Show us the way home Wayfarers all, Lord Hold us in mercy Through this dark night
O God, we wait on you O God, we wait on you
Gather us in Mender of everything Bright mourning dove Rise over all of us
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
It shows the baby Jesus wrapped in a black-and-white checkered keffiyeh (Palestinian headdress) and lying in a pile of rubble while Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, the wise men, and the animals search for him. It is situated at the side of the altar in Bethlehem’s Evangelical Lutheran Christmas Church, which Rev. Dr. Munther Isaac, a prominent Palestinian Christian peacemaker, pastors. He said he wants the world to know that this is what Christmas looks like in Palestine this year, and for his own congregation to know the solidarity of Christ with the oppressed. Al Jazeera ran a news segment on the crèche on Tuesday, which features an interview with Isaac:
Since October 7, over 16,000 Palestinians have been killed by Israeli forces, and almost 1.9 million Palestinians (over 80 percent of the population) have been displaced. Morgues and hospital halls are overflowing in Gaza, and many people remain trapped under buildings felled by air strikes.
“In Gaza today, God is under the rubble. He is in the operating room,” Isaac wrote on Instagram. “If Christ were to be born today, he would be born under the rubble. We see his image in every child killed and pulled from under the rubble. In every child in incubators.” He expanded on these sentiments in a sermon preached October 22, titled “God Is Under the Rubble in Gaza,” reproduced in Sojourners. See also this video clip of Isaac explaining why his church chose to display such a scene in their sanctuary.
BLOG POST: “When a Dragon Tried to Eat Jesus: The Nativity Story We Don’t Talk About” by Chad Bird: “I’m still searching for a Christmas card with a red dragon in the nativity, lurking amidst the cows and lambs, waiting to devour the baby in the manger,” writes Bible scholar Chad Bird [previously]. “None of the Gospels mention this unwelcome visitor to Bethlehem, but the Apocalypse does. John paints a seven-headed, ten-horned red dragon onto the peaceful Christmas canvas. You can read all about it in Revelation 12. It’s the nativity story we don’t talk about. A dragon trying to eat our Lord . . .”
I’ve been wanting to write a long-form essay on this topic for some time—the dragon as a character in the Christmas story; a cosmic battle underlying our cozy little crèches. I would pull in iconography of the Woman of the Apocalypse and the treading of the beasts, as well as some Christmas songs and poems that reference the dragon. I won’t get around to it this season . . . but it’s coming sometime!
For now, I simply offer Chad Bird’s wonderful blog post to get you thinking about it. Since it was published in 2016, I’ve started seeing more people bringing it up. In 2019, Glen Scrivener, a minister in the Church of England, released the kids’ video “There’s a Dragon in My Nativity,” with illustrations by Alex Webb-Peploe and animation by Diego M. Celestino:
In 2020, Rev. Yohanna Katanacho, a Bible professor in Nazareth, wrote “The Christmas Dragon” for Radix, a retelling of the Nativity story through the lens of Revelation 12. And in a Christianity Today article published last December, Julie Canlis recommended adding a red dragon to your nativity set! Apparently some families have been doing this for years, such as the Gowins and the Palpants:
This year I bought a little plastic dragon myself to add to my household nativity! Below are some photos my husband and I took. The clay figurines and adobe-style backdrop were made by Barbara Boyd, an artisan from New Mexico. (I bought them in 2016 at a festival in Albuquerque.)
The dragon was part of a cheap multipack from Amazon, and there are twenty-three other dragons that I don’t know what to do with—so if you live in the US and you want one, shoot me an email at victoria.emily.jones@gmail.com and your physical mailing address and I’ll send you one! The first three respondents get a red one. None of them are seven-headed or horned per Revelation (a gap in the Christmas market, perhaps?!), but they still convey the gist.
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LECTURE: “What Is God’s Future for the World?: An Eschatological Vision for the Kingdom on Earth” by N. T. Wright: This talk on inaugurated eschatology, on heaven and earth coming together redemptively and new-creatively, was delivered at the Fuller Forum at Fuller Theological Seminary on May 3, 2014. Any time we talk, sing, or preach about the return of Christ and the end, Wright says, we’re really using signposts that point into a bright mist. But we need those signposts. Wright seeks to dispel the popular belief that humans’ ultimate destination is some disembodied existence “up there” and instead have us embrace the ancient vision of this world as the site of the Messiah’s eternal reign and these bodies as participants, a vision of creation made new from the old. To believe that God will eventually abandon the world to the forces of human wickedness or entropy and decay instead of claiming it as his own undermines the entire narrative of scripture. Wright makes his case by way of the books of Genesis, Isaiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, the Psalms, the Gospels, Romans, and Revelation—the whole gamut.
