhausted from nothingness.
In the 2 am stillness, I hear a bird
allure the coming day.
This pied piper welcomes
the hope of light with heaven’s secrets.
Morning melodies
call me forth
from a tomb
(a womb)
to new rhythms.
Step by step by step.
Breath by breath by breath.
Shalom encircling me.
Arising,
I begin learning
the true slowness of
one thought, one word, one act.
dougfloyd
4/7/07
I feel the strain of Coltrane’s Sun Ship
clashing, rattling hacking at
my thoughts, my bones, my soul.
Dissonant energies tug through
myriadic movements
that grate my focus
to fleeting distractions
of blurred activities.
Nonstop sloth.
Gasping, choking spitting,
I jump and jerk forward,
one step closer to nowhere.
Falling I sleep, exhausted from nothingness.
In the 2 am stillness, I hear a bird
allure the coming day.
This pied piper welcomes
the hope of light with heaven’s secrets.
Morning melodies
call me forth
from a tomb
(a womb)
to new rhythms.
Step by step by step.
Breath by breath by breath.
Shalom encircling me.
Arising,
I begin learning
the true slowness of
one thought, one word, one act.
dougfloyd
4/7/07
Sunday, February 25, 2007
The Call of Lent
Something, someone is stirring. A voice is calling. In the deep of the night, we awake, feeling the voice inside of us. Gently, yet incessantly pressing, provoking, speaking. “Come away with me.” In the fullness of time, the Spirit calls and we can only follow.
We call this time “Lent.” By naming a time, we give it shape, we give it focus, we create space. As Eugen Rosenstock-Huessy suggests, “Time creates space.” We name our moments. The moments of my current waking hours, I call “today.” I awake today and join my voice with the voices of millions of Christians who have lived before me. We call this day, “Lent.”
Lent is a time for remembering. We remember the early church. During this time, new believers were trained in the faith and prepared for baptism and entrance in the church, the community of the God’s people. Even as we remember these early Christians, we remember Jesus entering the wilderness at the prompting of the Spirit.
Preparing for his ministry of life, he faces the power of death for forty days in the heat of the wilderness winds. The devil tempts him to give up. To lose hope. To take the easy way out. To forget the plans of the Father. Jesus resists him, emerging from the test in the power of the Spirit.
As we remember Jesus, we also remember another wilderness journey. When the time came to leave the cruel slavery of Egypt, the children of Israel followed the Spirit’s voice calling them through the wilderness and to the new world.
We remember and re-enact these wilderness travels: the stories swirling through our hearts and the heat burning in our soul. Inside these stories, live other stories. For the wilderness reveals a host of travelers in search of a new world. We meet David running from Saul, Elijah running from Jezebel, and Abraham running to Izaak.
We meet Job in the depths of an anguish that brings him to the end of his world. From this lonely peak of a dying world, he cries out to the Creator of all things. We meet Noah, who crosses the wilderness in an ark: for his desert is an ocean of destruction.
As we look around us at all these travelers, we suddenly realize everyone is traveling up a mountain. Towards the top of the mountain, we see Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah. On this mount of transfigured reality, we hear Jesus speaking of a new world: a new heavens and a new earth.
Soon our hearts burn for this world, this renewed Eden. Our hearts remember the burning that has always been there. For believers and non-believers alike burn for this new world, this Eden. We may use different words and we may not even express the longing of the soul, but deep inside burns a longing for a better place. A world free from violence, hatred, cruelty, pain.
Many people have tried to imagine this world. It does seem easy if we try. But soon our dreams turn to nightmares. For even as we long and burn and ache for this new world, we come to realize, we must come to realize: we are responsible for destroying this old world. How can we ever keep from destroying a new world?
Our words and our actions and our thoughts often hurt instead of heal. We long for something beautiful, but we can easily make something ugly like broken hearts, broken vows, broken bodies. The wilderness not only reveals our longings, it reveals our evil. This evil cannot enter the new world.
In helplessness we look back up the mount to Jesus speaking. We hear the faint whisper of a love that is revealed and realized fully in the cross. The cross leads from the end of one world to the beginning of another. The cross opens the door for a new heavens and a new earth.
So awake my friends. The time of Lent is before us. The wilderness beckons. The cross looms. And beyond the cross? A new heavens and a new earth. Come with me and let us travel to the Promised Land.
