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“O Emmanuel, king and lawgiver, desire of the nations, Savior of all people, come and set us free, Lord our God.” _{(O Antiphon for Dec 23rd)}

The sequence of antiphons this week culminates today in what is one of the most outrageous claims ever made.

I was reading someone not too long ago who was speaking of the dangers that have historically been encountered whenever believers try to shift the focus of Christianity from the Passion/Resurrection to the Incarnation. Though the details escape me at this point, I recall it being a compelling read. But the tendency it criticized, if we can call it that, is also one that I am sympathetic to.

Part of that sympathy comes from the simple fact that the Passion & Resurrection take their distinctive character from the fact of the Incarnation – in other words, that they are dependent on it for their own ontological meaning. But it is also because the doctrine of the Incarnation is just so wildly exhilarating. The idea that the Creator becomes part of (and hence one with) His creation is mind-boggling, and casts a glow of sacredness and goodness over the whole creation – especially over the human race. Words would fail to describe what it would be to stand in the presence of the God-man.

We live in a world infatuated with celebrity. We put our faith in celebrities to save us from whatever it is we think concerns us. The news outlets in the Boston area are all atwitter tonight over a star free agent first baseman signing with the Yankees instead of the Red Sox. Well, there goes the joy, for sure. Court jesters and talent-poor troubadours bask in glory as they lead social movements to eliminate unwanted human beings while saving the polar ice caps. The leader of the free world gets elected on charm and charisma…

And to think that there once was a man born who was actually worthy of this kind of adulation. And to think that, through the Passion and resurrection, he is with us still, inviting us to partake of himself in Communion.

Embracing the Incarnation without the Passion might lead us to utopianism, but we shouldn’t lose our wonder and astonishment at the birth of God in a stable – and we sure shouldn’t be ready to trade the real deal for the cheap imitation of celebrity.

“O King of all the nations, the only joy of every human heart; O Keystone of the mighty arch of man, come and save the creature you fashioned from the dust.” _{(O Antiphon for Dec 22nd)}

I find the notion expressed in today’s antiphon the most difficult to see my way clear to. The others all seem to allow a kind of “religious” perspective to them. I don’t mean by that to contrast the obvious political character of today’s idea against “religion” as a non-political aspect of life – nothing could be further from the truth. I do not see how political life can be lived apart from religion, and political approaches that intend to marginalize religion cannot suppress “religion” itself, but only religious virtues and particular religious character – leaving an impoverished shell in place that is not non-religion, but a caricature of religion, set in the service of the prevailing ideology. No society is possible without some kind of shared framework of values and belief.

Instead, what I mean by “religious perspective” is almost the same thing as saying they have a political perspective. What I mean is that they can be viewed as particular, in some way, to a people who are not whomever they are not. What I mean is that there are ways to see them in a less-than-catholic light. That’s simply not the case with the antiphon today.

In proclaiming Christ “King of all the nations,” there is only an “us” to be found – there is no “them.” In this view, there is really only one relationship of complete otherness, and that is the relationship between God and His People, and even that is transcended in Christ, as we explicitly celebrate in tomorrow’s antiphon.

“O Radiant Dawn, splendor of eternal light, sun of justice: come, shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.” _{(O Antiphon for Dec 21st)}

Natick, Massachusetts has been buried under a stubborn snowstorm over the past 48 hours or so, and it seems to have been a while since the light of dawn has made its presence felt. The feeling intensifies when I open my window to the world, and peer out at what is happening in my society today.

Christ, as the Sun of Justice, not only judges in righteousness, but also illuminates. For the second day in a row, the antiphon references the plight of those “who dwell in darkness and in the shadow of death” (Lk 1:79). This seems strangely appropriate as I look on the spectacle unfolding around Barack Obama’s invitation to Rick Warren to pray the invocation at Obama’s inauguration ceremony in January.

When I first saw the swirling blurbs of a scandal brewing, I immediately assumed that conservative Evangelicals (often wary of Rick Warren anyway) were inveighing against Warren for accepting the invitation, and therein supplying Obama’s image machine with a pretense of mainstream Evangelicalism’s accommodation of Obama’s notoriously radical and unholy social agenda. I will confess to having had some initial pangs of sympathy with that perspective (no doubt partly fueled by my own ambivalence toward Warren, whom I rightly or wrongly see as more of a best-selling promoter of self-help religion than a prophetic Christian witness), but I soon concluded that such reactionaryism was unwarranted – recognizing that the requirement to pray for and honor public leaders is not conditioned upon their policy aims – nor even their character.

