The "O" Antiphons: December 17-23

The "O" Antiphons are antiphons used to introduce the Magnificat canticle at Vespers on the last seven days of Advent.

Each antiphon is a name of Christ, one of his attributes mentioned in Scripture:


December 17:   O Sapientia (O Wisdom)
December 18:   O Adonai (O Lord)
December 19:   O Radix Jesse (O Root of Jesse)
December 20:  O Clavis David (O Key of David)
December 21:   O Oriens (O Dayspring)
December 22:  O Rex Gentium (O King of the nations)
December 23:  O Emmanuel (O God is with Us)


In the Roman Catholic tradition, the "O" Antiphons are sung or recited at Vespers from December 17 through December 23.
They have been traditionally used in the Church of England at Evening Prayer during this period, though not printed in the Book of Common Prayer. More recently they have found a place in primary liturgical documents throughout the Anglican Communion, including The Episcopal Church. The "O" Antiphons also occur in many Lutheran churches. In the Book of Common Worship published by the Presbyterian Church (USA), the antiphons can be read as a praise litany at Morning or Evening Prayer.


The hymn O come, O come, Emmanuel, or Veni Emmanuel, is a lyrical paraphrase of these antiphons. The first letters of the titles taken backwards form a Latin acrostic: "Ero cras" which translates to "Tomorrow, I will come", mirroring the theme of the antiphons.


The exact origin of the "O" Antiphons is unknown. Boethius (480–524/5) made some reference to them, thus suggesting their presence in his time. At the Benedictine Abbey of Saint Benedict at Fleury, now Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire, these antiphons were recited by the abbot and the other monks in descending rank, after which a gift was given to each member of the community. By the 8th century they were used in the liturgical celebrations in Rome. Usage of the antiphons was so prevalent in monasteries that the phrases "Keep your 'O'" and "The Great O Antiphons" were common parlance. One may conclude from this that the "O" Antiphons have probably been part of Western liturgical tradition since the very early Church.


The Benedictine monks arranged these antiphons purposefully. If one starts with the last title and takes the first letter of each one — Emmanuel, Rex, Oriens, Clavis, Radix, Adonai, Sapientia—the Latin words ero cras are formed, meaning, "Tomorrow, I will come." This was interpreted as a message to Christians from Jesus, whose coming they prepare for in Advent and whom they have addressed in these seven Messianic titles: "Tomorrow, I will come." Thus the "O" Antiphons not only bring an intensity to Christians' Advent preparation, but are a fitting and joyful conclusion to the season of Advent.

Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe

Dios del poder y la misericordia, bendijo las Américas en Tepeyac 

con la presencia de la Virgen María de Guadalupe. 

Pueda su ayuda de oraciones que todos los hombres y las mujeres 

para aceptar uno al otro como hermanos y hermanas. 

Por su presente de la justicia en los corazones 

puede su reinado de la paz en el mundo. 

Preguntamos esto por nuestro Señor Jesucristo, su Hijo. Amén. 

We Are Glad Indeed!

Gaudete Sunday, as this third Sunday in Advent is called, was designed by the early Church as a “breather” during the four weeks before Christmas.  Though this period had a mildly penitential character early on, that idea has been somewhat modified over the centuries.  The Church chose texts for this Sunday pointing to the joy of anticipation of Jesus’ coming, and changed the penitential purple or violet vestments to rose-colored ones.  

The Scriptures today summon each of us to joy. Psalm 126 sets the tone: “The Lord has done great things for us, and we are glad indeed...Those who go out weeping, carrying the seed, will come again with joy, shouldering their sheaves.” Paul (1 Thessalonians 5:16-24) puts an exclamation mark to that by shouting: “Rejoice always!...” But what does it mean to truly rejoice?  That’s not always easily answered in this often hassled and harried time of the Christmas holiday season when we sing a lot about joy, while many people, particularly this year, face staggering depths of anxiety and depression.

The joy to which the Scriptures refer isn’t the same as pleasure or satiation, nor even the emotional high which we call happiness.  This kind of joy is the steady assurance that our life’s inconsistencies and incongruities can and will be resolved: an assurance that what has already happened and is about to happen enables you and me to sort out life’s conditions.  This kind of joy isn’t delight in possessing something, but delight in the intense reality of being oned with God and of sharing God’s love with one another.

