Advent, Day 10: Bridegroom of the Soul

LOOK: Jesus as Bridegroom of the Soul from the Rothschild Canticles

Jesus as Bridegroom of the Soul (Rothschild Canticles)
Jesus as Bridegroom of the Soul, from the Rothschild Canticles, Flanders or Rhineland, ca. 1300. Beinecke Library, Yale University, MS 404, fol. 66r.

The Rothschild Canticles from early fourteenth-century Flanders or the Rhineland (whose innovative Trinity miniatures I wrote about in 2021) is a cento of biblical, liturgical, and patristic citations accompanying an extraordinary program of images. Much of the content reflects the bridal mysticism that was popular at the time, emphasizing spiritual oneness with Christ. The compiler, artist(s), scribe(s), and original recipient of the manuscript are not known, but it was very likely made by a male monastic for a nun or canoness to use in her private devotions.

The miniature on folio 66r is the first in a five-miniature sequence (of which four survive) on the theme of mystical union. It shows the human soul, represented as a woman, about to receive her Bridegroom, Christ, in the marriage bed. Art historian Jeffrey Hamburger writes that in this image, “Christ emerges from the heavens with the energy of a cosmic explosion[,] . . . as a dramatic sunburst dissolving the mists. . . . Christ is the sun, its brightness, the light of the visio Dei. Just as sunlight generates heat, so Christ provokes desire.” [1] The artist uses that whirling sun with its tentacle-like rays as an attribute of Christ throughout the manuscript.

At her lover’s luminous descent, the Bride awakes from her sleep and raises her arms in ecstasy.

The face peeking out from behind the crescent moon on the right may be an angel, whose gaze directs us forward to the next scene, which shows the Bride reclining outdoors amid sprouting vines, “languish[ing] with love” (Song 2:5), and then being led into a wine cellar by the Bridegroom, to be inebriated by his sweet goodness (Song 2:4) .

The corresponding text on the facing page of this image, set inside a bedchamber, incorporates the following excerpts:

  • “I call you into my soul, which you are preparing for your reception, through the longing which you have inspired in it.”—Augustine, Confessions X.1
  • “God comes from Lebanon, the Holy One from the shady and thickly covered mountain.”—Habakkuk 3:3, used in medieval Advent liturgies
  • “I passed by you again and looked on you; you were at the age for love.”—Ezekiel 16:8
  • Plus miscellaneous adaptations of lines from the Song of Songs

In the Middle Ages it was common for Christian mystics, such as Mechthild of Magdeburg and Gertrude of Helfta, to describe and picture spiritual union in terms of physical union, as they “realized that bodily language better conveys the power, intensity, and personality of desire than overly spiritualized language does,” writes medievalist Grace Hamman. [2] And not only was the church, a corporate body, perceived as the bride of Christ, but so was the individual soul. The consummation of the marriage between Christ and his beloved was seen as eschatological, yes—coming at the end of time—but such intimate closeness and pleasure was also seen as something that could be enjoyed now on some level, as devotees commune with Christ through prayer, scripture reading, and the celebration of the Eucharist.

For the nun who used this book, it must have aided her in cultivating a deep love for Christ and strengthened her longing for that full and final coming together, when Christ will return to be with his bride.

To browse the other images in this remarkable manuscript, visit https://collections.library.yale.edu/catalog/2002755.

Notes:

  1. Jeffrey F. Hamburger, The Rothschild Canticles: Art and Mysticism in Flanders and the Rhineland circa 1300 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990), 106.
  2. Grace Hamman, Jesus through Medieval Eyes: Beholding Christ with the Artists, Mystics, and Theologians of the Middle Ages (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Reflective, 2023), 49. “The topos of the mystical marriage as an act of physical communion is commonplace. . . . Physical love is used as a metaphor for the consummation of spiritual love.” Hamburger, Rothschild Canticles, 109.

LISTEN: Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme, BWV 140 by Johann Sebastian Bach, 1731 | Words by Philipp Nicolai, 1599 (movements 1, 4, 7), and an anonymous other | Melody of movements 1, 4, and 7 by Philipp Nicolai, 1599

Here are two listening options—the first from an album, and the second a live performance that you can hear as well as watch.

>> Performed by the Monteverdi Choir and the English Baroque Soloists, dir. John Eliot Gardiner, on Bach: Cantatas BWV 140 and 147 (1992)

>> Performed by the Choir and Orchestra of the J. S. Bach Foundation, dir. Rudolf Lutz (soloists: Nuria Rial, Bernhard Berchtold, Markus Volpert), Evangelisch-Reformierte Kirche Trogen, Switzerland, 2008 (**The copyright owner has disallowed video embeds, but you can watch the video directly on YouTube by clicking the link below.)

In the libretto that follows, the capital letters in parentheses indicate which voice parts are singing that movement: soprano, alto, tenor, or bass.

1. Choral (SATB)
Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme,
der Wächter sehr hoch auf der Zinne,
wach auf, du Stadt Jerusalem.
Mitternacht heißt diese Stunde,
sie rufen uns mit hellem Munde,
wo seid ihr klugen Jungfrauen?
Wohlauf, der Bräut’gam kömmt,
steht auf, die Lampen nehmt,
Alleluia!
Macht euch bereit
zu der Hochzeit,
ihr müsset ihm entgegen gehn.

2. Rezitativ (T)
Er kommt, er kommt,
der Bräut’gam kommt,
ihr Töchter Zions, kommt heraus,
Sein Ausgang eilet aus der Höhe
in euer Mutter Haus.
Der Bräut’gam kommt, der einen Rehe
und jungen Hirschen gleich
auf denen Hügeln springt
und euch das Mahl der Hochzeit bringt.
Wacht auf, ermuntert euch,
den Bräut’gam zu empfangen;
dort, sehet, kommt er hergegangen.

3. Duett (SB) (Dialog - Seele, Jesus)
Wenn kömmst du, mein Heil?
– Ich komme, dein Teil. –
Ich warte mit brennenden Öle.
Eröffne den Saal
– Ich öffne den Saal –
zum himmlischen Mahl.
Komm, Jesu.
– Ich komme, komm, liebliche Seele. –

4. Choral (T)
Zion hört die Wächter singen,
das Herz tut ihr vor Freuden springen,
sie wachet und steht eilend auf.
Ihr Freund kommt von Himmel prächtig,
von Gnaden stark, von Wahrheit mächtig,
ihr Licht wird hell, ihr Stern geht auf.
Nun komm, du werte Kron’,
Herr Jesu, Gottes Sohn,
Hosianna!
Wir folgen all
zum Freudensaal
und halten mit das Abendmahl.