“The Jewish vision of God’s ultimate future was never that people would leave this world and end up somewhere else called heaven in the company of God. . . . When eschatology comes into full focus, . . . it is all about God’s kingdom being set up on earth as in heaven, and indeed on earth by means of heaven.” He continues, “Heaven is the place where God’s future purposes are stored. And the New Jerusalem comes down from heaven to earth so that the dwelling of God is with humans.”
There’s so much more I could say—but instead of reading my takeaways, listen to the talk itself! It ends at 1:04:45 and is followed by an hour of Q&A. Here is a list of the questions with time stamps:
1:05:33: What is your reading of 2 Peter 3:10–12, which says that the earth will be burned up?
1:08:18: What does Paul mean in 1 Thessalonians 4:17: “Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will be with the Lord forever”?
1:13:05: Where do you land on premillennialism, amillennialism, postmillennialism?
1:15:42: If earth is already crowded, how will everyone fit in the renewed creation after the resurrection?
1:21:42: If this world is going to be renewed, why should we make economic and lifestyle sacrifices now to protect endangered species and such?
1:24:18: How do you interpret John 14:3: “I go and prepare a place for you; I will come again and take you to myself”?
1:27:48: How do you understand hell? What are your thoughts on the teaching of universal restoration, the idea that everyone will eventually be saved?
1:33:48: Since you take issue with Michelangelo’s Last Judgment, what would you have painted at the east end of the Sistine Chapel instead?
1:34:17: How does Paul’s “now and not yet” correlate with Jesus’s teaching that “this generation will not have passed away before all this has happened” (Matt. 24:34; Mark 13:30; Luke 21:32)?
1:36:59: What is the role of departed saints (the “cloud of witnesses”)? What are your thoughts on the intercession of the saints?
1:41:17: What are your words of advice for preaching on these subjects and for pastorally caring for congregants who come with certain stock images of and language about heaven?
1:44:30: Since we believe in Jesus’s bodily resurrection, where is Jesus now?
1:46:28: Please give us some guidance on Paul’s view on homosexuality and how to address this complex issue in the church.
1:52:16: Is there any sense in which the State of Israel founded in 1948 could be the fulfillment of biblical prophecy?
1:56:40: What impact do you hope your work has on Christian discipleship?
2:10:34: What’s the relationship between faith and action?
Oh, and at 1:18:58, Wright offers this rousing sidebar on Christian art:
We are starved imaginatively as Christians. Christian art easily collapses into sentimentalism, just as contemporary postmodern art easily collapses into brutalism. Both of those are ways of seeing something but not the whole picture. Sentimentalism is what you get when you’re determined to smile even if the whole world is falling apart; it becomes inane, this sort of silly grin, and sadly, there’s a lot of Christian art like that.
But actually, Christians ought to be at the forefront of the art and the music, because that creates the imaginative world within which it’s possible to think differently about things. I think the secular world has done a pretty good job, and we’ve colluded with that, of keeping our imaginative levels down to the level of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Epicureanism or deism, so that heaven is just this odd place, etc., etc. We need the new art and the new music which will create a world in which it makes sense to think of these things.
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BLOG POST: “Advent Love and Anselm Kiefer’s Alchemist” by Alexandra Davison: I grew up, and my parents and sibling still live, in a suburb of Raleigh, North Carolina, so I’m a somewhat frequent visitor to the North Carolina Museum of Art. Their untitled triptych by Anselm Kiefer is one of my favorite pieces in their collection—it transfixes me every time—so I was delighted to see that Alexandra Davison [previously], a creative director of Artists in Christian Testimony International whom I bump into at arts conferences now and again, wrote about it a few years ago. She describes it as an image of “cosmic drama that waits for resolution,” conveying “an unflinching Advent longing.” I sense that too when I stand in front of it.
Anselm Kiefer (German, 1945–), Untitled, 1980–86. Oil, acrylic, emulsion, shellac, lead, charcoal, and straw on photograph, mounted on canvas, with stones, lead, and steel cable, overall 130 1/4 × 218 1/2 in. North Carolina Museum of Art, Raleigh. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones.
Kiefer is the subject of an acclaimed new documentary by Wim Wenders (which I’m eager to see when it comes to streaming!). He was born in Germany at the tail end of World War II, and his art, which often incorporates materials such as lead, ash, and straw, is inextricably connected to the ravaged landscapes and haunted history of his country.