How profoundly shocked I was, once I bit on some of the story teases, to learn that the outrage was coming from the left! Warren’s rejection of the “gay marriage” ploy is apparently enough to constitute him as a “bigot” unfit to give such a solemn invocation. But I have to ask, what does that make every other minister who has ever given the invocation for the Presidential office? For that matter, what does it make virtually every single human being who has ever populated this sorry planet?

Shine upon those in darkness and the shadow of death, indeed, O Light of Dawn.

“O Key of David, O royal Power of Israel controlling at your will the gate of Heaven: Come, break down the prison walls of death for those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death; and lead your captive people into freedom.” _{(O Antiphon for Dec. 20th)}

The antiphon today focuses on the authority of Christ:

The Holy One, the True One, the One who has the key of David, who opens and no one will close, and closes and no one opens _{Revelation 3:7 (HCSB)}

No small part of a genuine faith in Christ must be in the hope that His authority is real and actual. It’s not entirely evident that such is the case. We proclaim Him King (not just King-elect), and we know His law well enough, yet it is abundantly clear that He is not calling the shots in this world on a day-to-day basis – or at least that few people pay Him much heed.

It will not suffice to say that His time of authority within the historical sphere is yet to come, for the Gospel tells us plainly that He delegated His authority, to Peter (cf Mt 16:19), precisely for the sake of being exercised “on earth,” within history. Yet, even many Christians do not recognize that authority in Peter, insofar as the Petrine authority continues to be delegated down through the generations in history. Protests that the delegation of authority was intended to be less personal and more broadly apostolic are empty, because – even if this were true – were every bishop in the world to speak with one voice, the world would still yawn – along with many self-styled Christians, Catholic or otherwise.

The fact remains that the manifestation of Christ’s authority, delegated or not, seems far off. It is this manifestation that we pray for when we say “Come, Lord.” But we should not be so naive as to think that the judgment executed at His coming will be as indifferent to justice as is the contemporary scene which ignores His authority (delegated or not). And if that is true, then should we be so eager for His coming? For whether we are prepared for judgment ourselves or not, should we be so indifferent to the judgment of others as to seek the coming of the Lord in times which are so notoriously unjust and indifferent to Christ’s Lordship?

“O Flower of Jesse’s stem, you have been raised up as a sign for all peoples; kings stand silent in your presence; the nations bow down in worship before you. Come, let nothing keep you from coming to our aid.” _{(O Antiphon for Dec. 19th)}

The idea of the “root of Jesse” in Scripture is an interesting one, with a meaning that seems a bit fluid. The natural meaning of “root” is, unsurprisingly, a source or foundation. But as imagery, it beckons to new growth coming forth from a devastated stump – as if that which grows from the root can be called the root, in the same way that people carry the names of their ancestors.

Jesus, however, confounds this meaning a bit more in Mt 22:45 (and related) when he says: “If David calls Him ‘Lord,’ how then can the Messiah be his Son?” (HCSB). This seems to validate the literary usage of “root” as more than associative imagery, but as an image that, just like the Christ Himself, takes on characters both etiological and eschatological.

Anyway, looking back at the natural meaning of the term, I attended my kids’ school’s Christmas Concert this Tuesday. The concert departed from the usual Christmas script quite a bit, and instead looked back at the broader story of God’s revelation to His people, beginning with the creation, and skimming through salvation history. One of the highlights was a song about Ruth.

The song, naturally enough, focused on the greatness of Ruth’s character, as seen in her devotion to Naomi, to Naomi’s people, and to Naomi’s God. It struck me how much of that same fierce loyalty seems to have made it into the blood of David, as he demonstrates in his devotion to Saul, to Jonathan, and to the Lord. There’s a lot of Ruth in David, and I have little doubt that the contemporaries of the young Jesus said something similar of Him: “there’s a lot Mary in that boy.” The apple never falls far from the tree, indeed.