5. Rezitativ (B)
So geh herein zu mir,
du mir erwählte Braut!
Ich habe mich mit dir
von Ewigkeit vertraut.
Dich will ich auf mein Herz,
auf meinen Arm gleich wie ein Sigel setzen,
und dein betrübtes Aug’ ergötzen.
Vergiß, o Seele, nun
die Angst, den Schmerz,
den du erdulden müssen;
auf meiner Linken sollst du ruhn,
und meine Rechte soll dich küssen.

6. Duett (SB) (Dialog - Seele, Jesus)
Mein Freund ist mein,
– und ich bin dein, –
die Liebe soll nichts scheiden.
Ich will mit dir
– du sollst mit mir –
im Himmels Rosen weiden,
da Freude die Fülle, da Wonne wird sein.

7. Choral (SATB)
Gloria sei dir gesungen,
mit Menschen- und englischen Zungen,
mit Harfen und mit Zimbeln schon.
Von zwölf Perlen sind die Pforten,
an deiner Stadt sind wir Konsorten
der Engel hoch um deine Thron.
Kein Aug’ hat je gespürt,
kein Ohr hat je gehört
solche Freude,
des sind wir froh,
io, io,
ewig in dulci jubilo.
1. Chorus (SATB)
Awake, calls the voice to us
of the watchmen high up in the tower;
awake, you city of Jerusalem.
Midnight the hour is named;
they call to us with bright voices;
where are you, wise virgins?
Indeed, the Bridegroom comes;
rise up and take your lamps,
Alleluia!
Make yourselves ready
for the wedding,
you must go to meet him.

2. Recitative (T)
He comes, he comes,
the Bridegroom comes!
O daughters of Zion, come out;
his course runs from the heights
into your mother’s house.
The Bridegroom comes, who like a roe
and young stag
leaps upon the hills;
to you he brings the wedding feast.
Rise up, take heart,
to embrace the Bridegroom;
there, look, he comes this way.

3. Duet (SB) (Dialogue - Soul, Jesus)
When will you come, my Savior?
– I come, as your portion. –
I wait with burning oil.
Now open the hall
– I open the hall –
for the heavenly meal.
Come, Jesus!
– I come, come, beloved soul! –

4. Chorale (T)
Zion hears the watchmen sing,
her heart leaps for joy within her,
she wakens and hastily arises.
Her glorious beloved comes from heaven,
strong in mercy, powerful in truth;
her light becomes bright, her star rises.
Now come, precious crown,
Lord Jesus, the Son of God!
Hosanna!
We all follow
to the hall of joy
and hold the evening meal together.

5. Recitative (B)
So come in to me,
you my chosen bride!
I have to you
eternally betrothed myself.
I will set you upon my heart,
upon my arm as a seal,
and delight your troubled eye.
Forget, O soul, now
the fear, the pain
which you have had to suffer;
upon my left hand you shall rest,
and my right hand shall kiss you.

6. Duet (SB) (Dialogue - Soul, Jesus)
My friend is mine,
– and I am yours, –
love will never part us.
I will with you
– you will with me –
graze among heaven’s roses,
where complete pleasure and delight will be.

7. Chorale (SATB)
Let Gloria be sung to you
with mortal and angelic tongues,
with harps and even with cymbals.
Of twelve pearls the portals are made;
in your city we are companions
of the angels high around your throne.
No eye has ever perceived,
no ear has ever heard
such joy
as our happiness,
io, io,
eternally in dulci jubilo! [in sweet rejoicing]

English translation © Pamela Dellal, courtesy of Emmanuel Music Inc. Used with permission.

Bach wrote this cantata during his time as cantor (music director) at St. Thomas Church in Leipzig, Germany, a post he served from 1723 until his death in 1750. (Imagine having Bach write and lead music for your church. During his first few years at St. Thomas, he composed a new cantata nearly every week for Sunday worship! His productivity is uncanny.) It premiered the twenty-seventh Sunday after Trinity Sunday, the final week of the liturgical year, on November 25, 1731, to correspond to the day’s assigned Gospel reading.

Bach scored the work for three vocal soloists—soprano (playing the Soul), tenor (the Watchman), and bass (Jesus)—a four-part choir, and an instrumental ensemble consisting of a horn, two oboes, taille, violino piccolo, strings, and basso continuo, including bassoon. Musicologist William G. Whittaker calls it “a cantata without weaknesses, without a dull bar; technically, emotionally and spiritually of the highest order. Its sheer perfection and its boundless imagination rouse one’s wonder time and time again.”

Conductor Rudolf Lutz of the J. S. Bach Foundation gave an excellent lecture with theologian Karl Graf prior to the above performance, which is freely available online; together the two break down the cantata’s musical and theological elements. The lecture is in German with English subtitles.

The first time I ever heard Bach’s Cantata 140 was in the Western music history course I took my first year of college. Our professor played a recording of the opening movement in class, then told us to go home and listen to the other six for homework—we would discuss them the next day. Sitting before my laptop at my dorm room desk, ensconced in my headphones, I was transported.

Bach’s Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme (Awake, calls the voice to us) is based on a chorale (congregational hymn) of the same name by the German Lutheran pastor, poet, and composer Philipp Nicolai, which conflates the parable of the ten virgins in Matthew 25 with the bridal theology of the Prophets and Revelation. The hymn appears in some English-language hymnals under the title “Wake, Awake, for Night Is Flying” (Catherine Winkworth) or “Sleepers, Wake! A Voice Astounds Us” (Carl P. Daw). Bach used the hymn’s three stanzas, both text and tune, for movements 1, 4, and 7.

The words of movements 2, 3, 5, and 6 are possibly by Picander (the pseudonym of Christian Friedrich Henrici), a frequent literary collaborator of Bach’s. Tender and rapturous, they draw on the imagery of the Song of Songs to describe the marriage of Christ and the human soul.

It’s a remarkable work. I encourage you to listen to it in one sitting—it’s twenty-eight minutes long—while you follow along with the lyrics. Revel in the love of Christ for you, his bride. Get excited for the sweet union to come.

