Advent, Day 5: Tired

Not only are humans tired and stressed and in need of deliverance; so is the environment. Today’s two featured works function as a call to care for the earth—the one a performative enactment of said care, tender and consoling, and the other an urgent lament by choir.

The gospel is for more than just humanity; it’s for all the earth—animals and insects, plants and soil, skies and oceans. All creation groans for redemption, Paul says in his letter to the early church in Rome. And in the final book of the Bible, John the Revelator’s vision is of the whole world renewed.

LOOK: Earth Rite by Holly Slingsby

Slingsby, Holly_Earth Rite
Holly Slingsby (British, 1983–), Earth Rite, performance at St Pancras Church, London, July 6, 2024. Duration: 1 hour. Photo: Adam Papaphilippopoulos.

Artist Holly Slingsby’s Earth Rite premiered at the Ritual/Bodies live performance event that took place at St Pancras Church in London on July 6, 2024, organized by Dr. Kate Pickering. It was one of eight performance works by eight different artists (one work was by two performers; two works were by one) that collectively spanned some three hours, followed by a ninety-minute panel discussion.

In Earth Rite, “a solo performer sits atop a mound of earth, cradling it in her arms. The earth slips away only to be regathered, in a continuous act of generating, losing, and regenerating.” Charles Pickstone, an Anglican priest, reviewed the work in the Autumn 2024 issue of Art + Christianity journal, writing:

Holly Slingsby, in a loose white dress, sat on the church steps on a mound of rich soil, arms folded in embrace. Where one might have expected a baby, the artist was embracing armfuls of soil, constantly replenishing her burden as the soil slipped away from her. Part earth mother, part mourner, on the edge of the busy and noisy Euston Road, the artist made what could have been rather a moralistic revisiting of a well-known theme (compare William-Adolphe Bouguereau’s Charity, perhaps an influence on this work) into a courageous and compelling glimpse of the earth’s abused and vulnerable soil.

Slingsby reprised the performance on September 27, 2025, at the International Forum of Performance Art in Drama, Greece.

LISTEN: “Kasar mie la Gaji” (The Earth Is Tired) by Alberto Grau, 1987 | Performed by Stellenbosch University Choir, dir. André van der Merwe, 2024

“Kasar mie la gaji” is a Hausa saying from the Sahel region of Africa that means roughly “The earth is tired.” In 1987 leading contemporary Venezuelan composer Alberto Grau (b. 1937) set it to music, creating a magnetic choral composition for, in his words, “an international mobilization to save THE EARTH.”

In their performance notes, the Stellenbosch University Choir from South Africa writes: “The composition is designed on hypnotic repetition, with a steady reiteration of the text. Plaintive glissandos and layered ostinato patterns create a compelling chant, begging for justice and rebirth.”

Kathy Romey, the director of choral activities at the University of Minnesota, offers further description:

The work is broken into three distinct sections, of which the first and third incorporate short melodic motives combined with rhythms from traditional South American dance music intensified by clapping and stomping. The middle section is a slow lament and utilizes various special effects for a cappella chorus, including glissandi, whispering, talking, and hissing.

Why is the earth tired? Because we are depleting her resources. We are disrupting her ecosystems. The carbon emissions from our burning of fossil fuels for energy and transportation are trapping heat in her atmosphere and causing extreme weather.

Lord, have mercy. Please help us restore our planet to health and treat her with respect, recognizing that she, as part of your creation, is precious to you.

Advent, Day 4: Healing of Nations

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month, and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.

—Revelation 22:1–2

LOOK: Tree of Life by Kateryna Shadrina

Shadrina, Kateryna_Tree of Life
Kateryna Shadrina (Ukrainian, 1995–), Tree of Life, 2022. Acrylic on gessoed wood, 60 × 60 cm.

LISTEN: “For the Healing of the Nations” | Words by Fred Kaan, 1965, © Hope Publishing Company | Music by Henry Purcell, 1680, arr. Hartmut Bietz | Performed by the Consolatio Choir Universitas Sumatera Utara, 2020

For the healing of the nations,
God, we pray with one accord;
for a just and equal sharing
of the things that earth affords;
to a life of love in action
help us rise and pledge our word.