O Sacred Lord of ancient Israel, who showed yourself to Moses in the burning bush, and gave him the holy law on Sinai mountain: come, stretch out your mighty hand to set us free. _{(“O Antiphon” for December 18th)}

I must admit: it is hard, in my circumstances, to relate meaningfully to the desire to be set free. I guess I have it pretty good. Freedom is, ostensibly at least, the fundamental principle of modern democracies. We not only don’t lack it, we could hardly get away from it. One could make, I think, a convincing argument that we have so much freedom, it is problematic.

In a certain sense, I know so much freedom that I become complacent, unable to see well enough past the easy life to notice the darkened corners of creation awaiting the visit of God’s mighty hand. In another sense, freedom is so pervasive that it is vulgarized, reduced to the ability to get away with irresponsibility.

As I was reaching the end of my agonizingly long ride home from work tonight, I was listening to a lecturer reflecting on Jean Paul Sartre’s take on freedom and responsibility. I surely can’t agree with Sartre on everything, but I think he was right on target in his understanding that we are always free, in that we always have choices to make as subjects, and that even seemingly overwhelming constraints in our circumstances never force us into specific responses as persons, as beings. The upshot to that is that there is no legitimacy in the constant refrain of excuses people make for their behaviors. We should not confuse expediencies for necessities.

The concluding prayer to today’s offices implores God to set us free from sin, and there can be no argument that I, like you, am by no means free from it. But I think Sartre’s point is well taken, and that even a total enslavement to sin is still a totally free disposition, in that it is freely chosen by the sinner. What we call compulsiveness is not truly compulsion, even when we have debased ourselves through chronic submission to a point of servile reactionaryism and passivity.

There is a sense in which freedom is an eschatological promise, yes, but it is also a fierce responsibility in this time of trial. We are burdened bearers of the awesome dignity of freedom, and we have no excuses. We call for Him to come, but will he find faith on earth? _{(cf Luke 18:8)}

O Wisdom, O holy Word of God, you govern all creation with your strong yet tender care; come and show your people the way to salvation.

Today, we enter more intensely into the Advent season – the Octave before Christmas – as the final week of preparation begins for the celebration of God’s breaking into human history as a fully vested member of that history. The “O Antiphons” are highlighted in the liturgy now, until Christmas eve.

These ancient acclamations are best known in the form they take as the verses of the venerable hymn “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” In order, roughly translated, they are: O Wisdom; O Lord; O Root of Jesse; O Key of David; O Light of Dawn; O King of Nations; O Emmanuel (God with us).

In the Latin: O Sapientia; O Adonai; O Radix Jesse; O Clavis David; O Oriens; O Rex Gentium; O Emmanuel. The first letter of each, in the Latin, is S-A-R-C-O-R-E. When the order is inverted, they spell Ero Cras, which can be translated “Tomorrow I will be (there),” a Divine answer to the Church’s plea, in each prayer, for the Savior to come.

“To us the path of knowledge show” we sing to Wisdom in the hymn, while the world around us prattles on about the arrival of knowledge workers in the information age. But the words of Isaiah from the first reading of the First Sunday in Advent haunt me still: “There are none who call upon your name.” The world, indeed, has grown weary of God, has found better things to rejoice in, has reverted even to seeking the answers to life’s riddles in the marvels and complexities of nature – and the words of an ancient Jewish sage indicts the world that waits for Santa Claus and forgets the name of God, while toying with the manufacture and destruction of human life:

Wisdom 13:1-9 (NAB)

    For all men were by nature foolish who were in ignorance of God,
        and who from the good things seen did not succeed in knowing
           him who is,
        and from studying the works did not discern the artisan;

    But either fire, or wind, or the swift air,
        or the circuit of the stars, or the mighty water,
        or the luminaries of heaven, the governors of the world,
           they considered gods.

    Now if out of joy in their beauty they thought them gods,
        let them know how far more excellent is the Lord than these;
        for the original source of beauty fashioned them.

    Or if they were struck by their might and energy,
        let them from these things realize how much more powerful
           is he who made them.

    For from the greatness and the beauty of created things
        their original author, by analogy, is seen.

    But yet, for these the blame is less;
    For they indeed have gone astray perhaps,
        though they seek God and wish to find him.

    For they search busily among his works,
        but are distracted by what they see,
           because the things seen are fair.

    But again, not even these are pardonable.

    For if they so far succeeded in knowledge
        that they could speculate about the world,
        how did they not more quickly find its LORD? 

Comfort, comfort my people.