We call this time “Lent.” By naming a time, we give it shape, we give it focus, we create space. As Eugen Rosenstock-Huessy suggests, “Time creates space.” We name our moments. The moments of my current waking hours, I call “today.” I awake today and join my voice with the voices of millions of Christians who have lived before me. We call this day, “Lent.”
Lent is a time for remembering. We remember the early church. During this time, new believers were trained in the faith and prepared for baptism and entrance in the church, the community of the God’s people. Even as we remember these early Christians, we remember Jesus entering the wilderness at the prompting of the Spirit.
Preparing for his ministry of life, he faces the power of death for forty days in the heat of the wilderness winds. The devil tempts him to give up. To lose hope. To take the easy way out. To forget the plans of the Father. Jesus resists him, emerging from the test in the power of the Spirit.
As we remember Jesus, we also remember another wilderness journey. When the time came to leave the cruel slavery of Egypt, the children of Israel followed the Spirit’s voice calling them through the wilderness and to the new world.
We remember and re-enact these wilderness travels: the stories swirling through our hearts and the heat burning in our soul. Inside these stories, live other stories. For the wilderness reveals a host of travelers in search of a new world. We meet David running from Saul, Elijah running from Jezebel, and Abraham running to Izaak.
We meet Job in the depths of an anguish that brings him to the end of his world. From this lonely peak of a dying world, he cries out to the Creator of all things. We meet Noah, who crosses the wilderness in an ark: for his desert is an ocean of destruction.
As we look around us at all these travelers, we suddenly realize everyone is traveling up a mountain. Towards the top of the mountain, we see Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah. On this mount of transfigured reality, we hear Jesus speaking of a new world: a new heavens and a new earth.
Soon our hearts burn for this world, this renewed Eden. Our hearts remember the burning that has always been there. For believers and non-believers alike burn for this new world, this Eden. We may use different words and we may not even express the longing of the soul, but deep inside burns a longing for a better place. A world free from violence, hatred, cruelty, pain.
Many people have tried to imagine this world. It does seem easy if we try. But soon our dreams turn to nightmares. For even as we long and burn and ache for this new world, we come to realize, we must come to realize: we are responsible for destroying this old world. How can we ever keep from destroying a new world?
Our words and our actions and our thoughts often hurt instead of heal. We long for something beautiful, but we can easily make something ugly like broken hearts, broken vows, broken bodies. The wilderness not only reveals our longings, it reveals our evil. This evil cannot enter the new world.
In helplessness we look back up the mount to Jesus speaking. We hear the faint whisper of a love that is revealed and realized fully in the cross. The cross leads from the end of one world to the beginning of another. The cross opens the door for a new heavens and a new earth.
So awake my friends. The time of Lent is before us. The wilderness beckons. The cross looms. And beyond the cross? A new heavens and a new earth. Come with me and let us travel to the Promised Land.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
While Shepherds Watched Their Flock
Matthias sat down by the entrance to the cave. Rubbing his freezing, blistered hands together—specs of mud mixed with manure flecked onto the ground. The day had been long; the cold night would be longer. The warmth of the fire nearby gradually gave some relief to the bitter night.
His joints and bones ached and had ached for so long, it seemed normal. Years of nomadic life in summer and winter, rain and snow, blistering heat and freezing cold—aged his body. The once playful youth, who could rebound from every fall, now struggled sometimes to simply rise and sit. The lines carved into his face, the distant gaze in his eyes, and the creaking limbs betrayed his thirty-five years, suggesting an older, weaker man.
On this cool dark night he watched. He guarded the sheep asleep in the cave and watched for anything that might hurt the sheep or his fellow shepherds. While Bethlehem nights were usually quiet and peaceful, he could take no chances. Someone must watch in case of bandits, wolves, other creatures or other problems.
Matthias struggled to stay awake. Last night was his turn to rest, but a commotion among the dogs of the flock kept him awake most of the night. And now his mind and body fought hard to recover that sleep.
Puling out a little pipe from his leather pouch, Matthias began to play a tune. In a life of constant struggle for survival, this little pipe was one of his few joys. When he played, he dreamed. He traveled back to boyhood. To sitting by the fire as his grandfather told stories about days long gone.