Lead us forward into freedom;
from despair your world release,
that, redeemed from war and hatred,
all may come and go in peace.
Show us how through care and goodness
fear will die and hope increase.

All that kills abundant living,
let it from the earth be banned;
pride of status, race, or schooling,
dogmas that obscure your plan.
In our common quest for justice
may we hallow life’s brief span.

You, Creator God, have written
your great name on humankind;
for our growing in your likeness
bring the life of Christ to mind,
that by our response and service
earth its destiny may find.

Advent, Day 3: Bethlehem

LOOK: The Way to Bethlehem by Sliman Mansour

Mansour, Sliman_The Way to Bethlehem
Sliman Mansour (Palestinian, 1947–), The Way to Bethlehem, 1990s. Acrylic on canvas.

LISTEN: “Bethlehem” by Jack Henderson | Performed by Over the Rhine, feat. Jack Henderson, on Blood Oranges in the Snow (2014)

Oh little town of Bethlehem
Have you been forsaken?
In your dark and dreamless sleep
Your heart is breaking
And in your wounded sky
The silent stars go by

Oh little town of Bethlehem
Be still tonight, be still

Mary, she was just a kid
Jesus was a refugee
A virgin and a vagabond
Yearning to be free
Now in the dark streets shining
Is their last chance of a dream

Oh little town of Bethlehem
Be still tonight, be still

Cradled by a crescent moon
Born under a star
Sometimes there’s no difference
Between a birthmark and a scar

Oh little town of Bethlehem
With your sky so black
May God impart to human hearts
The wisdom that we lack
Should you chance to find
A hope for all mankind

Oh little town of Bethlehem
Be still tonight, be still

Over the Rhine is Karin Bergquist and Linford Detweiler, a married, music-making couple from Ohio. In preparation for their album Blood Oranges in the Snow, they put out a call to a few select colleagues for assistance with the songwriting. Glasgow-based singer-songwriter Jack Henderson responded with a demo of “Bethlehem,” which “reinvents the nativity story as a very modern tale set amid the ongoing Palestinian-Israeli conflict,” he writes. Over the Rhine arranged it, with Henderson singing lead and Bergquist providing backing vocals.

“How ironic that the very birthplace of Jesus should prove to be one of the most conflicted, unpeaceful regions of the world,” Bergquist says. Bethlehem is located in the West Bank, a Palestinian territory that has been under the military occupation of Israel since 1967. Numerous checkpoints have been set up in and around the Bethlehem district to restrict Palestinian movement.

The lyrics to Henderson’s “Bethlehem” pick up lines from the traditional Christmas carol “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” transposing them to the present day and giving them a dark twist. Phrases like “dreamless sleep” and “silent stars,” which in the original carol connote inexpectant slumber and a hushed nighttime idyll, in their new context allude to the nightmare of occupation (unjust arrests and imprisonments, shootings, house demolitions, impoverishment, impeded access to essential services like water and hospitals) and the seeming silence of God. The second verse highlights the Holy Family’s vulnerable status after Herod deployed troops to exterminate Jesus in an attempt to protect his own power.

The refrain, “Be still tonight, be still,” is a prayer for the cessation of violence in the land of Jesus’s birth.

Advent, Day 2: To All Who Are in Darkness

LOOK: Untitled photograph by Franco Fafasuli

War in Ukraine
Withdrawing from Kyiv on April 2, 2022, after a lost battle, Russian troops left destruction in their wake. A bullet-riddled car with a flat tire sits abandoned, along with a doll, on the bridge crossing into Irpin, Ukraine. Photo: Franco Fafasuli.

The Russo-Ukrainian war is now in its twelfth year, and it’s been almost four years since Russia’s full-scale military invasion of Ukraine. The devastation is staggering. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to live in a war zone, with bombs, missiles, and gunfire an ever-present threat, part of the everyday background noise. While many photographs have documented the wider destruction and human losses in Ukraine, I was struck by this one by the young Argentine journalist Franco Fafasuli, which focuses not on leveled buildings or intimate griefs but on possessions left behind in the chaos of war: a car, now dotted with dozens of bullet holes, and a plastic-headed baby doll, now covered in grime.

