Journey to the Heart of Christmas with Abraham's Advent

Did you hear? My blog has officially moved to Wordpress! You will still find me at theredlettersblog.com, but this blogspot site will no longer be updated. I started this blog waaaay back in 2007. It's lived through a lot of life with me. I hope you've found glimpses of God and some good news here. I will keep writing and sharing, so please come and join me at the updated Red Letters! When you get there, make sure to subscribe, so you won't miss a thing. 

It’s only the middle of November, but the journey to Christmas is already well underway. Is it just me, or have things gotten a little louder, a little faster, and a little crazier?

Are you feeling the pressure to create the “perfect Christmas?” Wondering how you ended up with a to-do list longer than Santa’s? Hoping to make everyone’s Christmas morning dreams come true?

And what about your own hopes? When you step back from the frenzy of parties and preparation, do you dare acknowledge the longings that lay just below the glittery surface of things?

It’s easy to get caught up in the trimmings. But what about the heart of Christmas? What about your heart?

There is a way to step back from the crazy. To refocus on what’s really important. To get to the heart of things.

It’s called Advent. 

Continue reading over at the new Red Letters website!

The Good Stranger

In times of fear, how do we open our hearts to the stranger among us? How do we live when the neighbourhood looks less like our own, and the back yard neighbour is not “one of us?”

It is in times like these that we must lean ever closer to perfect love, and to the greatest commandments.

“Love your neighbour as yourself.”

It’s easy when the stranger is on the other side of the world. But when the stranger begin to make an appearance, to make demands in our own world, what then? What if the stranger moves next door?

Now is the time to put the command to work, right when it seems most inconvenient, most irrational, and most impossible.

This neighbour? This “other” with the wrong accent, the wrong beliefs, the wrong God?

Yes, for Jesus Himself redefined “neighbour” in the well-worn story we call The Good Samaritan.

It’s funny. The original question is this: “Who is my neighbour?” We ask from a place of security and self-righteousness, wanting to survey all the options before committing to such an impractical endeavor. “Just who is my neighbour?” we ask with barely veiled suspicion, as if we are in the position to pick and choose.

In the end, of course, the neighbour is not one of the old stock or religious establishment. The neighbour is the Samaritan, the half-breed, the undesirable “other.” It is he who fulfills the command and becomes the shining example. It is he who loves beyond requirement, beyond the letter of the law, beyond reason. 

And the tables are turned (as they often are in the Master’s stories), and the one who asked the question is actually the one dying on the road. This is life and death. What’s at stake here is nothing less than eternal life. The real question of this story is not “Who do I have to love?” but “Who will love me back to life?”

Could it be that we are the ones most in need? Could it be that we are indeed wretched, pitiful, poor, blind, and naked? And where does the gold come from? The white clothes? The salve? The stranger.

And how do we receive this life? “Go and do likewise.”

Let us not think we have all to give, and they have only to take. That we are in the know, and they have but to learn.

The road from Jerusalem to Jericho is a dangerous place, if we are not walking with Jesus.

It is in showing mercy that we receive its full benefits. We are in need of what the stranger has to offer, and this humbling may be the narrow gate to eternal life.

For what the stranger shows us is the face of Christ Himself. We would do well to ask, “Where is Jesus in this story?”

And he answers, “For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to eat, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I was in prison and you came to visit me.”

Yes, the great commandments are for such a time as this, and for the least of these. For if we pass by on the other side, we may just miss Him.

How can we be sure to find Him? By recognizing that we too are in need of the healing only mercy can bring. By laying ourselves down for the bruised and broken and looking for the face of Christ in the ditches of the world.

Perfect love embraces the cast off.

Perfect love saves us from being cast away.

Yes, perfect love casts out fear.

Perfect love is the only way to live in these times, and we may just find it in the face of a stranger.

~lg

The Secret of the Pink Candle: How You Can Have Joy Right Here

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

Yes, there is joy, even in the waiting, even in the absence of a promise fulfilled. It comes as a pink candle, the one the children have been asking about since the beginning of Advent. We light it now, this third Sunday, because joy cannot help sneak into the patient sequence, right here.

It's here in little bursts as anticipation bubbles up.
It's here, a song in the air, even as our hearts yet grieve the darkness.
It's here, a merry flame of rose and gold, the steady blaze of the far country.
It's here, lighting the feast of God's provision and defying winter's icy grip.