As a bonus, here’s a gorgeous performance of the Nicolai hymn that forms the core of Bach’s cantata. It was arranged by F. Melius Christiansen in 1925 and performed in 2018 by the St. Olaf Massed Choirs under the direction of Anton Armstrong, using William Cook’s 1871 English translation:

Wake, awake, for night is flying,
the watchmen on the heights are crying.
Awake, Jerusalem, arise!
Midnight’s solemn hour is tolling,
his chariot wheels are nearer rolling;
he comes; prepare, ye virgins wise.
Rise up, with willing feet,
go forth, the Bridegroom meet. Hallelujah!
Bear through the night
your well-trimmed light,
speed forth to join the marriage rite.

Hear thy praise, O Lord, ascending
from tongues of men and angels blending
with harps and lute and psaltery.
By thy pearly gates in wonder
we stand, and swell the voice of thunder
in bursts of choral melody. Hallelujah!
No vision ever brought,
no ear hath ever caught,
such bliss and joy.
We raise the song, we swell the throng,
to praise thee ages all along.

Advent, Day 9: Pave Every Road

LOOK: Shine Forth Upon These Clouded Hills by Nathan Florence

Florence, Nathan_Shine Forth Upon These Clouded Hills
Nathan Florence (American, 1972–), Shine Forth Upon These Clouded Hills. Oil on canvas, 30 × 40 in.

LISTEN: “Pave Every Road” by Caroline Cobb, on A Home and a Hunger: Songs of Kingdom Hope (2017)

Pave every road with repentance
Bring the proud heart low
Let the humble heart sing
Break down all your walls, your defenses
Swing wide your gates
For the coming of the king

Lo, he has come to rebuild the ruins
Lo, he has come, set them captives free
I know he has come to bind up the broken
It’s the year of his favor
The year of Jubilee

People livin’ in the darkness
Lift up your heads and see the sun
I see a new day dawnin’
It brings good news for everyone

I see the sun risin’
I see the sun risin’
I see the sun risin’

One day we’ll all hear a trumpet
He will return with reckoning
I’ll follow my king into glory
Who here is comin’ with me?
Who here is comin’ with me?
Who here is comin’ with me?
Yeah!

I see the sun risin’
I see the sun risin’
I see the sun risin’

Get up, get ready
Get up, get ready
Get up, get ready
For the king to come

Who here is comin’ with me?

Advent, Day 8: A Messenger in the Wilderness

LOOK: John the Baptist, Angel of the Desert icon

Angel of the Desert
John the Baptist, Angel of the Desert, Russia, 17th or 18th century

John the Baptist served as a bridge between the old and new covenants, calling on people to repent of their sins and produce good fruit in preparation for the arrival of the Messiah. “The kingdom of heaven is at hand!” he vigorously proclaimed on the banks of the river Jordan. “Get ready.”

Eastern Orthodox icons sometimes portray John the Baptist with wings, as the word “angel” means “messenger.” God had announced through his prophet Malachi, “See, I am sending my messenger [mal’āḵ] to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple. The messenger of the covenant in whom you delight—indeed, he is coming, says the LORD of hosts” (Mal. 3:1). The Hebrew word, mal’āḵ, that is translated as “messenger” in this passage is translated elsewhere in the Old Testament as “angel.” Christian commentators see this prophecy as fulfilled in John the Baptist.

The iconography of John the Baptist as Angel of the Desert/Wilderness first started appearing in the sixteenth century and is present only in the East. In addition to having two wings, he wears camel skins, an allusion to his asceticism (Matt. 3:4). He usually holds an unfolded scroll bearing his words from Matthew 3:2—“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near”—as well as a poteiron (liturgical chalice) in which lies a naked Christ Emmanuel, evoking the Eucharist. John points to Christ, the source of our salvation.

Sometimes it is John’s own severed head that lies in the chalice instead. This variation references his martyrdom, commemorated each year on August 29.

I’ve compiled a range of John the Baptist, Angel of the Desert icons that include the Christ child in a eucharistic cup. They are all from seventeenth-, eighteenth-, or nineteenth-century Russia; many are in private collections, and a few are in the State Tretyakov Gallery in Moscow.

LISTEN: “What Is the Crying at Jordan?” | Words by Carol Christopher Drake, 1950s | Tune: ST. MARK’S BERKELEY, an Irish melody from Danta De: Hymns to God, Ancient and Modern, 1928 | Performed by the Miserable Offenders on Keepin’ the Baby Awake: Music for Advent and Christmas, 2012

What is the crying at Jordan?
Who hears, O God, the prophecy?
Dark is the season, dark our hearts,
and shut to mystery.

Who, then, shall stir in this darkness,
prepare for joy in the winter night?
Mortal, in darkness we lie down, blindhearted,
seeing no light.

Lord, give us grace to awake us,
to see the branch that begins to bloom;
in great humility is hid all heaven
in a little room.

Now comes the day of salvation;
in joy and terror the Word is born!
God comes as gift into our lives;
oh let salvation dawn!

The “crying at Jordan” in the first line of this modern hymn refers not to weeping but to a loud uttering—that of John the Baptist preparing the way for the Messiah through the preaching of repentance. When, in response to John’s ministry, the priests and Levites asked him who he was, he declared, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord,’ as the prophet Isaiah said” (John 1:23; cf. Isa. 40:3; Matt. 3:3).

The third stanza refers to Mary’s pregnancy, echoing the closing couplet of the poet John Donne’s “Annunciation” sonnet: “Thou hast light in dark, and shutst in little room, / Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb.” This is an idea that many Christians, both before and after Donne, have mused on and marveled at.

Thank you to my friend Peggy, who introduced me to this remarkable Advent hymn!

Advent, Day 7: Blossoming Desert

LOOK: Parched Earth by Emily Dickey

Dickey, Emily_Parched Earth
Emily Dickey, Parched Earth, 2019. Photograph.

Taken near Mars Desert Research Station in Hanksville, Utah, in 2019, this photograph shows yellow and purple flowers peeping up through the dry cracks of a desert floor. It’s a superbloom, “a rare desert botanical phenomenon in which an unusually high proportion of wildflowers whose seeds have lain dormant in desert soil germinate and blossom at roughly the same time. The phenomenon is associated with an unusually wet rainy season” [source]. View more photos here.