I think it can be safely said that our society today can’t be characterized as a joyful society.  You can figure that out simply by observing people during this season, in the pushing and shoving of the shopping malls or in any other place where people’s guards are down.  There are a lot of bored, distracted, tired people wandering around the malls and streets: certainly not a good advertisement for joy.  

You and I, as a community of faith, though we live as a minority in a primarily joyless culture, are invited to participate in the scandalous, subversive activity of joy.  We’re authorized to do what the society around us is unable or unwilling to do in its sorry weariness.  Genuine Christian joy undermines frantic activity.  It shakes us free from a world that controls us in keeping us constantly fatigued and joyless.  The basis of this alternative activity of rejoicing is the conviction that something special, not yet widely known and/or acknowledged in the world, has been and is being disclosed to us through God’s graciousness.  The good news of God’s Word in Jesus to us, a community of hurt and hope, is that the Promised One has come and is coming: to transform us and our world from the bottom up.  “...He will do it,” says Paul!

Scripture articulates this promised change in concrete terms, proclaiming that a “new heavens and a new earth” will be created; that rejoicing will prevail over weeping and distress; that people’s need will be met; that things will endure; that people’s efforts will bear fruit, not frustration; that they won’t fear violence, for there’ll be harmony and peace.  In a passage which Jesus himself used in the synagogue in Nazareth, Isaiah’s words today (Isaiah 61:1-4; 8-11) speak of healing for those crushed or oppressed or despairing; of the cancelling of debts; and of release for prisoners: of general amnesty for all.  He foresees a total transformation, a newness over which all will rejoice. Such change and transformation, Scripture says, is the work of  “the Spirit of the Lord” who initiates the moves leading to comfort, to resoration, to righteousness, to rejoicing.  It’s the Spirit who brings newness to all those places where everything is hopeless.

Paul is clear in his direction to the Thessalonian Christians: “Do not quench the Spirit.”  This becomes more understandable as you look throughout the whole epistle where the Holy Spirit is seen as the power forming and continuing to transform God’s people.  The Spirit has made the Thessalonian church exceptional and noteworthy in the midst of a world which is dispirited. Paul, therefore, advises them (and us) not to resist or squelch the Spirit in the times of our challenges and suffering.  It’s this “Force”, this resilient free power of God the Holy Spirit who will work an utter newness in us and in a world so closed to God’s breaking through.  As in Genesis, the Spirit blows upon darkness and chaos to make a new creation.  This same holy Spirit now comes to blow upon our hearts and to usher in a new world, a new creation, in us.  This Spirit speaks of newness from God, a newness not at all derived from anything presently available in the world.

In Advent, you and I wait each day for this transforming Spirit whom we, in the tired, bored, joyless, and closed corners of our hearts, finally won’t be able to resist.  The decisive change wrought by God’s Spirit isn’t done in some nebulous heaven.  The Holy Spirit works, here and now, up close and personal, through an identifiable, historical agent: Jesus of Nazareth, confessed to be the Lord who comes.  

There’s a remarkable famous painting of the Crucifixion by Matthias Grunewald in the Museum of Unterlinden in Colmar, Germany. It has a fascinating history, both as to its creation and to its preservation during World War II.   The particular thing I want to point out, though, is the figure of John the Baptizer on the right hand side, poised in a dramatic gesture, pointing his ascetic, bony finger directly at the figure of the suffering Jesus.  

I see that as a sort of icon of what John the Baptizer does in John’s Gospel (John 1:6-8; 19-28) as he identifies Jesus, for the Jerusalem leaders, as “the One whom you do not know.”  The question which we usually focus on (and preach on) in this Gospel is “Who are you?”, asked twice of John the Baptizer.  The leaders of Jerusalem want to find a label for John, to categorize him.  If they name him, they can dismiss him.  But John refuses to play their game.  Deeply aware that “He [Jesus] must increase, but I must decrease”, John, in essence, tells the leaders (and us) that we’re asking the entirely wrong question.  The real question for them and for us is: “Who is Jesus?”, and John’s gesture in the Grunewald painting eloquently reminds us of the answer. Jesus is the One who has come and given everything he has for us, in love. The One who, in dying, sets loose the Spirit of God on us and on the world.  The One who calls us, invites us, to show that same kind of giving love to one another.  The One who will, in the end, draw us all into the completeness of God’s being, which is love.