LOOK: the heavens wept with me by Caitlin Connolly
Caitlin Connolly (American, 1986–), the heavens wept with me, 2018. Oil on canvas.
LISTEN: “A Dream / On Another’s Sorrow”| Words by William Blake, from Songs of Innocence, 1789, adapt. | Music by David Benjamin Blower, on Innocence & Experience, 2022
Once a dream did weave a shade O’er my Angel-guarded bed, That an Emmet lost its way Where on grass methought I lay.
Troubled, ’wildered, and forlorn, Dark, benighted, travel-worn, Over many a tangled spray, All heart-broke I heard her say:
“O my children! do they cry? Do they hear their father sigh? Now they look abroad to see: Now return and weep for me.”
Pitying, I dropped a tear; But I saw a glow-worm near, Who replied: “What wailing wight Calls the watchman of the night?
“I am set to light the ground, While the beetle goes his round: Follow now the beetle’s hum; Little wanderer, hie thee home.”
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Can I see another’s woe, And not be in sorrow too? Can I see another’s grief, And not seek for kind relief?
Can I see a falling tear, And not feel my sorrow’s share? Can a father see his child Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?
Can a mother sit and hear An infant groan, an infant fear? No, no! never can it be! Never, never can it be!
And can They who smile on all Hear the wren with sorrows small, Hear the small bird’s grief and care, Hear the woes that infants bear,
And not sit beside the nest, Pouring pity in their breast; And not sit the cradle near, Weeping tear on infant’s tear;
And not sit both night and day, Wiping all our tears away? O no! never can it be! Never, never can it be!
They do give Their joy to all; They become an infant small; They become a one of woe; They do feel the sorrow too.
Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, And thy Maker is not by; Think not thou canst weep a tear, And thy Maker is not near.
The lyrics of this song comprise two poems from William Blake’s Songs of Innocence: “A Dream” and “On Another’s Sorrow.”
In “A Dream,” the poetic speaker dreams about a lost ant (an emmet) who is trying to find her way back to her children and husband. The speaker is moved by the ant’s distress and weeps for her. But then a glowworm (“the watchman of the night,” as he’s lit like a lantern) graciously intervenes, telling the ant to listen to the sound of the beetle walking and to follow that sound home while he lights the way.
“Told from a trusting, childlike perspective, the poem”—a fable—“suggests that those who ask for help will get it: the world is a naturally compassionate place, and guidance and protection are always at hand, even in difficult times.” (LitCharts)
Aren’t we all “little wanderers”? Many of us troubled, bewildered, lonely, and worn by our seeking and striving?
There is empathy for us not only from fellow travelers but also from the Divine.
“On Another’s Sorrow” is about how God lovingly enters into our woes through the Incarnation. He becomes a participant in the project of being human, experiencing firsthand the many trials, hurts, and vulnerabilities that come with the territory.
In the first three stanzas, the speaker expresses how keenly he feels the sorrows of others. In the fourth stanza, he reflects on how God does the same—only God is perfectly present to all, weeping with those who weep, sighing with those who sigh. Having “become an infant small,” the Creator has demonstrated solidarity with his creation. It is a comfort to know that God is so intimately acquainted with the griefs that afflict us and is keen to companion us through them.
In his creative visioning, British singer-songwriter David Benjamin Blower brought together Blake’s “A Dream” and “On Another’s Sorrow” with a single, spare musical setting, linking the two poems with an instrumental interlude but keeping the same tune throughout. The first poem is about the feeling of weariness or lostness; the second, grief. Both have to do with compassion—we owe it to one another and often receive it from others, and it is always available to us in Christ, who is God brought near.
In “On Another’s Sorrow,” Blower changed the pronouns for God in the fourth and seventh stanzas from “He/His” to “They/Their,” since God is neither male nor female. He also omitted the final stanza in Blake’s original:
O! He gives to us His joy That our grief He may destroy: Till our grief is fled and gone, He doth sit by us and moan.
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
Lisa Walcott (American, 1983–), Other One to Drop, 2022. Rubber shoe, thread, motor, wood, ziptie, 3 1/2 × 8 × 2 in. (shoe).
“Waiting for the other shoe to drop” is an American idiom that means to wait for a seemingly inevitable event. According to Dictionary.com, the expression originated in early twentieth-century New York City tenements and refers to when you’d hear your upstairs neighbor kick off their shoe—you knew the second shoe would likewise be smacking the floor any second.