LISTEN: “Isaiah 35” by the Opiate Mass, on From the Belly of a Woman (2011)

Even the wilderness and desert will be glad in those days
The wasteland will rejoice and blossom with spring crocuses
Yes, there will be an abundance of flowers and singing for joy
The deserts will become as green as the mountains of Lebanon
As lovely as Mount Carmel or the plain of Sharon
There the Lord will display his glory
The splendor of God
With this news, strengthen those who have tired hands
And encourage those who have weak knees
Say to those with fearful hearts:
Be strong and do not fear
Your God is coming
He is coming to save you

This electronica chant sets to music a popular Advent scripture: Isaiah 35:1–4. Sung by Tara Ward [previously] of the Opiate Mass, it was recorded live on December 4, 2010, at Immanuel Lutheran Church in Seattle.

According to the band’s Facebook page,

The name [The Opiate Mass] is a nod both to the Christian liturgical form and to Karl Marx’s assessment that religion is the opiate for the masses. Perhaps it is. Or perhaps the common desire for comfort, rest, escape, or relief are more complicated and mysterious than we know.

In our pursuit of creating spaces of beauty and awe, we find ourselves partial to cathedrals, antiquity, ambience, pipe organs, samplers, synthesizers, incense, tongues, silence, joy, meditation, ambiguity, the abstract. We strive to avoid pretense, hype, cliché, certainty, celebrity, egotism, greed, noise.

Advent, Day 6: “Fret ye not, little heart”

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

—Matthew 5:5

LOOK: The Bruised Sky by Claudia Alvarez

Alvarez, Claudia_The Bruised Sky
Claudia Alvarez (Mexican American, 1969–), The Bruised Sky, 2005. Porcelain and ceramic, 46 in. × 8 ft. × 14 ft. Photo from an exhibition at California College of the Arts, San Francisco. Click on image to view more.

Alvarez, Claudia_The Bruised Sky (detail)

LISTEN: “The Gentle Strong” by David Benjamin Blower, on The Book of Bare Life and Returns: Praying the Psalms in the Anthropocene (2023)

Fret ye not, little heart
At the wheels that want and take and hurt
O forsake their heartless rage
For the wheels shall all lay down and be covered in moss
And the trees shall take back all the towers

Refrain:
And the gentle strong shall inherit the land
Be ancestors of the better days at hand
No wealth but life
No wealth but life
All shall pass right

Be not forged in their fires
Who live as though living were a war on life
Put your feet in the soil
And speak to the Yon thy delights and thy heart’s desires
And your justice wax still as the noon [Refrain]

David Benjamin Blower [previously] from Birmingham, England, is one of the most original, thoughtful, and compelling songwriters of faith working today. His songs contain unique poetic images, never resort to cliché, and often embody Advent vibes in their weary hope and their yearning for shalom. This subdued track from his 2023 album addresses the “gentle strong,” another word for the “meek” who are lifted up by Jesus in the Beatitudes.

Gentleness or meekness is not a trait that’s typically rewarded in modern Western cultures. Last month, for example, the people of the United States elected a brash, crude, violent, and egotistical man into our nation’s highest office. It seems to me that many voters mistake his loudness and self-importance for strength.

But the kingdom of God is not like the kingdoms of this world. In God’s kingdom, the gentle strong flourish under the benevolent rule of Jesus Christ, who himself models gentle strength.

Blower’s song gives us images of renewal: Of wheels that used to drive and crush becoming still and growing moss. Of trees overtaking our skyscrapers, reclaiming the land—organic growth and abundance, supporting human and nonhuman life. Of the meek entering at last into their inheritance.

The better days are at hand; may we do our part in bringing them to birth. May we be forged in a different fire: not ire or selfish ambition but love. May we embrace life and the things that make for life. May we keep in constant conversation with “the Yon”—the One who is above and beyond and yet, paradoxically, immanent, a friend who’s always close by. May we be consistently grounded in doing justice, loving mercy, and walking humbly with our God.

Advent, Day 5: When?

LOOK: Bethlehem by Carola Faller-Barris

Faller-Barris, Carola_Bethlehem
Carola Faller-Barris (German, 1964–), Bethlehem, 2009. Pencil on paper on MDF board, 100 × 180 cm. [HT]

LISTEN: “Peace” | Words by Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1879, and Wilfred Owen, 1917 | Music by Peter Bruun, 2017 | Performed by the Svanholm Singers, dir. Sofia Söderberg, on Exclusive, 2019

When will you ever, Peace, wild wooddove, shy wings shut,
Your round me roaming end, and under be my boughs?
When, when, Peace, will you, Peace? I’ll not play hypocrite
To own my heart: I yield you do come sometimes; but
That piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allows
Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it?

Out there, we’ve walked quite friendly up to Death,—
Sat down and eaten with him, cool and bland,—
Pardoned his spilling mess-tins in our hand.
We’ve sniffed the green thick odour of his breath,—
Our eyes wept, but our courage didn’t writhe.
He’s spat at us with bullets and he’s coughed
Shrapnel. We chorussed when he sang aloft,
We whistled while he shaved us with his scythe.

Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!
We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.
No soldier’s paid to kick against His powers.
We laughed,—knowing that better men would come,
And greater wars: when each proud fighter brags
He wars on Death, for lives; not men, for flags.

O surely, reaving Peace, my Lord should leave in lieu
Some good! And so he does leave Patience exquisite,
That plumes to Peace thereafter. And when Peace here does house
He comes with work to do, he does not come to coo,
He comes to brood and sit.

The text of this choral work by the Danish composer Peter Brunn combines two British poems: “Peace” by Gerard Manley Hopkins and “The Next War” by Wilfred Owen. Let’s look at each one separately, and then together.


“Peace” by Gerard Manley Hopkins

When will you ever, Peace, wild wooddove, shy wings shut,
Your round me roaming end, and under be my boughs?
When, when, Peace, will you, Peace? I’ll not play hypocrite
To own my heart: I yield you do come sometimes; but
That piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allows
Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it?

O surely, reaving Peace, my Lord should leave in lieu
Some good! And so he does leave Patience exquisite,
That plumes to Peace thereafter. And when Peace here does house
He comes with work to do, he does not come to coo,
He comes to brood and sit.