2nd Sunday in Advent, Year B

Isaiah 40:1-5, 9-11 (NAB)

¹ Comfort, give comfort to my people, says your God. ² Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and proclaim to her that her service is at an end, her guilt is expiated; Indeed, she has received from the hand of the LORD double for all her sins. ³ A voice cries out: In the desert prepare the way of the LORD! Make straight in the wasteland a highway for our God! ⁴ Every valley shall be filled in, every mountain and hill shall be made low; The rugged land shall be made a plain, the rough country, a broad valley. ⁵ Then the glory of the LORD shall be revealed, and all mankind shall see it together; for the mouth of the LORD has spoken. ⁹ Go up onto a high mountain, Zion, herald of glad tidings; Cry out at the top of your voice, Jerusalem, herald of good news! Fear not to cry out and say to the cities of Judah: Here is your God! ¹⁰ Here comes with power the Lord GOD, who rules by his strong arm; Here is his reward with him, his recompense before him. ¹¹ Like a shepherd he feeds his flock; in his arms he gathers the lambs, Carrying them in his bosom, and leading the ewes with care.

2Peter 3:8-14 (NAB)

⁸ But do not ignore this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years and a thousand years like one day. ⁹ The Lord does not delay his promise, as some regard “delay,” but he is patient with you, not wishing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance. ¹⁰ But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a mighty roar and the elements will be dissolved by fire, and the earth and everything done on it will be found out. ¹¹ Since everything is to be dissolved in this way, what sort of persons ought (you) to be, conducting yourselves in holiness and devotion, ¹² waiting for and hastening the coming of the day of God, because of which the heavens will be dissolved in flames and the elements melted by fire. ¹³ But according to his promise we await new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells. ¹⁴ Therefore, beloved, since you await these things, be eager to be found without spot or blemish before him, at peace.

Mark 1:1-8 (NAB)

¹ The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ (the Son of God). ² As it is written in Isaiah the prophet: “Behold, I am sending my messenger ahead of you; he will prepare your way. ³ A voice of one crying out in the desert: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths.’ ” ⁴ John (the) Baptist appeared in the desert proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. ⁵ People of the whole Judean countryside and all the inhabitants of Jerusalem were going out to him and were being baptized by him in the Jordan River as they acknowledged their sins. ⁶ John was clothed in camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist. He fed on locusts and wild honey. ⁷ And this is what he proclaimed: “One mightier than I is coming after me. I am not worthy to stoop and loosen the thongs of his sandals. ⁸ I have baptized you with water; he will baptize you with the holy Spirit.”

If Advent is a time of hopeful waiting, the readings for the second Sunday give a good indication of what kind of waiting it is. I dare say that it has little in common with the sentiment of cherub-faced children seen peering out of frosted windows in wondrous winter anticipation that is such common stock on the covers of catalogs that fill the mailbox at this time of year. The “comfort” called for (naham ) is that which is often offered to mourners. It is often used as a messianic promise as well, but not with the idea of making people feel better so much as to transform them. In fact, in certain forms, the word is widely translated as “repent.” We could say that this comforting refers to an act of being moved with pity or compassion.

The idea clearly is that the coming of God is for the purpose of saving His people from tangible distress. There’s no escaping that our waiting is a period of trial – at least if we take the Scriptures seriously. We see a sign of this in the lifestyle of John the Baptist, who prepared the way for the long-awaited Comfort, or Consolation, of Israel, as Simeon shows us in Luke’s Gospel (c.f. Lk 2:25).And yet, like Simeon, we too await the Consolation. Even though we live under the Seal of the Promise, we too await the Lord’s patient wish that “all should come to repentance” and consolation.

The picture Peter paints is one that seems to me to be quite thoroughly ignored – the picture of everything being dissolved by fire in the Lord’s return. There is a popular tendency to equate heaven with eternity, and to overlook the material aspect of the promise (a new earth). Scripture is quite clear that the end is a new heavens and a new earth; that “Heaven and earth shall pass away” (Mt 24:35).

And so I wonder exactly what it is that we await. On the one hand, it seems exciting, but then I recall that the Lord saw fit to call his followers to vigilance (Mt 25:13, Mk 13:33; Lk 12:37; etc.), which would hardly seem necessary if the waiting was just wide-eyed expectancy. Nor would it seem necessary if the outcome were a certainty. Advent is nothing if not an invitation to shed any complacency.