Midwest-based multidisciplinary artist Lisa Walcott plays upon this expression, as well as the fidgety habit of foot tapping, in her kinetic sculpture Other One to Drop. The piece consists of a loafer connected to a ceiling-mounted mechanism that at regular intervals raises the toe up off the ground by a barely visible thread and then lowers it back down, mimicking the body language of one who is waiting. But the piece also requires the viewers themselves to practice waiting, as the inactivity between movements creates a sense of imminence, and the shoe-drop will be missed if you turn away. Here’s a video of the piece in motion:
The tapping of the shoe conjures ideas of waiting and patience. The repetitive movement is consistent, but the slow pace adds anticipation and may even require some patience as the shoe hovers, finally taps, and repeats. The repetition of movement represents “promise” within the work. Even when the expectation has been demonstrated clearly and consistently, waiting requires patience and anticipation requires trust.
Since its founding at Pentecost, the church has waited for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. The first shoe was God made flesh in Bethlehem. The second shoe will be God’s return, in flesh, at the end of time. Christians are an Advent people, living in this liminal space between the already and not-yet. The liturgical calendar, in its wisdom, assigns us some four weeks each year to lean into that tension, exercising our hope muscles as we wait for Christ to come to us once again.
Walcott is an assistant professor of art at Hope College in Holland, Michigan. Her work “translates elements of daily life, embodies moods, and animates daydreams,” she says. Everyday objects such as brooms, drawers, tablecloths, drying racks, and fly swatters often find their way into her sculptures and installations. Explore more at https://lisawalcott.com/.
This wistful instrumental work was composed by Eric Marshall [previously], the lead singer of and songwriter for the ambient alt-rock band Young Oceans. Young Oceans grew out of Marshall’s collaborations with fellow musicians at Trinity Grace Church in Brooklyn, where he served as a worship leader from 2009 to 2018.
The title of this piece, “Though for Now We’re Waiting,” is a dependent clause that anticipates a second clause to complete the sentence. How would you complete it? The last thirty seconds provide a space for pause, for sitting quietly and attentively with the weight of your desire and God’s promise.
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
In the church calendar, the linked seasons of Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany are sometimes referred to as the “cycle of light.” “Since earliest times the Christian community has utilized light as a primary symbol to convey the meaning of the Christ-event,” writes Wendy M. Wright in The Vigil: Keeping Watch in the Season of Christ’s Coming. “The power of the symbol was not lost on most generations of believers who lived closer than we do to the truth that we are all ultimately dependent upon the light of the sun for warmth, vision, and life itself” (152). Light imagery permeates scripture and the writings of the church fathers.
The capstone of the cycle of light, celebrated each year on January 6, is Epiphany, which means “manifestation” or “appearance.” In the West, this feast commemorates the visit of the magi, to whom the divinity of Christ was revealed, and who brought back the light they received to their homelands, an early spreading of the gospel. Epiphany is exactly one month away, but I wanted to provide a few resources in advance. For those in the DC metro area: note that there are just two weeks left to see the Anne Lindberg exhibition!
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NEW PLAYLIST: Epiphany (Art & Theology): I put together a playlist of nearly a hundred Epiphany songs that celebrate Jesus as the light of the world and that mark the magi’s transformative encounter with him.
Besides the classic “We Three Kings,” it also includes a few versions of the ancient hymn “Phos Hilaron” (originally written in Koine Greek and translated into English as “Gladsome [or Gladdening] Light”), a Provençal carol popularized by Bizet, a shape-note hymn from Appalachia, aguinaldos from Puerto Rico, Arabic hymns from Syria and Lebanon, plainchant scripture settings, Renaissance motets, traditional and contemporary Black gospel songs, indie songs (including retuned hymns) from the past decade, and choral works from the UK, Jamaica, and Argentina. Some of the selections are quieter, more reflective, whereas others are very exuberant, like “Jesus Is the Light” by Hezekiah Walker and the Love Fellowship Crusade Choir:
And “Los Reyes Magos,” the fifth movement of Ariel Ramirez’s folk drama Navidad Nuestra (lyrics here); the song was written as a taquirari, a type of Bolivian folk song that has a syncopated rhythm and that is danced to, and features a charango (small guitar) and siku (Andean panpipe):
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ART COMMENTARIES: The VCS Advent Calendar 2023: Every Advent, the Visual Commentary on Scripture sends out a daily image from its online archives to its email list around a seasonal theme. This year’s theme is “light.” The images are keyed to particular scripture passages having to do with light and are accompanied by commentary from a range of contributors. So far the VCS has featured a Genesis 1–inspired Sistine Chapel fresco, John Piper and Patrick Reyntiens’s extraordinary Baptistery Window at Coventry Cathedral, a Trinitarian miniature from an English book of hours, a heliotropic landscape sculpture by David Wood, a light installation by Dan Flavin at a church in Milan, and Vincent van Gogh’s Starry Night.