The Jesuit poet-priest Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–1889) wrote this curtal sonnet on October 2, 1879, after finding out he was reassigned from his role as curate at St. Aloysius’s church in Oxford to curate at St. Joseph’s in the industrial town of Bedford Leigh, near Manchester. He was apprehensive about this move to a place he described as “very gloomy” and unclean. The following decade, the last of his life, he would be plagued by melancholic dejection, which his later poems reflect. In addition to the internal disquiet he was experiencing in the fall of 1879, there was also an external lack of peace, as Great Britain was at war on three fronts—in southern Africa (against the Zulu kingdom), Afghanistan, and Ireland.

The speaker of the poem addresses Peace, an elusive dove, begging him to come settle down to nest, to incubate his eggs. “Brooding” here, writes J. Nathan Matias, is not a morose act but a generative, warmly creative one, birthing life.

Though the dove appears in scripture as a symbol of God the Spirit, in the last three lines of this poem he could be God the Son, the Prince of Peace. The people waited for generations upon generations for his arrival. And when he came, he was not all talk. He came with serious work to do; he came to hatch a newborn world.

This poem expresses yearning for peace in our hearts and in our lands—a permanent, holistic peace that only Christ can bring.


“The Next War” by Wilfred Owen

“War’s a joke for me and you,
While we know such dreams are true.”
—Siegfried Sassoon

Out there, we’ve walked quite friendly up to Death,—
Sat down and eaten with him, cool and bland,—
Pardoned his spilling mess-tins in our hand.
We’ve sniffed the green thick odour of his breath,—
Our eyes wept, but our courage didn’t writhe.
He’s spat at us with bullets and he’s coughed
Shrapnel. We chorussed when he sang aloft,
We whistled while he shaved us with his scythe.

Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!
We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.
No soldier’s paid to kick against His powers.
We laughed,—knowing that better men would come,
And greater wars: when each proud fighter brags
He wars on Death, for lives; not men, for flags.

One of the premier poets of World War I, Wilfred Owen (1893–1918) was a British soldier whose poems lament the horrors of trench and gas warfare. His cynicism and transparency about war stood in stark contrast to the confidently patriotic verse written by earlier war poets.

Owen wrote “The Next War” while being treated for “shell shock” (PTSD) at Craiglockhart War Hospital in Edinburgh; he sent it in a letter to his mother dated September 25, 1917, writing the following week that he wanted her to show it to his youngest brother, Colin—for him “to read, mark, learn.” Owen was discharged from the hospital two months later and returned to the front lines of France, where he was killed in action on November 4, 1918, a week before the armistice, at age twenty-five.

He opens his ironic-toned sonnet with an epigraph from “A Letter Home” by Siegfried Sassoon, a fellow war poet he met at Craiglockhart, who became a friend and a mentor to him. (Bruun omits the epigraph in his choral work so that there’s a seamless transition between poems.) “Dreams will triumph, though the dark / Scowls above me,” Sassoon writes earlier in his poem, a poem that acknowledges the bleakness of war but, imagining the rebirth of a friend slain in battle, clings to the hope that it will soon be over and we can laugh it off.

Owen undercuts the optimism and solace in these lines with what follows in his own poem. The speaker of “The Next War”—which it’s pretty clear is the poet himself—personifies Death as a comrade whose intimate presence is normal among soldiers. He spits bullets, coughs shrapnel, and breathes stinking odors, and yet they ally themselves with him, sing Death’s song, go with him into battle.

Soldiers only delude themselves if they think they fight against Death, Owen asserts; they fight with him. Their nations’ governments will say they’re heroes, taking up arms to save lives and secure peace, but Owen rejects the idea that there’s anything noble, glorious, or effective about war. Soldiers kill men “for flags”—merely serving national interests—and their doing so never puts an end to war but only leads to another.


By bringing together these two texts, sandwiching Owen between Hopkins, Bruun gives a more hopeful framing to Owen’s disillusioned reflections on war, ending with the final image of a brooding dove. I like how the two poems play off one another. For example, Hopkins’s rhetorical question of “What pure peace allows / . . . the death of [peace]?” stands in starker relief when read in conjunction with Owen’s criticism of the ostensible rationale for war.

Bruun still honors Owen’s experience of being made far too familiar with death, his endurance of mortar blasts and mustard gas and all-around carnage, to no apparent end. Owen’s text starts at 2:11 of the video, where a menacing, march-like cadence enters. We feel the anxiety and the darkness of battle. The specificity of the poem resists us metaphorizing war—that is, applying the poem to a situation of inner turmoil (battling inner demons) only. This is physical combat between nations, which, of course, has severe psychological repercussions on the participants.

But at 5:33 the hushed tones of Hopkins return. Bruun had been attracted to Hopkins’s poem “Peace” for some time. In 2010 he wrote a setting of it for solo voice and flute, clarinet, horn, percussion, glockenspiel, violin, violoncello, and contrabass, and in 2016 he published a new setting, with Owens now inserted, as the second in a five-song cycle called Wind Walks for mixed choir and accompaniment, all five texts taken from Hopkins. He then adapted the song for the male-voice chamber choir the Svanholm Singers from Sweden, which is what I feature here.

The pointed and repeated “When” at the opening of Bruun’s piece, a word that Hopkins repeats three times in his poem, is powerful, an echo of the familiar biblical refrain, “How long, O Lord?” If we read Peace as Christ, then the poem is a prayer, asking Christ to come home to us, to our world—to spread his wings over it and nurture it back to life.

In Hebrew thought, shalom, “peace,” is not a passive thing, merely the absence of war. It’s the active presence of God and an all-encompassing state of completeness, soundness, health, safety, and prosperity.

Shalom is what we long for, especially during Advent. It’s what scripture promises will come someday—but now, its lack is keenly felt. It may occasionally flit and hover nearby, but then it flies off again.

As the church, may we embrace “Patience exquisite, / That plumes to Peace thereafter,” as we await Christ’s return, in the meantime preparing his way through acts of righteousness and reconciliation.

Advent, Day 4: Swords into Plowshares

One day

[. . .]

