Sunday, December 22 – the Fourth Sunday of Advent

The Abbey's Advent wreath

Although last Sunday was Gaudete Sunday, the pink clouds scudding past the windows of the Abbey Church this morning reminded me to rejoice, that the Lord was near. We heard from prophet Isaiah the words, (Is.42:20) This made me think about the difficulty we have in perceiving God’s presence in our world and in our lives. This has always been true of God’s people, which is why it was necessary to send the prophets. As Christians, we believe that Jesus had given us the definitive message; yet, why do most of us still find it difficult to live in a way that is open to God’s voice speaking to us. The Christian calendar sets aside the weeks of Advent to help us listen more attentively for the coming of God’s Word, not just at Christmas, but every day of our lives. It is more than ironic that, in the 21^st century, this is hardly possible. Advent has become the absolute opposite of a time of quiet preparation. In our society, it is a time of hectic preparation for the Christmas holiday – shopping, decorating, baking and socializing in advance of Christmas. Small wonder that so many of us secretly arrive at the 25^th with a sense of relief.

Annunciation by Fra Angelico

On the Fourth Sunday of Advent, the Church sets before us in a special way the image of Mary, the model disciple. In classic Western art, Mary is almost always pictured at prayer when the Angel Gabriel arrives with the message of the Incarnation. I have always found it important to recall that the word ‘angel’ derives from the Greek word ‘angelos”, which simply means ‘messenger’. Gabriel comes to Mary with a message from God. Usually Mary is portrayed as reading the Scriptures when the message comes, yet our minds are more often drawn to the extra-terrestrial being in the room with her. This is unfortunate, because it distracts us from a very important message – God spoke to Mary and wants to speak to us through his revealed word, both in the person of Jesus Christ and in the Scriptures. God spoke to Mary’s heart long before Gabriel’s appearance. As St. Augustine put it, back in the 5^th century, “Mary, full of grace, first conceived Jesus in her heart before she conceived him in her womb."

I think what that means is that Mary was the opposite of those whom Isaiah chastised for seeing “many things without perceiving” and whose “ears are open without taking note.”  Mary lived in a state of attentiveness and openness to God’s word, so that, when Gabriel finally came, she may have been surprised, but she could not have been shocked. I like to think of her as having lived so closely with God in his revealed Word and in the customs of her people, that it would have been a pleasant surprise. Her whole life up to this point had been a preparation for this moment. Her “Yes”, though not without some apprehension, reflected the confidence of one who trusted fully in the other.

Mary, from the Abbey's creche

Mary, of course, was unique among all humans who have ever existed. Still, we know that God has created each one of us to accept His plan for us. How can we be as attentive and responsive as Mary? The obstacles are probably more profound than ever. With the omnipresence of modern technology, the opportunities for true silence have become rarer than ever. It takes an act of will to create such opportunities for silence. God speaks to us, as he spoke to Mary, in our own voices. If our brain is always crammed with the voices of others, how can we hear God’s voice? How can we become people who “perceive and take note” of what God wants to say to us. That is the challenge.

The Winter Solstice

My seat in the abbey church faces due east where there is a large window. At this time of year in Advent, when I arrive at my place for matins at a little before 6:30 a.m., what I see in that window is black sky. If it is clear, I might see a star or some other celestial body low on the horizon. The bell rings and the night silence is broken by the words, “O Lord open my lips and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.” For monks, that is the beginning of the new day, a new day of grace. We ask God, the Creator of heaven and earth, to open our mouths to praise the one who is the author of all good gifts.  Most of all, by the very fact that we are standing here in choir, we praise God for the gift of another day of life. As we pray the psalms, the black sky gently changes to a blue-black. The same color of my favorite ink back when we still used fountain pens. Then, almost imperceptibly, the sky begins to lighten enough that I can make out the shape of a large evergreen on the lawn outside the abbey church. By now, we are listening to a reading that has been chosen to help us reflect on the feast or the season. At the bottom of the window, the sky is a pale blue. Sunrise is not far off. We are at the high point of the office; we are singing the Benedictus, the Gospel canticle of Zechariah. Every day we pray the same words “In the tender compassion of Our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.” And here we are, waiting for the sun to shine on us who have spent so many hours in the darkness, eagerly anticipating the joy that light and warmth will bring.

It might seem odd to start a blog about gardening on the shortest day of the year, but it does seem appropriate to me. On the darkest day of the year, there is virtually nothing growing here in Northern New Jersey. So, in one sense, we are starting at zero. My intention is to chronicle the gardening year from start to finish, so, today is both the end of the previous year and the beginning of the next. In that sense, this is an ideal place to start. Trust me, though, progress will be quite slow for a while! I hope you will stay with me, though