Baptistery Window, Coventry Cathedral. Designed by John Piper and made by Patrick Reyntiens, 1957–61. Stained glass, 85 × 56 ft.
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EXHIBITIONS:
>> What color is divine light? by Anne Lindberg, January 5–December 22, 2023, Textile Museum at George Washington University, Washington, DC: I saw this installation last month, and it is striking! About four thousand strands of complementary yellow and blue cotton thread (and some white and green), stretching across the gallery against a backdrop of lavender-painted walls, evoking light. The artist describes the work as a drawing made of textile material in the air. It was inspired by a 1971 essay of the same title by the art historian Patrik Reuterswärd (see The Visible and Invisible in Art: Essays in the History of Art), and it opened adjacent to an exhibition of prayer carpets, titled Prayer and Transcendence.
Anne Lindberg (American, 1962–), What color is divine light?, 2023. Cotton thread, staples, 5 × 55 × 14 ft. Solo exhibition at the Textile Museum, George Washington University, Washington, DC. Photo: Derek Porter.
>> Bubble Universe: Physical Light, Bubbles of Light, Wobbling Light, and Environmental Light by teamLab, opens early February 2024, Borderless (museum), Azabudai Hills, Tokyo: teamLab is an international collective of “ultra-technologists” consisting of artists, programmers, engineers, CG animators, mathematicians, and architects who collaborate on immersive art projects. One of their upcoming installations is a room with hundreds of glowing spheres, each containing unique changing lights that interact with guests and the environment itself. [HT: My Modern Met]
teamLab, Bubble Universe, 2023 (work in progress). Interactive installation, Borderless, Azabudai Hills, Tokyo.
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NEW ALBUMS:
>> The Light by Sarah Sparks: A four-song EP by a Christian singer-songwriter from Hawaii. Here’s the first track:
>> Morning Star: Music for Epiphany Down the Ages by the Gesualdo Six: Released November 3, this wonderful album comprises twenty-one choral pieces for Epiphany—a mix of plainchant propers for Mass, hymns, Renaissance motets, and twenty-first-century works. One of the contemporary works is a setting by Owain Park of Psalm 43:3: “O send out thy light and thy truth, that they may lead me; let them bring me unto thy holy hill, and to thy dwelling”:
In these last days [God] has spoken to us by a Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, through whom he also created the worlds. He is the reflection of God’s glory and the exact imprint of God’s very being, and he sustains all things by his powerful word.
—Hebrews 1:2–3
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”
Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.
—Jesus’s first public teaching in Nazareth (see Luke 4:16–21), quoting from Isaiah 61
LOOK: Niño Jesus santo
Niño Jesus, Puerto Rico, 18th century. Carved and painted wood and metal, 13 3/8 × 5 1/2 × 4 3/8 in. (34 × 14 × 11.2 cm). Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, DC.
“Devotional figures of the infant Jesus became popular in Puerto Rico during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries,” writes Yvonne Marie Lange in her 1975 PhD dissertation, Santos: The Household Wooden Saints of Puerto Rico. “An unknown craftsman carved this small figure in the act of benediction, or blessing, with an orb in his left hand to symbolize God’s dominion over the earth.” (He’s got the whole world in his hands!) This is a baby Salvator Mundi, “savior of the world.” He is naked to emphasize his full humanity. The three flame-like shapes around his head create a cross and represent the light of God emanating from him.
Just as Isaiah The prophet has foretold A sprout from Jesse’s root Into a tree shall grow This sprout shall bloom Into a mighty tree of life Its fruit will feed us And its source will be our light
The Spirit of the Lord Will come to dwell with us A righteous judge A mighty counselor And by the word Of his everlasting power The baby in the manger Upholds the universe The baby in the manger Upholds the universe
For in him all the fullness Of God was pleased to dwell And through him To reconcile all things to himself Have you ever seen A wolf and a lamb lie down together? Can there ever be peace like this Between enemies? Can there ever be peace like this Between enemies? Would God dare to descend To come live with his enemies?