It's here, because He is here, and in His presence is fullness of joy.

When we abide in His love, which casts out fear and overcomes death, His joy fills us.

He is here, in the secret place, where the seed of hope awakens. He is here, in the hiding place, where peace is spoken to still the angry waves.

He is here, with us in sorrow and sighing, with us in uncertainty and shadow, with us in the watching and waiting.

Sometimes a pink candle is all it takes to make the children laugh, to remind us of the colours of dawn, to assure us that joy comes to us from another kingdom, and nothing on this groaning earth can take it away.

Joy is the laughter of God resounding from heaven to nature. It is the music of eternity reaching the ears of creation. It is His delight in us embracing our flesh and bone. It is the welcome of His presence right where we are, and the promise that He will never leave us nor forsake us. Joy is Emmanuel, God with us.

O come, o come Emmanuel...

Even now the lament begins to turn and spin toward joy. One more candle, one step closer. We can make out His face in the glow.

Rejoice! Rejoice!


~ lg

"Advent Sunday" by Christina Rossetti

BEHOLD, the Bridegroom cometh: go ye out
With lighted lamps and garlands round about
To meet Him in a rapture with a shout.

It may be at the midnight, black as pitch,
Earth shall cast up her poor, cast up her rich.

It may be at the crowing of the cock
Earth shall upheave her depth, uproot her rock.

For lo, the Bridegroom fetcheth home the Bride:
His Hands are Hands she knows, she knows His Side.

Like pure Rebekah at the appointed place,
Veiled, she unveils her face to meet His Face.

Like great Queen Esther in her triumphing,
She triumphs in the Presence of her King.

His Eyes are as a Dove's, and she's Dove-eyed;
He knows His lovely mirror, sister, Bride.

He speaks with Dove-voice of exceeding love,
And she with love-voice of an answering Dove.

Behold, the Bridegroom cometh: go we out
With lamps ablaze and garlands round about
To meet Him in a rapture with a shout.

~ Christina Rossetti

The Grace of the Weighty Word

I am startled by the Scripture readings for December 1st and 2nd in Common Prayer.* Isaiah 1:1-20. A hard word, a weighty word, heavy with the justice of God.

Here is a broken Father, crushed by the inconsolable affliction of His rebellious children. Here is the Father weeping over the burned city.

And yet these tattered lepers insist on parading their so-called sacrifices through the courts, keeping up the charade of a glittering festival.

"Your whole head is injured,
your whole heart afflicted."

Stop the insanity!

"From the sole of your foot to the top of your head 
there is no soundness."

No soundness. Only noise.
No wholeness. Only fractures.
No peace, no shalom. Only the dizzying dance of hypocrisy even as the enemy draws closer.

Righteousness is under siege, and yet the parties and platitudes continue. The fatherless and widow cry out, but who has ears to hear?


Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble. tremble.


For who can stand against such an injunction? And who am I in the holiday parade?

And yet the word of justice contains a word of mercy. (Blessed be the faithfulness of God.) Here is a diagnosis, and that is grace to the gaping wounded. Here is the naked, ugly truth, and therein lies salvation.

I have known this word. I have sat in complete judgment, rightly accused by the righteous law, the weight of each commandment broken piled on me in succession. And oh, it was hard to bear. I would not have believed in the grace of such judgment had I not known His face. Truth makes free, but only in the ears of the humbled.

"Come now, let us reason together,"
says the LORD.
"Though your sins are like scarlet,
they shall be white as snow;
though they are like crimson,
they shall be like wool.
If you are willing and obedient,
you will eat the best from the land;
but if you resist and rebel,
you will be devoured by the sword."
     For the mouth of the LORD has spoken. 

If I had not already known His kiss, I could not have received His rebuke.

And yes, every word of rebuke also breathes healing, if we come close enough to be washed in His tears. His face is turned to us, even in rebuke.

This is mercy - that He speaks at all.

This is favour - that He rips off our crumbling facades and exposes our aching bones.

This is love - that His word became flesh and bone to bear our sin, to stare us down and call our names, and to restore the ears our own swords have devoured. He does not turn away. He does not forsake.

This is love - do not miss it! This is the Word who will heal.

This is the Word of peace for the trembling.

"Come now." 

So I pray, in this season, for ears to hear,
for ears to receive the Word,
no matter how He speaks.



* Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals by Shaine Claiborne, Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove and Enuma Okoro


~lg

BCP: Advent Prayer 1

The Collect for the First Sunday in Advent, from the Book of Common Prayer

ALMIGHTY God, give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness, and put upon us the armour of light, now in the time of this mortal life, in which they Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious Majesty, to judge both the quick and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, now and ever. Amen.


~lg

Advent 1: Hope Is Enough

Hope says,

It’s ok if you’re tired. If your kitchen is a mess. If you gave all you had and it wasn’t enough. If your plans fell apart. If your kid is having a meltdown. If you’re the one having a meltdown.

Hope asks nothing but a small crack in your heart to be left open, just enough for one candle to peek through.

Hope doesn’t need your best, or your bravest.  Hope shines at rock bottom, and in what’s broken.

Hope is not a general wish for something better. Hope is a candle lit by a promise, held by an everlasting arm. And hope springs eternal because its essence cannot be snuffed by winds of temporality, no matter how they huff.

Hope is a light that illuminates the face of Jesus. And he whispers, “It’s ok. This day, hope is enough.” 

~lg

The Fear of Longing

We have been walking this road a long time, and have seen a thing or two, oh yes. We weren't born yesterday. We have been through too many reality checkpoints. Hope can be a dangerous thing in this day and age. We manage just fine without it, feet on solid ground.

And so we have come to a smiling, sterile place where we are afraid to long.

Afraid to long?

Yes, that is it. It's not worth the taste of disappointment.

For that has been the result of my thirst. A mouth full of sawdust. So I have learned to take the hunger pangs and paralyze them like so many moths in a spider's web. I have made a web to catch the longing before it takes wing.

Afraid to long?

Yes. I fear where the longing may lead. Out on a limb and into the dark where I have no map. What if it leads to a place where there is no choice but metamorphosis because the ground beneath my feet is no more?

Afraid to long?

Yes, because my discontent may mark me as a stranger. What if my comforts no longer soothe? What if my qualifications no longer serve? What if my riches are no longer palatable? What if my cultural cocoon is no longer habitable? Oh then, I may have to search for another kingdom.

But here's the thing - when the emptiness of a life without longing confronts me in unexpected moments, the despair is too great. I know it will crush me.

Beauty calls, and it is like thunder. A change is coming on the wind.

If you feel hope calling, why not consider a little journey to Bethlehem? 

Abraham's Advent is a four week Advent devotional which follows the footsteps of one who knew what it was like to be a stranger in a strange land. Your copy is available here. 

~lg

Don't Wait for January 1st: Begin Again Right Where You Are

{This is the second post in a series of what Advent is all about. Read Part 1 here.}

Advent is actually the Christian “new year.” It is the beginning, and a rather strange one at that.

It begins without fanfare, fireworks and flash. And we begin again, not when the spring bursts into new life, or even when the light returns. We begin again, even as the days are darkening. We begin again, when ice is settling over the world.

We begin with a longing.

A longing for the celebration of Christmas, the coming of the Saviour incarnate, and so many hopes fulfilled and feasted.

A longing for the day our Saviour returns, and a longing made all the stronger for the dangers, toils and snares we are now enduring.

We begin with tension.

The tension of a Christ who has come, and a Christ who will come, a kingdom in seed form waiting full flowering. 

The tension of ordinary life and all the things we cannot control, all the while acknowledging there is One who holds all things together by “one little word.”

We begin with hunger.

The hunger for beauteous light to break, for life to come, for the warmth of a God-kindled fire.

The hunger that takes patience as a journey-mate and trusts in One who is beyond time.

Traditionally, Advent was often a time of fasting. Not a revolving door of pre-Christmas parties, but a time to abstain in order to locate and live with the hunger so necessary to our right position before our Creator.

Why? 

Why begin here of all places in the life of Christ (for that is what the liturgical calendar revolves around each year, that is what gives it its shape), and why begin now of all seasons?

There is an ancient wisdom to this.

How do we begin again? How do we contemplate a new year? How do we truly gain a fresh start, with fresh vision?

By putting ourselves in a place of longing, tension, and hunger. By recognizing our deep and abiding need for God. By acknowledging that we can never shape the coming year in the strength of our own resolutions, but that we must first allow the true shape of our darkness and need to emerge. Only then will we welcome the true Light when it comes. Only then will our souls weep for relief and joy at his appearing. We cannot begin without Him. And we cannot have Him unless we have known the want of Him.

This wisdom gives us a humble beginning.

