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Hello to all. The old hymn says that

Advent tells us Christ is near,
Christmas tells us Christ is here!
In Epiphany we trace
All the glory of His grace.

The movement from proximity to presence—and then extended enjoyment—is carved crisply into the liturgical year. First we become like 'them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death'; then we follow the star to 'find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger'; then we 'kneel down, and pay him homage', and finally like the kings of Tarshish and the isles 'open our treasure chests'. Advent isn't quite a season of gloom, even in the times of amber-frozen allegedly pristine Anglicanism, but its traditional foci are Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell rather than Discounts, Jingle Bells, and 'Happy Holidays'.

This is the way Christians have always met the dayspring from on high who visits us and redeems us in accordance with God's ancient promises. This is the way we have always learned about Jesus and what John Keble called 'His peculiar presence and covenant'. This is how we have always moved from the beginning of a new year on Advent I through Christmas through Circumcision through Epiphany through Lent I through Palm Sunday through Easter through Ascension through Whitsun through Trinity Last. You can't get from one place in the succession without going through the others.

Our ancient covenant, no less than those made with Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Moses, and David, is rooted in events that happen in a specific order to peculiar people. Our binding to ourselves of the mighty acts of the Lord are the way in which this covenant happens for us and to us, in us and with us:

Christ's incarnation;
His baptism in Jordan river,
His death on Cross for my salvation;
His bursting from the spicèd tomb,
His riding up the heavenly way,
His coming at the day of doom.

To judge by our experiences in the last week before Advent, though, nobody much seems to care for the process of unfolding love that the church year provides. On the Wednesday before Advent, bank tellers and shopkeepers had already begun to wish us Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Happy Christmas and the like. We're never sure how to respond in such cases. Should we say a polite 'Thank you' and take our change, despite the constant albeit unintended violence to one of our religion's holiest seasons? Does that fail to accept the astonishingly premature Christmas wishes in the undoubtedly sincere spirit in which they are likely given? Should we deliver dour lines such as 'May you have an holy Advent, giving thanks for this time given us to contemplate life "under the aspect of eternity"' whilst we key in our PIN for credit card authorisations and take away our books and socks and scarves and shirts?  In long Anglican Christian lives, we've still not quite figured this one out. We'd like to be more like we imagine those loving Advent-lovers Evelyn Underhill and Jeremy Taylor would have been in such situations, and we're afraid we often come off more like Ebenezer Scrooge.

Considering all that and the retail Santas, Advent is here. It's one of our favourite times, not least because it takes some work to carry it secretly and meaningfully within our hearts. It's the time of holy waiting we need to get ready for the songs of angels, and the opening of treasures. We're glad we're here in this tired old New Covenant of ours, which by our best lights still 'containeth all things necessary for salvation'.

Advent tells us Christ is near, so let's get ready inside and out.

 

From Anglicans Online.............

Faithfully,

 Jeanne+