The Spirit of the Lord Will come to dwell with us Put on flesh Make peace for us with God And by the word Of his everlasting power The baby in the manger Upholds the universe The baby in the manger Upholds the universe
Then I saw heaven open And behold A white horse with its rider Righteousness his clothes With eyes that burn like fire And a crown atop his head Robes dipped in blood That he himself willingly shed Yet I had no doubt I still recognized his face Son of God, Son of Man Glorious grace
King of kings and Lord of lords Messiah, Christ, the Word of God King of kings and Lord of lords Messiah, Christ, the Word of God King of kings and Lord of lords Messiah, Christ, the Word of God King of Kings and Lord of lords Messiah, Christ, the Word of God
The Spirit of the Lord Has come to dwell with us Behold, the Lamb of God Makes all things new And by the word Of his everlasting power The baby in the manger Upholds the universe The baby in the manger Upholds the universe And he shall reign Forever and ever
Katie Ribera is involved in the music ministry of Trinity Church Seattle, which is led by Luke Morton, pastor of worship arts. Ribera wrote this song for her congregation, and it was recorded live from one of their worship services, released under the artist name Trinity Songworks. Listen to more from Trinity Songworks on the church’s website and their SoundCloud page, or on the albums Live Archive 2018–2021 and Let the Little Children Come.
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
Frank Wesley (Indian, 1923–2002), The Promise of Peace, 1994. Watercolor, 50 × 30 cm.
Frank Wesley (1923–2002) [previously] is one of the twentieth century’s most celebrated Indian Christian artists. His watercolor The Promise of Peace appears on the cover of the March 1996 issue of Image: Christ and Art in Asia, the monthly magazine of the Asian Christian Art Association, which is where I sourced it from. Painted in warm brown earth tones and based on Isaiah 11:1–9, it shows an Indianized Jesus ushering in the peaceable kingdom of God. The ACAA provides the following commentary:
Christ is the shoot rising from the stump, and the Spirit of the Lord’s presence is shown in the white egg/flame/pearl in the upraised right hand and in the white heart shape centred on Jesus’ brow. A faint halo encircles his head, while a second halo sweeps from the right hand down to the left hand, under which the needy of the land shelter. The little child living at peace with many different animals is visible in the bottom right-hand corner, and the child playing unharmed with the viper is seated at the foot of Jesus. On the left-hand side of the painting a wide variety of creatures are playing happily together. The bracelet on Jesus’s left upper arm carries the symbol for Peter while that on the right upper arm signifies Paul. The symbols of the four gospel writers can be seen in the necklet.
LISTEN: “O Lord, May Your Kingdom Come” | Words by Greg Scheer, based on Isaiah 11:6–9, 2014 | Music by Eric Sarwar, based on the Raga Mishra Shivranjani, 2014 | Led by Eric Sarwar at the Calvin Symposium on Worship, 2019
Refrain: اے خدا تیری بادشاہی آئ (Transliteration: Aey Khuda, teri badshahi, aey) O Lord, may your kingdom come
Where the wolf and lamb Shall lie down as kin And a child shall lead them [Refrain]
Where the cow shall graze And its calves will play With the cubs of the lion [Refrain]
Where the babe in arms Shall fear no harm From the snake or the adder [Refrain]
May your kingdom come May your will be done On earth as in heaven [Refrain]
Born and raised in Pakistan, Rev. Dr. Eric Sarwar is a musician, global missiologist, and the pastor of Artesia City Church in Southern California, made up of Indian and Pakistani immigrants. He is also the founding president of the Tehillim School of Church Music and Worship in Karachi, which fosters the academic study of the ethnomusicology, missiology, and tradition of Christian worship in communities across Pakistan and the overseas diaspora. He plays the harmonium and is fluent in English, Hindi, Punjabi, and Urdu. He is the author of Psalms, Islam, and Shalom: A Common Heritage of Divine Songs for Muslim-Christian Friendship (Fortress Press, 2023) and is a frequent organizer of zabur (psalm) festivals.
In the video above, extracted from a Vespers service, Sarwar leads attendees of the 2019 Calvin Symposium on Worship in Grand Rapids, Michigan, in an anthem he wrote with Greg Scheer, joined on stage by other musicians from the symposium. The refrain is in Urdu and English.
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here. “O Lord, May Your Kingdom Come” is not on Spotify.