This wisdom whispers – Make yourself small. Make your need known. Make space for searching.

And the promise of Advent? He will find you.

We begin with the promise that there can always be a new beginning, even when darkness is on the rise. Even when we can’t yet see the full light of day. Even without parties, even without “happy.” You don’t need a “happy” to have a new year.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, joy will come, unspeakable and full of glory.

But in the waiting? Yes, begin here. 

In the dull of winter gloom? Yes, begin here. 

In the hurting hunger? Yes, begin here.

For the promise of Advent is no empty sentiment. He is coming, and when, yes when He does, you will flat out run, and His embrace will be just the shape of all your expectations and the sweetest filling of all that was empty.

So don’t be afraid, though the days may yet be darkening. Your beginning is now.

If you would like to walk through this Advent with one who was no stranger to longing, might I suggest the Advent devotional Abraham's Advent: A Stranger's Journey to Bethlehem and Beyond? It is my hope that this little book will help keep things in focus in the weeks leading up to Christmas. 

~lg

How to Really Focus this Advent

Are things getting blurry out there yet? Ever want to close your eyes and just make it all go away?

Advent is a beginning. Right in the middle of the hustle and bustle, it offers an invitation to see the world afresh. It’s the beginning of the year, according to the Church’s calendar. Though connected to Christmas, it has its own focus as a season.

{The season of Advent lasts approximately four weeks, beginning the fourth Sunday before Christmas and continuing until Christmas Eve and the celebration of Christmas. The Church calendar, or liturgical year, is a way to pattern our days and months according to the greatest revelation of God to humanity – the life and death of Jesus Christ. Personally I love to live within its rhythm, which shapes my year according to major events of Scripture and not only cultural celebrations.}

And don’t we all need a little perspective this time of year? Advent offers us just that opportunity.

Historically, Advent has a double focus. The word itself means “coming.” The first focus of Advent is the coming of Christ two thousand years ago. Rather than jump right into feasting, many Advent observers have actually used it as a time of fasting. With so many holiday goodies around, why would anyone want to deny themselves the pleasure of treats? The intent behind fasting is to prepare your heart to fully receive the joy of Christmas. It is to taste the hunger and hope of humanity as they waited for the Messiah to appear. It is to insert oneself back in time, to relive the stories of the Old Testament, to wait right along with those who faith kept them looking ahead to the fulfillment of God’s promises. It is to join our voices with countless others and sing, “O come, o come, Emmanuel.” You don't have to fast to do that. But you can readjust your focus and purpose to live awhile with the ancient longing. 

It is this focus which makes the celebration of Christmas all the sweeter when it arrives. It is this focus that allows us to keep the heart of Christmas in central view. It is this focus which reminds us that the Incarnation really has changed everything.

The second focus of Advent might seem a bit strange at first glance. But this is also the time of year when the Church has looked ahead to the second coming of Christ. There are promises yet to be fulfilled. There are hopes yet to be realized. There are circumstances all around which make us cry out for salvation’s completion. We are not so different from those Old Testament saints, after all. The earth groans for redemption, and our heavy hearts groan along with it, whispering, “Come, Lord Jesus.” And yet our whispers are not without comfort and joy. For the same God who stooped to take on our flesh will one day come to reign over all. He will put things to right. He will put us to right. This is the promise we now hold, along with a reassurance from our Saviour that brings light to dark days – “Fear not!”

It is this focus that reminds us we are still pilgrims on a journey. It is this focus which lifts our heads in hope in times of fear and doubt. It is this focus which allows us to see there is more to come, and that Christmas may be a beautiful word, but it is not the last word.

Advent says to us, “You want to see clearly? Begin here. Begin by looking doubly at Christ.”

Have you ever done that experiment where you close one eye and try to complete a task that requires depth perception? We did this in high school. With one eye closed, we had to extend our arm and try to drop a nail (I think it was a nail? Why was it a nail?) into a small styrofoam cup. Without the benefit of both eyes open, we lost what is called “stereoscopic vision.” We had no depth perception. For most of us, the nail went clanging to the floor.

Perhaps more than ever, we need spiritual stereoscopic vision.

When we look doubly at Jesus, we place ourselves right where we ought to be – in the reality between the Incarnation and the Glorious Appearing. We are people who must live between these great poles of history, held up between fulfillment and expectation, in the necessary tension of a kingdom that is both “already” and “not yet.”