These last two weeks of the season of Advent might be thought of as the gracious gift of the Spirit of having not only our hopes and expectations, but even the questions which nag us, reframed and reformed.  The Christ is the One among us whom we don’t know, an unseen, unknown Power which disturbs our sense of control and predictability.  He, the Powerful One, won’t fit into the neat boxes that we’ve built for him.  He’s always beyond our comprehension.  We can’t label what God in Christ is doing in our joyless lives so that they can be safely contained, so that we don’t actually have to repent.  The One whom we do not know is already among us through His Spirit, meeting us, inviting us to be one with Him.  He calls us to share John the Baptizer’s role of pointing to the Christ who is the source of our true joy, to embrace the Christ in one another, our neighbor: in compassion, in justice, in love, and, above all, in joy.  

John Damascene: The Golden Speaker (c. 645-749)

St. John of Damascus (Arabic: يوحنا الدمشقي Yuḥannā Al Demashqi was a Syrian monk and priest, born and raised in Damascus, then under Muslim rule.  Before he was ordained, he served as a Chief of Revenue [tax collector!], and as chief logothéte = representative of the local Christians, to the Muslim Caliph of Damascus, as his father had done. 


John was an extremely knowledgeable, versatile thinker and writer whose fields of interest and contributions included law, theology, philosophy, and music. He wrote expositions of the Christian faith, and composed hymns, including several Easter hymns, still in everyday use in Eastern Christian monasteries throughout the world, as well as in the Western Church. 


John Damascene is considered "the last of the Fathers" of the Eastern Orthodox church and is best known for his strong defense of icons, especially during the times of the 8th century Iconoclast controversy, perpetrated by Byzantine Emperor Leo III, the Isaurian's, edict forbidding and ordering the destruction of icons and holy images. John wrote three "apologies" [treatises] against the Iconoclasts [breakers of images] and in defense of holy images.


In the Preface of his work, The Fount of Knowledge/Wisdom, St. John addresses the Bishop of Maiuma, Cosmas, and humbly professes his inadequacy and unworthiness for taking on the bishop's task for him to write the book. Nevertheless, he proclaims: "On the other hand, however, the fruit of disobedience is death, while the humble and obedient man, because he has shown himself to be an imitator of Christ, is led from the lowest place to the highest. He receives from God the grace that illuminates, so that in the opening of his mouth he is filled with the Spirit. He becomes purified in heart and enlightened in understanding. When he opens his mouth, he receives the power of speech and has no concern as to what he shall say, because he is an instrument of the Spirit speaking within him. Therefore, in obedience through you to the Christ who in you exercises the pontifical office, I bow to your request and open my mouth, being confident that through your prayers it will be filled with the Spirit and that I, taking so much as He shall give and speaking this aloud, shall utter eloquently the fruit not of my own understanding but of the Spirit who gives wisdom to the blind." What an eloquent reminder to any of us to whom falls the task of preaching or teaching the Good News of God in Christ!

St. John of Damascus died at the age of 74 at his monastery, Mar Saba, near Jerusalem.

Dec. 8 - Feast of the Conception of Mary, the Theotokos [God-bearer]

On this day we celebrate the feast of the conception of the Virgin Mary by her parents Joachim and Anna. This major festival finds its place in the Church's preparation for Christmas. Christians rejoice in the event by which Mary is conceived in fulfillment of her parents' prayers in order to be formed in the womb, born on the earth, dedicated to the Lord, and nurtured in holiness to become by God's grace the mother of God's Son, Jesus, the Anointed One.

The Roman Catholic Church refers to this feast as the "Immaculate Conception", to affirm that Mary was immaculately conceived in the womb, free of original sin. The Orthodox and Episcopal Church traditions espouse the theology of some ancient theologians who teach that all human beings -- including the Virgin Mary, a human like the rest of us, unlike Jesus who is not only truly human but is also the incarnate Son and Word of God -- are born into a fallen, death-bound, demon-riddled world whose "form is passing away" (1 Corinthians 7:31). We are all born mortal and tending toward sin. Yet, according to this view, humans aren't born guilty of any personal sin, certainly not one allegedly committed "in Adam." Nor are we born "stained" because of the manner in which we're conceived by the sexual union of our parents. Otherwise, if sexual union in marriage is in any sense sinful, or the cause per se of any "stain" of sin, then, as the great Eastern Father St. John Chrysostom has taught, God would be the sinner because God created us this way, male and female, from the beginning.


"Mary is conceived by her parents as we are all conceived. But in her case it is a pure act of faith and love, in obedience to God's will, as an answer to prayer. In this sense her conception is truly "immaculate." And its fruit is woman who remains forever the most pure Virgin and Mother of God."