God
will come forward

to settle the conflicts between us
finally          the one
true witness

even the finality of holocaust
will melt away
like lowland snow

the military hardware
translated into monkey bars
where children play

the hardened postures
crumbled
like ancient statues

children will wave through the gunholes
of tanks
rumbling off to the junkyard

people will find hands
in theirs
instead of guns

learn to walk
into their gardens
instead of battle

Oh House of Israel
let’s walk in the sunlight ways
of his presence

—Isaiah 2:2–5, translated by David Rosenberg in A Poet’s Bible: Rediscovering the Voices of the Original Text (New York: Hyperion, 1991)

LOOK: Isaiah’s Vision of Eternal Peace by Mordecai Ardon

Ardon, Mordecai_Isaiah's Vision of Eternal Peace
Mordecai Ardon (Israeli, 1896–1992) (designer) and Charles Marq (French, 1923–2006) (fabricator), Isaiah’s Vision of Eternal Peace, 1982–84. Stained glass, 6.5 × 17 m. Old National Library of Israel building, Givat Ram campus, Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Photo: Hanan Cohen.

Born in 1896 to a Jewish family in the village of Tuchów in what is today Poland, Mordecai Ardon studied art in Germany under Paul Klee and Wassily Kandinsky. When the Nazis came to power in 1933, he moved to Jerusalem, becoming a teacher in 1935 at Palestine’s chief art academy, the Bezalel School of Arts and Crafts, which he directed from 1940 to 1952. Known for their vibrant tones and stirring rhythms, Ardon’s paintings often explore the connections between the visible and the invisible and reflect his interest in mysticism and antiquity.

From 1982 to 1984 Ardon carried out a commission by the National Jewish University and Library (now the National Library of Israel) in Jerusalem to develop a monumental triptych of stained glass. His painted designs were translated into the medium of stained glass by the French master glazier Charles Marq, a frequent collaborator of Marc Chagall’s. The result is titled Isaiah’s Vision of Eternal Peace.

Ardon, Mordecai_Isaiah's Vision of Eternal Peace (left)

The left panel illustrates Isaiah 2:2–3:

In days to come the mountain of the LORD’s house shall be established as the highest of the mountains and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it. Many peoples shall come and say, “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob, that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.”

Winding like roads, the white bands contain the boldfaced line in various languages—I can detect English, Russian, Polish, Arabic, Latin, and French—representing the peoples of the world streaming to Jerusalem.

Ardon, Mordecai_Isaiah's Vision of Eternal Peace (center)

The center panel depicts a merging of the earthly and heavenly Jerusalems. At the bottom stand the city walls, made up of the seventeen sheets of parchment that comprise the Great Isaiah Scroll from Qumran, dating to around 100 BCE. Floating above are Kabbalistic symbols, including the Tree of the Sefirot, signifying the Divine Presence. There are also several Hebrew texts from Jewish history that I can’t identify.

Ardon, Mordecai_Isaiah's Vision of Eternal Peace (right)

The right panel visualizes the fulfillment of Isaiah 2:4: “. . . they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation; neither shall they learn war any more.” All the machinery of war—tanks and fighter jets, guns and bullets—lies in a garbage heap at the base, and shovels emerge overhead as the weapons are transformed into farming tools.

This glasswork covers an entire wall of the old National Library of Israel building on the Givat Ram campus of Hebrew University. The library moved into a new building in October 2023, situated between the Knesset and the Israel Museum in the heart of Jerusalem. But Ardon’s window remains in its original building at HUJI, which has become a multipurpose space.

LISTEN: “Lo Yisa Goy (Study War No More)” (ֹא יִשָּׂא גוֹי) | Traditional Jewish folk song, arr. Linda Hirschhorn and Fran Avni | Performed by Vocolot, on Behold! (1998)

לֹא יִשָּׂא גוֹי אֶל גוֹי חֶרֶב
לֹא יִלְמְדוּ עוֹד מִלְחָמָה

(Transliteration:
Lo yisa goy el goy cherev
Lo yilmadu od milchama)

(Translation:
Nation will not take up sword against nation
Nor will they train for war anymore)

And into plowshares [they’ll] beat their swords
Nations shall learn war no more

The lyrics of this traditional Jewish antiwar song come from the original Hebrew of Isaiah 2:4, a text held sacred by both Jews and Christians. The song looks with prayerful hope toward the day when global peace will be a reality.

If this is the glorious end state to which we all are headed, the future that God has envisioned and charted for us, then why do we participate in violence now? When governments try to control people through violence, and those people respond with violence, that response only provokes violent retaliation, and so the cycle continues on and on—militancy and death. The line between aggressor and defender becomes blurred. We’ll never get closer to the Isaiah 2 ideal by asserting ourselves with weapons.

May the people of God be a people who refuse violence even when the state commands it, even when we’ve been hit tremendously hard and the urge for payback is intense. May we not become what we fear, inflicting terror because we have been terrorized. And may God bring peace and healing to people and nations who have been victims of war; so too perpetrators of war. To those just trying to survive and be free in this fallen world as best they know how.

The first chapter of Isaiah, which precedes the famous “swords into plowshares” chapter, contains this word from the Lord to his people:

When you stretch out your hands,
I will hide my face from you;
even though you make many prayers,
I will not listen;
your hands are full of blood.
Wash yourselves clean, make yourselves clean;
remove the evil of your doings
from before my eyes;
cease to do evil,
learn to do good;
seek justice,
rescue the oppressed,
defend the orphan,
plead for the widow.

—Isaiah 1:15–17

So let us renounce our vindictiveness and “wash ourselves clean.” And then let us sing this song (1) as a prayer that the Messiah, whom Christians recognize to be Jesus of Nazareth, would come to actualize this beautiful vision of peace, but (2) also as a pledge, committing ourselves to the path of life—to, in the words of the apostle Paul, “overcom[ing] evil with good” (Rom. 12:21).

I like Vocolot’s “Lo Yisa Goy” arrangement best; it has a celebratory mood, as if the coming peace is in sight. But what follows is a handful of others that carry more of a lamentful tone, which is also appropriate as we consider the persistence of war and how short we fall of God’s plan for human flourishing that’s never at the expense of others.

For harp and voice by Estela Ceregatti of Brazil, 2020:

A cappella by the American Midwest female vocal trio Rock Paper Scissors, 2010:

For strings, by La Roche Quartett from Germany, 2018:

A virtual choir under the direction of Andrea Salvemini, 2020:

The last performance employs an increasing number of instruments as the song progresses: guitar, recorder, keyboard, cello, percussion, and accordion. It also includes steps to an Israeli circle dance performed by participants in isolation because this was during the days of COVID quarantines; elsewhere online you can find communal performances where the circle is closed.