Every warrior’s boot used in battle and every garment rolled in blood will be destined for burning, will be fuel for the fire. For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
—Isaiah 9:5–6 NIV
LOOK: Nativity by Irenaeus Yurchuk
Irenaeus Yurchuk (Іриней Юрчук), Nativity, 2022. Mixed media on canvas. Used with permission.
Irenaeus Yurchuk was born in Ukraine during World War II and raised in central New York, where he still resides. He worked professionally as an urban planner until 2010, when he turned to art full-time.
“Over the years my work has evolved to combine multiple-image photography with drawing and painting, using a variety of digital editing and physical montage techniques,” Yurchuk says. “This includes adjusting inkjet images by applying acrylics, watercolors, pastels, markers, colored pencils together with selected collage materials to achieve a desired effect.”
Yurchuk’s Nativity is a response to Russia’s 2022 military invasion of Ukraine. This is no facile depiction of that historic birth, no cozy winter idyll. It is a war-zone Nativity. It shows the Holy Family, rendered in iconic style, sheltering at night in the rubble of a bombed-out apartment complex. Surrounded by fallen steel beams, concrete, and broken glass, Mother Mary holds the newborn Jesus while a downcast Joseph sits beside them with head in hands. Though their circumstances are dire, through the building’s shell shines one particularly bright star, signifying hope in the horror.
One of the biblical names for Jesus is Emmanuel, Hebrew for “God with us.” By showing the Christ child being born amid the ruins of a contemporary Ukrainian city, Yurchuk reinforces the ongoing relevance of the Incarnation, meditating on God’s descent into our world of woe to dwell with and to deliver. Jesus is “God with us” in our suffering. When everything around us is crumbling, God is there too, hurting alongside and calling all oppressors to account.
Do you recall the famous Christmas text from Isaiah, further immortalized by Handel, that begins “Unto us a child is born . . .”? Well, it is immediately preceded by a prophecy of war’s final demise, of soldiers’ uniforms and accoutrements and all their bloody violence being consigned to one great big burning trash heap. In the new world government established by Christ, the Prince of Peace, tyrants will be overthrown (Luke 1:51–52), and the nations will study war no more (Isa. 2:4).
May this artwork and the song below prompt you to intercede for those suffering under war today, in Ukraine and elsewhere.
LISTEN: “Drive Out the Darkness” by Paul Zach, Isaac Wardell, Dan Marotta, and John Swinton, on Lament Songs by the Porter’s Gate (2020)
Refrain: Come, O come Be our light Drive out the darkness Come, Jesus, come
Every year under the thorn Every wrong that we have known Every valley will be raised Ancient ruins will be remade [Refrain]
Every weapon made for war Every gun and every sword Will be melted in the flame To be used for gardening [Refrain]
In the emptiness of grief Through the night of suffering In the loss and in the tears God of comfort, O be near [Refrain]
Coda: Come, and end all the violence Come, do not be silent Come, we cling to your promise Come, you’ll break all injustice Come, Jesus, come
For my review of the Lament Songs album by the Porter’s Gate, see here.
In addition to these words that the Porter’s Gate has given us to pray, I commend to you this prayer by Rev. Kenneth Tanner, which he posted October 13 in response to recent atrocities in Israel and Gaza (I’ve been returning to it a lot over the past month):
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!
—Isaiah 64:1a
LOOK:Winter by Agnes Pelton
Agnes Pelton (American, 1881–1961), Winter, 1933. Oil on canvas, 30 × 28 in. Crocker Art Museum, Sacramento, California.
Agnes Pelton was part of the Transcendental Painting Group, an artists’ collective founded in the American Southwest in 1938 on the principles of creating a pure abstract painting style imbued with spiritual intent. Clayton Schuster, writing for Hyperallergic, describes one of Pelton’s metaphysical landscapes:
Pelton’s Winter (1933) depicts a pigeon and dove on a cliff in the foreground, with a great blooming cloud in the distance. The arched lavender cloud against the dark sky seems to suggest the narrow path toward a new beginning, as a pale glow at the top of the painting symbolizes hidden truths. Within the cloud are delicate lines hinting at two hills. The cloud seems to glow where the hills nearly meet and delineate the valley. It is as if Pelton has excavated a road from the cloud and revealed the path to paradise.
Pelton shows us a new way opening. The sky has been rent, and light breaks in. To either side of the central bulbous form are tooth-edged wheels in motion. At the bottom left, the snow is melting at the emerging warmth, revealing tiny green shoots on the ground. The two doves perhaps signify a coming peace.