Come, let us dance in the spirit!

Let us sing worthy praises to Christ!

Let us celebrate the joy of Joachim and Anna,

The conception of the Mother of our God,

For she is the fruit of the grace of God.

An Advent Fantasy

This morning I joined friends at St. George's Chapel at Bishop's Ranch in Healdsburg to share the Advent 2 Eucharist, and it was a wonderfully peaceful experience. I feel that I simply must share in this blog some of the items in the service bulletin. First, from the blessing of the second candle on the Advent wreath: "We light our second candle as a prayer of hope and longing, that God's glory may be revealed on earth, through justice, peace and faithful love. Living God, come to our world. Help us to recognize your presence wherever people speak truth, make peace and show kindness. Amen.
I was feeling a deep sense of "hope and longing", especially when the congregation responded to the Celebrant's call to worship:
"Come and listen, come and sing, come and tell, come and worship. Amen."


The Worship Notes in the back of the bulletin gave a lovely commentary on the two readings, 2 Peter 3:8-15a and Mark 1:1-8: "Our first reading is from 2 Peter, which is quite likely the last of the New Testament books to be written. Some scholars think it was penned in the second century, perhaps a generation after the other writings. Almost everyone thinks it was written, not by Peter, but by someone else who in the custom of the time attributed it to Peter as a way of honoring him. It is written in the literary form of a "Testament," a type of literature of the time that was composed as though it were the dying words of a famous person. A Testament was in a sense another way to honor that person. It offered the person's main teachings and often offered advice on how to cope with impending circumstances after his death. In any case, this letter is full of warnings about false teachers and the ways to counter them. In keeping with the themes of Advent, when we await the coming of Christ (in history, in our own day, and at the end times) this passage depicts the end times and urges folks to take hold of the present moment and live it in peace. (Probably sound advice, whether issued from a death bed or not).


Our second lesson is the beginning of the Gospel of Mark and sets the theme of the whole gospel: 'the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.' That news begins to unfold with the preaching of John the Baptist, Jesus' cousin and one of the great figures of the New Testament. A man accustomed to the wilderness, John worked to prepare the way for the One who 'is coming' by preaching and baptizing folks for the repentance of their sins. He was a locavore, but definitely not a vegan." 


Any number of things in the readings jumped out at me: "...do not ignore this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day. The Lord is not slow about his promise, as some think of slowness, but is patient with you, not wanting any to perish..." "...what sort of people ought you to be in leading lives of holiness and godliness, waiting for and hastening the coming of the day of God..." [what, exactly, is that all about?] The first lines of Mark's Gospel then erupt with: "The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God..." John the Baptizer, to whom I've had great personal devotion since my seminary days long ago, steps forward with a challenge: "Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight..."  Mark presents us with an ascetic, roughly clad, locust-and-wild honey-eating prophet, foretelling with great humility and simplicity the imminent arrival of the Holy One, who will plunge us [baptizo = make whelmed or fully wet; dip] into water as well as Holy Spirit.


As I was driving up Hwy. 101 to The Bishop's Ranch this morning, I spotted several air balloons on the west side, suspended peacefully, quietly aloft. I was trying to imagine the feelings of hope, expectation, anticipation I'd experience if I knew that Jesus the Holy One was on one of those air balloons, conceivably with John the Baptizer in the background at the helm, guiding it gently as it descended, and that I was to have five minutes with Jesus after he landed. What would I say? I think that I'd first welcome Jesus and say how happy and honored I was to be given five minutes of time with him. I'd also greet John the Baptizer who'd probably nod politely as he was tying up the ropes, etc., and surreptiously I'd slip him a small box of prime locusts and ants -- chocolate covered, of course -- after which he might flash a small, knowing smile!


As Jesus and I walked about the landing site I'm sure we'd discuss the state of the world and people's fears and insecurity at this point in time: about problems in the Middle East, about the famine in Africa, about the current upheaval across Europe. Certainly the present state of the United States, with so much uncertainty, joblessness, homelessness, hunger, foreclosures, the sufferings of poor people, the aging, of those with disabilities and mental illness, of the victims of violence and of being taken advantage of, would all come up. But, at the same time, I think I'd let Jesus know how grateful I am for this earth and world, despite how we've abused it; for the never-ending wonder of nature and its cycles, for lush plant and wild life, for the beauty all around us. I'd thank him, too, for the unanticipated wonders of people: the many quiet or hidden acts of kindness and caring; the devotion and dedication of so many parents, men and women in the military, police and fire staff, and medical teams; the freshness, vigor and promise of children and young people; the grace and shared wisdom of senior citizens.