Some versions add these two lines as a verse, adapted from Micah 4:4:

And every man ’neath his vine and fig tree
Shall live in peace and unafraid

Roundup: “Peace on Earth” by U2, guns into shovels, and more

SONGS:

>> “Peace on Earth” by U2: “Heaven on earth—we need it now. I’m sick of all this hanging around. Sick of the sorrow, sick of the pain . . .” U2’s “Peace on Earth” was inspired by the Omagh bombing in Northern Ireland on August 15, 1998. It first appeared on their 2000 album All That You Can’t Leave Behind, but I prefer the stripped-down acoustic version they recorded last year on Songs of Surrender.

The song wrestles with the tension between the angels’ proclamation of peace in Luke 2 and the course of history ever since, riddled, as before, with violence. “Hope and history won’t rhyme,” the lyrics lament—they’re just not matching up. “Peace on earth” feels naive; the words sometimes stick in our throats. The refrain addresses Christ: “Jesus, can you take the time / To throw a drowning man a line?” In its emotional honesty and its asks, it resembles a biblical psalm. (Bono has in fact spoken about how the Psalms have influenced his songwriting.)

When U2 performed “Peace on Earth” live at Sphere Las Vegas this February, Bono substituted the names of five Irish casualties of the Troubles listed in one of the verses with the names of four Palestinian and Israeli children who have been killed in the current Israel-Hamas War: Gal, Ayat, Hind, and Mila.

>> “There Will Be a Day (Isaiah 2)” by Caroline Cobb, arr. Joel Littlepage: I cued up my favorite song from last year’s Dawning Light service at Grace Mosaic church in Washington, DC (it’s at 32:50–37:29 of the video): “There Will Be a Day” by Caroline Cobb, based on Isaiah 2. The song is from Cobb’s album A Seed, a Sunrise: Advent to Christmas Songs (2020)—it’s my favorite of all her songs, and because of its emotional and summative power, I’ve set it as the concluding track of my Advent Playlist. Joel Littlepage, Grace Mosaic’s pastor of worship and formation and the director of the Daily Prayer Project, arranged it with gospel inflections for his church’s annual Advent carols service. He’s at the keyboard; his wife, Melissa Littlepage, is the vocal soloist (she’s also the choir director); and the saxophonist is Skip Pruitt.

Cobb, the songwriter, has published a new book this year that may be of interest: Advent for Exiles: 25 Devotions to Awaken Gospel Hope in Every Longing Heart. She discusses it on a recent episode of The Habit Podcast that I commend to you.

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ARTWORK: Home (land) Birth (place) by Beth Krensky: Beth Krensky is an artist, activist, and educator of Jewish heritage who describes herself as “a gatherer of things—objects, words, spirit—and a connector of fragments to make us whole.” Her website documents many compelling artistic projects she has undertaken over the past decade. One of them, Home (land) Birth (place), is a performance from 2016 with her academic colleague Amal Kawar, a professor of political science and the author of Daughters of Palestine: Leading Women of the Palestinian National Movement.

Krensky, Beth_Home Land, Birth Place
Beth Krensky (American, 1965–), Home (land) Birth (place), a performance with Amal Kawar, 2016, Great Salt Lake, Utah. Photo: Josh Blumental.

For this piece, Krensky sewed together a truce flag from baby clothes and other white linens and attached it to two olivewood poles onto which she burned quotes from Israeli and Palestinian mothers who have lost a child to Israeli-Palestinian violence. She and Kawar held the flag aloft in the desert outside their hometown of Salt Lake City as a call for peace. Read the artist’s statement at the link above, and view additional photos of the flag here.

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DEVOTIONAL POST: “Swords Will Be Turned into Plowshares,” Center for Christianity, Culture, and the Arts at Biola University: Every year Biola University’s CCCA publishes free daily Advent and Christmas devotions online that feature an artwork, a song, a poem, and a written reflection—the work of many contributors. You can access their 2024 Advent Project here.

Last year I was particularly taken with the peace-themed compilation offered on January 2, which includes a poem by Denise Levertov, a socially conscious, participatory art project led by Pedro Reyes (more on that in next roundup item), a Sweet Honey in the Rock rendition of an African American spiritual, and a wonderful reflection by Dr. Natasha Aleksiuk Duquette, a literature professor. Check it out.

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ARTICLE: “Mexican Artist Pedro Reyes Molds 1,527 Guns into Shovels Used to Plant Trees,” Colossal: Pedro Reyes is a Mexican artist, architect, and cultural agent who seeks to turn social problems into opportunities for tangible change through works that integrate elements of theater, psychology, and activism. (I learned about him through Biola’s Advent Project, above.) In 2008, in cooperation with city authorities, he led a campaign in Culiacán, Mexico, to collect firearms, giving donors vouchers for electronic appliances in exchange. The hundreds of guns he received were publicly crushed by a steamroller, melted, and remolded into shovels, which were then distributed to public schools and other institutions who committed to planting trees with them. This project was an effort to curb local gun violence and to cultivate the collective imagination toward life.

Reyes, Pedro_Palas por Pistolas
Pedro Reyes (Mexican, 1972–), Palas por Pistolas (Guns for Shovels), 2008

Reyes, Pedro_Palas por Pistolas
Artist Pedro Reyes steamrolled 1,527 surrendered guns for his Palas por Pistolas project, transforming them into shovels for planting trees.

I’m interested in exploring more of Reyes’s work, as I love what he’s doing. In 2016, as a visiting lecturer in MIT’s Art, Culture, and Technology Program, he cotaught the course “The Reverse Engineering of Warfare: Challenging Techno-optimism and Reimagining the Defense Sector (an Opera for the End of Times).” A full-color illustrated survey of his projects, Pedro Reyes: Ad Usum / To Be Used, was published by Harvard University Press in 2017.

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INSTAGRAM SERIES: “Alternative Advent 2024” by Kezia M’Clelland: Through December 24, follow the Instagram account @alternative_advent for a progressively revealed photo essay of Advent promises told through journalistic images from 2024, sourced from various news organizations. I call attention to this project every year. The woman behind it, Kezia M’Clelland, has a master’s degree in violence, conflict, and development from SOAS University of London and helps equip churches and communities to support children and families in crisis situations.