We begin by reminding ourselves not only of the origins of our faith in a humble manger, but by reminding ourselves of the end. Not the end of all things, but of this broken world as we know it. We know Jesus Christ will once again reappear and redefine our entire reality. We begin with the knowledge that our Future in Christ is drawing us on, calling us to be conformed to an image that is eternal.

It is only by looking at both “comings” do we see Christ clearly. It is only with both eyes wide open that we gain the perspective needed to walk ahead into a new season, and a new year. This is how we can aim for what is good and not have it all come crashing to the floor. 

This is the vision Advent has to offer. 

If you would like to walk through this Advent with one of the ancients, might I suggest the Advent devotional Abraham's Advent: A Stranger's Journey to Bethlehem and Beyond? It is my hope that this little book will help keep things in focus in the weeks leading up to Christmas. 

~lg

It's here!!

Abraham's Advent: A Stranger's Journey to Bethlehem and Beyond is now available as an ebook!

CLICK HERE to read more about this project and get your copy!

These Advent days

We live between His comings, lighting our candles, thankful for the fire given, longing for a day when darkness is dispelled finally.

Day and night repeat their arms-length dance, and we try to keep in step, keep in rhythm with the moments given, the tasks at hand, the rising and setting of heavenly lights.

We look for flickers of peace, flashes of joy, smiling across the table in the hopeful glow, knowing that love is a strike anywhere match, and we must keep igniting in the dark or else perish.

We look and long and live and love, and this is the light of these Advent days.


~lg

The first of this coming

And the first we felt of you was not the strong healer’s arm or even the babe in arms – but here, a flutter of feet within. Yes, we held you hidden before we beheld your glory. First, first, a kick from inside, and we wondered, could that be you? And then it came again, and we smiled full. For we had the inclination, the hope of your being there, but now the evidence of the thing unseen!

You begin your descent as the smallest of seeds, emerging from a holy shadow. The immaculate whisper of conception before the joyful shout of arrival. Your coming to us is from the inside out. We do not need to be merely decorated with the divine. All the glitter of heaven could not light up our blackened hearts. But the Most High became the most low, the Light of the world implanted, incarnate in the dark womb of the soul.

And we feel you turning, twisting, growing till there is no denying your presence, and the only way to see you is our own turning inside out – for we are changed most by birth – and when all hope of containing you is futile, then and here is your coming.

~lg

The Coming Again

This is miracle – that he comes again.

Now, even while I am running, he comes out of the warm house,
door flung open, running after me,
bare feet, short sleeves in the cold night.
He is smiling, white teeth flashing in the dark, eyes sparkling,
lit up with a strange joy,
all the more shocking when I realize it is joy to see me.

But how can this be?
How can he come again even when the No has just escaped my lips, and I am still escaping him?
How can he be standing here on the icy ground with that grin, stopping me in my tracks with that light in his eyes?
How can grace be so ridiculous?

His feet must be freezing. And the cold squeezing my chest begins to melt.
He is here – no matter where I run, he just keeps running too.
He just keeps coming.
Here, to me, with me.

This is the miracle of Christmas. That he comes again and again.


~lg

The Coming

You came, and I ran away.
I tried, I tried to say yes, but I’m no Mary.
I don’t know how to make room when everything else is crowding in.

All this waiting, and I was not ready.

And now what?
Will you come again?
And if you do,
will you create the space that can open up to let you in?
Will you make me Mary?


~lg

a time for longing

Advent.

I put myself in the place of longing. Back to a time before God pulled on the clothes of earth, back to our own nakedness. I remember the cries of a people enslaved – how long, oh Lord? I imagine the dark of the silent shadow, empty ears, blind eyes. I turn back the pages and enter the story that began before my own. I do this to remember where we came from, who we were without Him. I do this so joy will be all the sweeter in the morning.

But the time of longing is not only past. The earth groans still beneath my weary feet, aches with the weight of a laboring world. For glory shone around, but glory also resides in the hidden places – the crook of a musty manger, the splinters of a shameful cross. In this time, sorrow and singing mingle together, yet hope’s song can always be heard above the rest. We are still waiting for another advent, when heaven and earth will be united once and for all in the God-Man.

Oh Emmanuel! Come, come . . . 

~lg

Advent Playlist

Sometimes, I need to wait. I need the anticipation, the longing, the not-yet-here, so I can rejoice fully when fulfillment arrives.