I'd thank him also for the family into which I was born and for each person in it, regardless of how quirky, ornery or unpredictable any of us are! For my daughter who texted me words of "Happy Thanksgiving" recently. For my son who continues to struggle, amid signs of slow progress, with his physical and psychological demons. For my sisters and brothers as they struggle to raise their families in wholesome ways, often against great odds. And I would thank Jesus for communities like the one which meets at St. George's Chapel each Sunday, people who "speak truth, make peace and show kindness", and allow one another to be vulnerable and yet safe, to experience mercy and compassion, and to be inspired to genuine hope and to the desire to go forth and share that hope with others.


Well, Jesus and John didn't actually descend this morning and step off of one of those balloons, sad to say. What I've related above may be a "fantasy", but it was too deeply felt not to be real in essence. Perhaps my feelings on this 2nd Sunday of Advent could best be summarized in the words of the prayer this morning after the Prayers of the People: "God our Sovereign, you are always coming into the world. Come to us now, soon, and forever, and let us receive you as the Child of holiness and the Wind of change, through whom, this day, we pray. AMEN"   

Blessed Nicholas Ferrar (1592-1637): Deacon & Founder of the Little Gidding Community

The inspiration for the Little Gidding Community, as well as its modern expression: the Community of Christ the Sower, came from two remarkable 17th century Christians: Nicholas Ferrar and George Herbert. In 1626 Ferrar, having been educated at Clare Hall, now Clare College, Cambridge, and having made his way in the world as a successful businessman and politician, established a Christian community at Little Gidding, a deserted hamlet in the Huntingdonshire Wolds. The community was based on his own extended family, his mother and elder brother and sister with their respective families forming the core. The old manor house and church were restored, and the community followed a simple pattern of daily worship, labor and fellowship.


George Herbert, renowned British priest-poet and hymn writer, was a contemporary and close friend of Nicholas Ferrar and supported and advised him in the Little Gidding community experiment. Herbert himself had been an ambitious politician and became prebend of Leighton Bromswold, a parish located five miles south of Little Gidding. There Herbert sought to initiate a similar pattern of living and worship within his own vicarage and parish church.


Ferrar and Herbert were deeply convinced that all Christians, whatever their station in life or personal circumstances, were called to a life a regular corporate prayer and intimate spiritual fellowship -- not just monks, nuns and priests. In this they were responding to a vision central to the English Reformation. The simple pattern of daily worship followed the Book of Common Prayer's Morning and Evening Prayer, as condensed and reworked by Thomas Cranmer and his colleagues from the old monastic offices. Both Ferrar and Herbert, in their own individual familial and parish contexts, tried to express this vision in practice: the same vision which later brought into reality the Community of Christ the Sower.


In 1977 a charitable trust bought the old Little Gidding farmhouse, next to the chapel used by the community, and began to build houses around the old farm courtyard. Presently, a group of about 25 people live there, working a small farm and running various workshops and research projects. Other Community members live either in nearby villages or scattered across the country. In 1986 the old manor house at Leighton Bromswold, next to the church, became a community guest house. Originally built by the Duchess of Lennox, George Herbert's patron and supporter, it housed guests who came to visit the Ferrars.


Today the basis of the Community's life is a short service of daily prayer and a simple weekly Communion service, usually held on Saturday evening, sometimes in mid-week. This enables members to still participate in their own parish churches. As many members as are able at Little Gidding and Leighton Bromswold gather for morning prayer. The service is simply designed so that those who work or have young children can easily pray it on their own. In addition, the members meet together each week in groups to share an agape meal. There are also four special yearly services, marking different aspects of the community's life, for which all the members try to come together.


We can catch a glimpse of the simplicity of the Little Gidding Community's prayer life in their Prayer Book's Daily Prayer:


PRAISING
President:  With one voice we give praise to God
People:       To him be eternal glory.
Psalm from the Old Testament
Psalm from the New Testament


LISTENING
President:  We proclaim the good news of God.
People:       May his word dwell in our hearts.
Reading from the Old Testament
Reading from the New Testament
Time of silence


PRAYING
President:   Lord teach us to pray.
The Lord's Prayer
Free prayer
Collect for the week


BLESSING
President:  Let us seek to follow the way of Christ in all we do.
People:       May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with us all. Amen.