According to pappa, shepherds were beloved of God and were the reason God chose Israel as his people. Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were shepherds. Moses was a shepherd. David was a shepherd.
Yes God loved shepherds and would one day restore their glory. They wouldn’t always be outsiders. Stories weaved through the cities accusing shepherds of everything from stealing, tricking and killing townspeople to even mating with their flocks.
Not every rumor was false. Their lives were hard, and sometimes survival meant doing things that made you less than proud. Poverty so gripped and controlled their lives, they no longer even owned the sheep they herded. Instead, wealthy landowners bought the sheep from the shepherds and then lorded over them like slaves.
This humiliation, this constant struggle, this life of virtual slavery drove shepherds to play a role that sometimes included the very worst of the rumors. A shadow of regret and guilt darkened many of their lives.
Living on the margin of the world, they felt forgotten, abandoned and even hated by God. They were dirty, smelly, poor and knew nothing but shepherding. Yet in spite of this, Matthias still dreamed on his pipe. Pappa made the life of shepherding seem wondrous, magical. Pappa’s words kept him alive on the inside even when the outside seemed to be crumbling.
In the desolate hours, Matthias felt the desolation of his life stir a yearning deep within for something. A longing burned and burned and he expressed the longing in slow lamentation on the pipe. He played on and on through the monotonous minutes and hours of the cold winter eve.
Suddenly a light jolted through him and the pipe flew from his hands. Instantly Matthias fell to the ground screaming. The other shepherds followed suit. God had finally come and the end was at hand. They would be judged…and found wanting.
But then two words, two words which promised hope and love and…possibility. “Fear not!”
As the words washed over him in a flood a peace, Matthias looked up at the cause of his travail. A light figure stood or floated before him. He could see no features for the intense brilliance almost blinded him.
Then the voice of a thousand bells spoke again, “For behold, I bring you good news of a great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger."
“Unto me? A baby born to me? A savior born for me?” The questions raced through his head, but in a moment, laughter erupted from Matthias’s belly like a sudden flood. The other shepherds laughed as well. Soon they were dancing and singing. The joy that burned within them was brighter and more furiously playful than anything they had ever known.
Shearing days could not compare to this spontaneous festival of laughter and dancing and frolicking that broke out in their midst. As though one angel was not enough to witness this joy, the sky suddenly flamed with thousands upon thousands of angel singing, ringing, shouting proclaiming
"Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!"
As they danced, Matthias heard Pappa’s words ringing in his ears. “God really does love shepherds.” Then he out of the blue remembered something else Pappa would say, something he had forgotten all these years, “God loves shepherds because he is a shepherd and we’re his sheep.”
For the first time since childhood, Matthias beamed with a heaven-sent pride. He was called of God, chosen to shepherd the sheep. Chosen to reveal the wisdom and kindness of God upon the earth. And now, unexpectedly chosen to share in the joy of God’s redeeming Israel by sending the baby shepherd king who would restore his flock and lead them home.
His dreams stopped short when the sky turned black. As suddenly as they came, the angels departed, and Matthias turned to his fellow herders, “Come my friends, we must go at once. Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us."
His joints and bones ached and had ached for so long, it seemed normal. Years of nomadic life in summer and winter, rain and snow, blistering heat and freezing cold—aged his body. The once playful youth, who could rebound from every fall, now struggled sometimes to simply rise and sit. The lines carved into his face, the distant gaze in his eyes, and the creaking limbs betrayed his thirty-five years, suggesting an older, weaker man.
On this cool dark night he watched. He guarded the sheep asleep in the cave and watched for anything that might hurt the sheep or his fellow shepherds. While Bethlehem nights were usually quiet and peaceful, he could take no chances. Someone must watch in case of bandits, wolves, other creatures or other problems.
Matthias struggled to stay awake. Last night was his turn to rest, but a commotion among the dogs of the flock kept him awake most of the night. And now his mind and body fought hard to recover that sleep.
Puling out a little pipe from his leather pouch, Matthias began to play a tune. In a life of constant struggle for survival, this little pipe was one of his few joys. When he played, he dreamed. He traveled back to boyhood. To sitting by the fire as his grandfather told stories about days long gone.
According to pappa, shepherds were beloved of God and were the reason God chose Israel as his people. Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were shepherds. Moses was a shepherd. David was a shepherd.