I love Christmas music. Not Rudolph and Chestnuts Roasting so much as the sacred and celebratory songs of Christ. It's just the best music! I can't possibly wait till Christmas Day to turn on the tunes, like some people who celebrate Advent do. But this year I made an Advent playlist. It's for the beginning of Advent, and for the days I want to feel longing instead of celebration. I found it a bit challenging to find Advent specific songs, but here's what I've come up with from my music library.


Messiah: Overture - Handel
Come Thou Long Expected Jesus - Chris Tomlin (Glory In the Highest)
Veni Veni Emmanuel - Hayley Westenra (Winter Magic)
Mao Tzur (Rock of Ages) - Fred Penner (The Season)
Forever Will I Sing (Psalm 89) - John Michael Talbot (25 Songs of Christmas Vol 2)
Messiah: Comfort Ye My People - Handel
Messiah: Every Valley Shall Be Filled - Handel
Messiah: And the Glory of the Lord - Handel
When the Time is Right - Ginny Owens (One Silent Night)
You'll Come - Hillsong Chapel (Yahweh)
Messiah: Behold a Virgin Shall Conceive - Handel
Messiah: O Thou That Tellest Good Tidings to Zion - Handel
He Shall Be Born - Wendy & Mary (25 Songs of Christmas Vol 2)
I Choose You - Rachel Lampa (One Silent Night)
My Soul Magnifies the Lord - Chris Tomlin (Glory in the Highest)
The Magnificat - John Michael Talbot (25 Songs of Christmas Vol 2)
O Come O Come Emmanuel - Instrumental (One Silent Night)
Breath of Heaven - Point of Grace
Messiah: Come Unto Him - Handel, National Philharmonic Orchestra (25 Songs)
Liese Rieselt Der Schnee (Softly Falls the Snow) - Fred Penner (The Season)
Dona Nobis Pacem - Yo-Yo Ma (Songs of Joy and Peace)
Messiah: For Behold a Darkness Shall Cover the Earth - Handel
Messiah: The People That Walked in Darkness - Handel
Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence - Fernando Ortega (Storm)
Emmanuel (Hallowed Manger Ground) - Chris Tomlin (Glory In the Highest)

-Messiah selections recorded by the London Philharmonic Orchestra & Choir unless noted otherwise

The fifth candle

We awake to pure, white light. It streams in through the windows yet seems also to shine from somewhere within the house. Is it morning? Is midnight? All the candles are burning brightly – the beckoning flicker of hope, love’s steady flame, joy’s merry blaze and the comforting glow of peace. Their flames surround us, holding us in their circle, but they pale in comparison to this fifth candle. We see now it is the source of their light.

Is it a candle or is it the sun? We rise in wonder to behold this glory. Truly, we have never seen light till this moment. This is true Light, the Light that gives life to all. The Dayspring from on high has visited us, and our eyes are open for the first time to the infinite spectrum of grace.

We search for the centre of this light, but at every turn it is just as bright. And then we are aware of a pulsing warmth, and it is radiating out of us. We look down at our chests and see that our hearts are on fire. It is the Christ-candle.

We have been led to this place, not merely to find a refuge from the weather, but so that God might make his home in us. This overwhelming dawn will be with us always. We need not fear the cold. As we step out into a world of dazzling white, we carry the Light with us.


And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.


~lg

An Advent prayer from the Northumbria Community

An evening prayer for blessing during Advent

God of the watching ones,
give us Your benediction.

God of the waiting ones,
give us Your good word for our souls.

God of the watching ones,
the waiting ones,
the slow and suffering ones,
give us Your benediction,
Your good word for our souls,
that we might rest.

God of the watching ones,
the waiting ones,
the slow and suffering ones,

and of the angels in heaven,

and of the child in the womb,

give us Your benediction,
Your good word for our souls,
that we might rest and rise
in the kindness of Your company.


~ from Celtic Daily Prayer From the Northumbria Community

The fourth candle

Lift up your eyes and see the fourth candle. Peace is the moon, gentle and bright. When the carols fade and we fall contented into bed, its countenance shines full upon us, a steady nightlight over the whole earth. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid, it whispers. It whispers to those who are far off, drawing them nigh, into this snug house. It settles over our hearts like falling snow, blanketing us with a comfort beyond comprehension.

Peace is what remains when the party is over, guiding us all through the silent night. Sleep my child and peace attend thee . . .


~lg