Full of mystical yearning, this painting shouts “Advent!” to me. It evokes in my mind not only the Isaianic exclamation cited above—the basis for today’s featured song (below)—but several other Advent scriptures as well, such as Isaiah 40:3–5 (pave a straight path for God through the desert; every hill, every valley . . .), Psalm 98:8–9 (“let the hills sing together for joy at the presence of the Lord, for he is coming . . .”), and Revelation 1:7 (“Look! He is coming with the clouds”; cf. Matthew 24:30: “they will see ‘the Son of Man coming on the clouds of heaven’ with power and great glory”).
Pelton was not a Christian—she rejected organized religion—but her artworks are so wonderfully expansive in the associations and interpretations they invite.
For more on the artist, see the wonderful book Agnes Pelton: Desert Transcendentalist, a catalog of a recent major retrospective of her work organized by the Phoenix Art Museum.
O Savior, rend the heavens wide; Come down, come down with mighty stride; Unlock the gates, the doors break down; Unbar the way to heaven’s crown.
O Morning Star, O radiant Dawn, When will we sing your morning song? Come, Son of God! Without your light We grope in dread and gloom of night.
Sin’s dreadful doom upon us lies; Grim death looms fierce before our eyes. O come, lead us with mighty hand From exile to our promised land.
There shall we all our praises bring And sing to you, our Savior King; There shall we laud you and adore Forever and forevermore.
The German hymn text “O Heiland, reiß die Himmel auf” (O Savior, Rend the Heavens Wide) is by Friedrich Spee (1591–1635), a German Jesuit priest, professor, and poet best known for opposing the European witch trials and the use of torture. Written during the Thirty Years’ War, it was first published in Würzburg in 1622 in the collection Das Allerschönste Kind in der Welt (The Most Beautiful Child in the World).
Four-plus decades later, in 1666, a Dorian-mode melody was published anonymously with the text in the Rheinfelsisches Deutsches Katholisches Gesangbuch (German Catholic Hymnal). Then in 1863, Johannes Brahms arranged that melody as a motet for unaccompanied mixed choir (op. 74, no. 2):
The hymn entered English-speaking churches in the twentieth century when Martin L. Seltz (1909–1967) translated it.
The original chorale tune is still in use, but I’ve also heard some churches using the 2003 retune by Nathan Partain. Here’s a live recording of that version from Trinity Church Seattle, sung by Partain, back when he was the church’s music director (it was called Green Lake Presbyterian Church at the time):
The hymn also appears, with updated arrangement, on Partain’s 2019 album The Beauty to Come. The chord charts, lead sheets, and string scores for this album and two others can be downloaded for free from Partain’s website.
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
Frida Hansen (Norwegian, 1844–1931), Melkeveien (Milky Way), 1898. Tapestry, 260 × 345 cm. Museum für Kunst und Gewerbe (Museum of Arts and Crafts), Hamburg, Germany.
This art nouveau tapestry by Norwegian artist Frida Hansen received a gold medal at the world’s fair in Paris in 1900. It shows angelic figures unfolding a starry veil over the night sky. They glide forward above a band of Hebrew script that references the creation of the stars in Genesis 1.
The God who brought light in darkness in the beginning is bringing light again as we enter a new liturgical year.
Comprising the first five weeks of that new year, Advent-Christmas-Epiphany is a time of starlight, promise, and revelation. The first of the triad, Advent, is particularly concerned with themes of longing, waiting, lament, and future-oriented hope. We make ready our hearts to receive Christ—he who came to us first as a babe in a manger, in a vulnerable body like ours, to teach and suffer and redeem, and who is coming back one day in unveiled power and majesty to bring the fullness of God’s heavenly kingdom to earth.
Two millennia ago, God hung a special star in the sky for the magi to follow, guiding them on their way to the Christ child. May God similarly illumine our way to Christ as we seek him this season, giving us eyes to see and ears to hear the gospel of God-with-us and cultivating in us an eager readiness for Christ’s return.
I think of Hansen’s crowned young ladies as ushering us into the deep, dark blue of Advent to behold the signs that sparkle in scripture, foretelling a wondrous future.
LISTEN: “Star of Wonder” by Sara Groves, on O Holy Night, 2008; adapted and arranged from the refrain of “We Three Kings” by John Henry Hopkins, 1857
Star of wonder, star of light Star of royal beauty bright Guide us O guide us Won’t you guide us
Want to follow along with the music on Spotify? Most of the songs in this Advent blog series, and many more besides, can be found on the Art & Theology Advent Playlist.
Art & Theology 