Yes God loved shepherds and would one day restore their glory. They wouldn’t always be outsiders. Stories weaved through the cities accusing shepherds of everything from stealing, tricking and killing townspeople to even mating with their flocks.
Not every rumor was false. Their lives were hard, and sometimes survival meant doing things that made you less than proud. Poverty so gripped and controlled their lives, they no longer even owned the sheep they herded. Instead, wealthy landowners bought the sheep from the shepherds and then lorded over them like slaves.
This humiliation, this constant struggle, this life of virtual slavery drove shepherds to play a role that sometimes included the very worst of the rumors. A shadow of regret and guilt darkened many of their lives.
Living on the margin of the world, they felt forgotten, abandoned and even hated by God. They were dirty, smelly, poor and knew nothing but shepherding. Yet in spite of this, Matthias still dreamed on his pipe. Pappa made the life of shepherding seem wondrous, magical. Pappa’s words kept him alive on the inside even when the outside seemed to be crumbling.
In the desolate hours, Matthias felt the desolation of his life stir a yearning deep within for something. A longing burned and burned and he expressed the longing in slow lamentation on the pipe. He played on and on through the monotonous minutes and hours of the cold winter eve.
Suddenly a light jolted through him and the pipe flew from his hands. Instantly Matthias fell to the ground screaming. The other shepherds followed suit. God had finally come and the end was at hand. They would be judged…and found wanting.
But then two words, two words which promised hope and love and…possibility. “Fear not!”
As the words washed over him in a flood a peace, Matthias looked up at the cause of his travail. A light figure stood or floated before him. He could see no features for the intense brilliance almost blinded him.
Then the voice of a thousand bells spoke again, “For behold, I bring you good news of a great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger."
“Unto me? A baby born to me? A savior born for me?” The questions raced through his head, but in a moment, laughter erupted from Matthias’s belly like a sudden flood. The other shepherds laughed as well. Soon they were dancing and singing. The joy that burned within them was brighter and more furiously playful than anything they had ever known.
Shearing days could not compare to this spontaneous festival of laughter and dancing and frolicking that broke out in their midst. As though one angel was not enough to witness this joy, the sky suddenly flamed with thousands upon thousands of angel singing, ringing, shouting proclaiming
"Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!"
As they danced, Matthias heard Pappa’s words ringing in his ears. “God really does love shepherds.” Then he out of the blue remembered something else Pappa would say, something he had forgotten all these years, “God loves shepherds because he is a shepherd and we’re his sheep.”
For the first time since childhood, Matthias beamed with a heaven-sent pride. He was called of God, chosen to shepherd the sheep. Chosen to reveal the wisdom and kindness of God upon the earth. And now, unexpectedly chosen to share in the joy of God’s redeeming Israel by sending the baby shepherd king who would restore his flock and lead them home.
His dreams stopped short when the sky turned black. As suddenly as they came, the angels departed, and Matthias turned to his fellow herders, “Come my friends, we must go at once. Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us."
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Advent Peace
The songs we sing to celebrate this season carry profound messages of hope and possibility in the midst of dark nights and sometimes even darker days. One song that captured my heart last week is the familiar “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.”
For many of us, the words of the first verse echo easily through our minds after years and years of singing:
It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious night of old,
From angels bending near the earth,
To touch their harps of gold:
“Peace on the earth, goodwill to men,
From heavens’ all gracious King;”
The world in solemn stillness lay
To hear the angels sing.
This verse brings to mind the stories of childhood: shepherds in the field; Mary and Joseph in the stable; a glorious display of heavenly light as angels proclaim the good tidings of heaven. These images make me feel warm and safe—like the world is all right.
But the world is not all right.
It is easy to sentimentalize the sweetness of the angelic images and forget the arresting power of the song. Verse three paints a picture much closer to home:
Yet with woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And men, at war with men, hear not
The love-song which they bring;
O hush the noise, ye men of strife
And hear the angels sing.
We may sing of Christmas cheer, but our world aches of war and rumors of war.
War infects this world. Each moment on earth reveals more cruelty, more hatred, more human aggression. Nation attacks nation. One race fights another race. Fathers turn against sons and sons turn against fathers. Brothers kill brothers; lovers deceive lovers. And even the human heart divides against itself. We are at war: inside and out.
