The Christmas Story & Angelic Singing
23rd December 2024
Well, I made it into work despite the looming darknesses that continue to try and snuff out my light.
And, I'm so glad I did. It has been filled with joy and hope and peace.
Mainly peace, in fact.
I love this verse from scripture.
… the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:7 NIV
It's quite distinct and overwhelming when such peace washes over you. I have had that reality over the weekend. I'm so thankful to the people who reached out (you know who you are) to support and encourage me. The problem hasn't magically gone away but I've been learning to see the untold goodness that comes, even in the midst of challenge.
I love these questions asked by Gideon Heugh.
The Christmas story asks, what if we had it all along? What if abundant life is not a secret, or something that is attained through great effort or the latest technological innovation—but simply the strange, imperfect and beautiful art of being human?
That is a story worth believing in.
—Gideon Heugh
The strange, imperfect and beautiful art of being human.
What amazing words of wonder.
And it's right here that Malcolm Guite points us towards in today's sonnet.
O Emmanuel
O come, O come, and be our God-with-us
O long-sought With-ness for a world without,
O secret seed, O hidden spring of light.
Come to us Wisdom, come unspoken Name
Come Root, and Key, and King, and holy Flame,
O quickened little wick so tightly curled,
Be folded with us into time and place,
Unfold for us the mystery of grace
And make a womb of all this wounded world.
O heart of heaven beating in the earth,
O tiny hope within our hopelessness
Come to be born, to bear us to our birth,
To touch a dying world with new-made hands
And make these rags of time our swaddling bands.
—Malcolm Guite
The Christmas story invites us to step into the truth that God is with us. That God is birthed, awakened, revealed in the everyday. In the rag-tag ordinary. In, what St. John of the Cross calls, “luminous darkness”.
“Even though this holy night darkens the spirit, it does so only to light up everything.”
—St. John of the Cross, Dark Night of the Soul
That's awe filled, right there.
I sang with patients who are living with a dementia this morning. I can't tell you how amazing that was. I've done it a number of times up to now but this time it felt different. I felt different. It was as though I was being carried by a different kind of spirit. An awakened one. That somehow I carried good news, just like the shepherds did after their angelic visitation.
And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.” When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”
Luke 2:8-15 NIV
And there were dementia patients sat in their chairs, some not able to move on their own, and a messenger of hope and peace visited and together they sang and the sound resounded throughout the ward.
I'm glad to tell you what I've seen today.
Later we listened to this song, Everlasting Light, during communion.
And I sat with a lady who had hoped to be home for Christmas but has been told today that this won't happen now. From hope to disappointment.
Last year around this time of year David Anderson reflected,
The Light of Christ is powerful but small. It is a little like the half-hidden votive that I could not see until I had extinguished all other candles and lamps. If we want to see that Light, we are wise to turn things off for just ten or fifteen minutes, be for a time in the darkness until it isn’t really dark anymore, because our spiritual eyes adjust and we begin to see another kind of light—as if our inner eye were seeing with night vision goggles. This phenomenon is what St. John of the Cross called “luminous darkness.”
Blow out the other nineteen candles in your life, turn out all the lamps. My, what Light you may see!
Tomorrow, God willing, the chaplains will distribute little peace candles for people to turn on on Christmas Eve.
I can't really believe it's Christmas Eve tomorrow.
Just one final thing, Malcolm Guite points out that if you combine all seven of the Great O’ Antiphons, you get,
O Emmanuel
O Rex
O Oriens
O Clavis
O Radix
O Adonai
O Sapientia
In each of these antiphons we have been calling on Him to come to us, to come as Light as Key, as King, as God-with-us. Now, standing on the brink of Christmas Eve, looking back at the illuminated capital letters for each of the seven titles of Christ we would see an answer to our pleas : ERO CRAS the latin words meaning ‘Tomorrow I will come!”