Advent, Day 3: True Liberty

LOOK: Nativity by Josué Sánchez Cerrón

Sánchez Cerrón, Josué_Nativity
Josué Sánchez Cerrón (Peruvian, 1945–), Nativity, 1982. Acrylic on canvas, 88 × 144 cm. © missio Aachen.

LISTEN: “Toda la Tierra” (All Earth Is Waiting) by Alberto Taulé, 1972 | Spanish text and music by Alberto Taulé © 1972, 1993 Centre de Pastoral Litúrgica, Barcelona, admin. OCP Publications; English translation by Gertrude C. Suppe © 1989 United Methodist Publishing House

Below are two performances of this Advent song. The first is by a man and woman from the Parroquía Divino Niño Jesús in Morelia, Mexico, and the second is by the choir Tallo De Amor, from Mexico City:

Toda la tierra espera al Salvador
y el surco abierto, la obra del Señor;
es el mundo que lucha por la libertad,
reclama justicia y busca la verdad.

Dice el profeta al pueblo de Israel:
“De madre virgen ya viene Emmanuel,”
será “Dios con nosotros,” semilla será,
con él la esperanza al mundo volverá.

Montes y valles habrá que preparar;
nuevos caminos temenos que trazar.
él está ya muy cerca, venidlo a encontrar,
y todas las puertas abrid de par en par.

En una cueva Jesús apareció,
pero en el mundo está presente hoy.
Vive en nuestros hermanos, con ellos está;
y vuelve de nuevo a darnos libertad.

ENGLISH TRANSLATION:

All earth is waiting to see the Promised One,
and the open furrows, the sowing of the Lord.
All the world, bound and struggling, seeks true liberty;
it cries out for justice and searches for the truth.

Thus says the prophet to those of Israel:
“A virgin mother will bear Emmanuel,”
for his name is “God with us,” our brother shall be,
with him hope will blossom once more within our hearts.

Mountains and valleys will have to be made plain;
open new highways, new highways for the Lord.
He is now coming closer, so come all and see,
and open the doorways as wide as wide can be.

In the lowly stable the Promised One appeared,
yet, feel his presence throughout the earth today,
for he lives in all Christians and is with us now;
again, with his coming he brings us liberty.

Trans. Gertrude C. Suppe

Alberto Taulé (1932–2007) from Barcelona, Spain, was a Roman Catholic priest and a composer of liturgical music who “believed that every parish should have a dynamic, evolving repertoire”—that “quality music and the regular introduction of new songs are vital to a parish’s spiritual health,” as his Catholic Online obituary reads. Working in the wake of the Second Vatican Council (1962–65), which sanctioned the use of vernacular languages and musical styles in the Mass, Taulé wrote new worship songs that could be grafted into the preexisting liturgical structure, used during the entrance procession, the offertory, the Eucharist, or the closing.

In Spanish-speaking church communities around the world, “Toda la Tierra” is sometimes used as the entrance song for one of the four Advent Sundays. Since the United Methodist Church commissioned an English translation from Gertrude C. Suppe and added the song (with bilingual lyrics) to its hymnal in 1989, it has become more widely known in English-speaking communities as well.

The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America published a different English translation by Madeleine Forell Marshall in the 2006 edition of its hymnal, Evangelical Lutheran Worship; hers preserves the aabb rhyme scheme of the original Spanish and begins with the line “All earth is hopeful, the Savior comes at last!”

The Spanish verb esperar means both “to wait” and “to hope” and is thus especially fitting to describe the action of the church during Advent.

Advent, Day 2: Where the Light Is Gone

LOOK: Incarnation by Tim Joyner

Joyner, Tim_Incarnation
Tim Joyner (American, 1987–), Incarnation, 2021. Foraged pigment on board-mounted paper, 4 × 4 in.

Tim Joyner is an artist who works primarily with natural pigments and inks derived from locally foraged materials, such as stone, lichen, and seaweed. He is also the worship director at Trinity Church Congregational in Bolton, Massachusetts, where he lives with his wife and four kids.

Incarnation is a painting he made during Advent 2021. He describes its makeup and meaning in a Rabbit Room blog post:

The painting . . . is pretty dark for an Advent piece. It’s primarily Lamp Black (a pigment that I associate with longing and prayer because I make it from the discarded stubs of vigil candles), with some even darker Jet Black. There’s some white from Jingle Shells and a bit of Verdigris, but those are there mostly to make the black pigment look even blacker. Even the orb of gold leaf in the very center of the painting is obscured enough that it mostly just draws attention to the rising movement of dark pigment.

This painting is a reminder to myself that, yes, at the end of all this waiting there is an arrival. But it’s not me arriving at the other end of darkness or doubt, brokenness or betrayal. It is the Christ Child who arrives. He meets us here. And rather than chasing away all that it means to be human—including the pain and the longing unfulfilled—and banishing it forever, He wraps Himself in it. We find Christ not on the other side of our longing, but within it.

LISTEN: “Where the Light Is Gone” by the Wood Drake Sessions, 2023

Refrain:
Where the light is gone
There to us be born

Come, O come, light the shadows
Unto us like an arrow
Make a way, O Emmanuel
Through the night, through the night

In the scars that we carry
From the wars of our families
Make a way, do not tarry
In the night, in the night [Refrain]

In the weight of addiction
In the shame of its mission
Make a way from the prison
In the night, in the night [Refrain]

In the years of our sorrow
When the griefs leave us hollow
Make a way, we lie fallow
In the night, in the night

Final Refrain:
Where the light is gone
There to us be born
Where the light is gone
There may Christ be born

The Wood Drake Sessions is Paul Ranheim of Colorado and Kirk Sauers of Georgia. This song, they write,

asks for Christ to be born into the aches of our world and the longing of our hearts.

Although the Son of God came into our world to joyfully dwell with us, the Christmas season, for many, is often painful, lonely, and despairing as the realities of broken families, stinging disappointments, personal addictions, and profound grief confront us in a poignant way.

Our desire in writing this song is to connect the birth of Christ to these very real, dark areas of our everyday lives. It is a prayer for the hope of the Messiah to be “born” into the places where no light seems to exist.