Beneath our bullets, our fists, our angry hearts, a soft refrain persists:
“Peace on the earth, goodwill to men,
From heavens’ all gracious King;”
During Advent, we pause to hear the steady plainchant that reminds generation after generation after generation: peace is coming. Unmoved by our constant striving, the promise of peace continues to echo and ripple into the fabric of all creation.
Advent reminds us to stop, to wait, to watch, to listen. For the Prince of Peace has come, is coming and comes even now. As we behold him, we are changed. Like the lonely shepherds, we rise up and follow. We follow the infant king to the place of peace: the cross.
Yes, even as we rejoice in the birth of a baby, we cannot ignore the death of a Savior. The path to Bethlehem ends at Calvary. The Advent wind whispers, calling us to follow the true Peacemaker into the ways of peace, into the place of cross.
Peace begins not with a treaty, not with a protest, not with gunshot, but with a cross. We embrace the place of death, laying down our rights, our needs, our glory, our importance, our name, our reputation. We lay down our lives. And in the wonder of Advent, we discover His life and His peace flowing out through us in love.
Come O Advent King. We are weary and worried. The war inside us breaks out all around us. We hurt the ones we love. We betray our friends. Our world reflects our hearts. We suffer and we cause those around us to suffer. Have mercy upon us. Lead us in the way of peace. May we sing, may we live, may we embody the angel song:
For lo! The days are hastening on,
By prophets seen of old,
When with the ever-circling years,
Shall come the time foretold
When the whole heaven and earth shall own
The Prince of Peace their king
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.
For many of us, the words of the first verse echo easily through our minds after years and years of singing:
It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious night of old,
From angels bending near the earth,
To touch their harps of gold:
“Peace on the earth, goodwill to men,
From heavens’ all gracious King;”
The world in solemn stillness lay
To hear the angels sing.
This verse brings to mind the stories of childhood: shepherds in the field; Mary and Joseph in the stable; a glorious display of heavenly light as angels proclaim the good tidings of heaven. These images make me feel warm and safe—like the world is all right.
But the world is not all right.
It is easy to sentimentalize the sweetness of the angelic images and forget the arresting power of the song. Verse three paints a picture much closer to home:
Yet with woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And men, at war with men, hear not
The love-song which they bring;
O hush the noise, ye men of strife
And hear the angels sing.
We may sing of Christmas cheer, but our world aches of war and rumors of war.
War infects this world. Each moment on earth reveals more cruelty, more hatred, more human aggression. Nation attacks nation. One race fights another race. Fathers turn against sons and sons turn against fathers. Brothers kill brothers; lovers deceive lovers. And even the human heart divides against itself. We are at war: inside and out.
Beneath our bullets, our fists, our angry hearts, a soft refrain persists:
“Peace on the earth, goodwill to men,
From heavens’ all gracious King;”
During Advent, we pause to hear the steady plainchant that reminds generation after generation after generation: peace is coming. Unmoved by our constant striving, the promise of peace continues to echo and ripple into the fabric of all creation.
Advent reminds us to stop, to wait, to watch, to listen. For the Prince of Peace has come, is coming and comes even now. As we behold him, we are changed. Like the lonely shepherds, we rise up and follow. We follow the infant king to the place of peace: the cross.
Yes, even as we rejoice in the birth of a baby, we cannot ignore the death of a Savior. The path to Bethlehem ends at Calvary. The Advent wind whispers, calling us to follow the true Peacemaker into the ways of peace, into the place of cross.
Peace begins not with a treaty, not with a protest, not with gunshot, but with a cross. We embrace the place of death, laying down our rights, our needs, our glory, our importance, our name, our reputation. We lay down our lives. And in the wonder of Advent, we discover His life and His peace flowing out through us in love.
Come O Advent King. We are weary and worried. The war inside us breaks out all around us. We hurt the ones we love. We betray our friends. Our world reflects our hearts. We suffer and we cause those around us to suffer. Have mercy upon us. Lead us in the way of peace. May we sing, may we live, may we embody the angel song:
For lo! The days are hastening on,
By prophets seen of old,
When with the ever-circling years,
Shall come the time foretold
When the whole heaven and earth shall own
The Prince of Peace their king
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.
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