As I reflect on Christ’s coming this Advent season, I think of how he came as a vulnerable child, into a world where people deliberately hurt and kill other people. Then, it was with swords, daggers, spears, arrows, and stones; now we’ve added all manner of firearms and large explosives to our arsenal. That innocent, bald little babe sitting by a deflated tire, suggesting a family with child having suddenly fled their hometown—it looks at me with the eyes of Christ, wondering why we continue to harm each other, but smiling, too, a smile of divine grace. He’s here to show us another way.

(Related post: https://artandtheology.org/2023/12/04/advent-day-2-from-the-ruins/)

LISTEN: “О, Зійди” (Oh, Come Down) by Room for More, 2022

Вся земля cхилилася
Втомлена від боротьби
Зітхаємо у марноті
Бо втратили ми Твій дотик

Заспів:
О, зійди!
Спасе відроди.
Зійди!

Небеса далекі нам
Власний шлях обрали ми
Вся земля чекає на
Спасителя, на мир і спокій

Заспів:
О, прийди!
Царю милості, прийди!
Освіти!
Всім хто в темноті, світи

Небеса схиляються
Являють нам святе Дитя
Земле вся, заспівай
Правдивий Цар, Бог наш з нами

Заспів:
О, радій!
Спас Месія нам родивсь!
О, вклонись!
Царю всіх царів, вклонись!

Бридж:
Підіймай опущені руки
Потішай тих хто відчаєм скуті
Відкриває Син нову
Надію, силу й повноту

Заспів: 
О, радій!
Спас Месія нам родивсь!
О, прийми!
Це рятунок твій, прийми!
The whole earth bows down
Weary of the struggle
We sigh in vain
For we have lost your touch

Refrain:
Oh, come down!
Savior, revive
Come down!

The heavens are far from us
We have chosen our own path
The whole earth awaits
The Savior, peace and tranquility

Refrain:
Oh, come!
King of mercy, come!
Enlighten!
Onto all who are in darkness, shine

The heavens bow down
Show us the holy Child
All the earth, sing
The true King, our God is with us

Refrain:
Oh, rejoice!
The Messiah is born to us!
Oh, bow down!
He’s the King of all kings, bow down!

Bridge:
Lift up your hands that hang down
Comfort those who are bound by despair
The Son reveals a new
Hope, strength, and fullness

Refrain:
Oh, rejoice!
The Messiah is born to us!
Oh, accept!
This is your salvation, accept!

The lead singer on “О, Зійди” (Oh, Come Down) is Yaryna Vyslotska. The song was written by Jonathan (Jon) Markey, an American-born minister and musician who grew up as a missionary kid in Ukraine and since 2008 has been a pastor at Calvary Chapel in Ternopil. In 2017 he and his wife Stephanie (Steffie) founded the Ukrainian Christian music collective Room for More.

Advent, Day 1: Redeemer, Come

At Christmas, we celebrate how light entered into darkness. But first, Advent bids us to pause and look, with complete honesty, at the darkness. Advent asks us to name what is dark in the world and in our own lives and to invite the light of Christ into each shadowy corner. To practice Advent is to lean into a cosmic ache: our deep, wordless desire for things to be made right. We dwell in a world shrouded in sin, conflict, violence, and oppression. . . .

Before the delight of Christmas, Advent invites us to a vulnerable place—a place of individual and communal confession where we honestly name unjust systems, cultural decay, sorrow, the sin of the world, and the sin in our own lives. Only by dwelling in that vulnerable place can we learn to profess true hope. Not cheap hope, spun from falsehoods, half-truths, or denial, but a hope offered by the very light that darkness cannot overcome.

—Tish Harrison Warren, Advent: The Season of Hope, pp. 32–33

LOOK: Luminarias by Juan Francisco Guzmán

Guzman, Juan_Luminarias
Juan Francisco Guzmán (Guatemalan, 1954–), Luminarias, 2002. Oil on canvas. © missio Aachen.

LISTEN: “Come, Oh Redeemer, Come” by Fernando Ortega, on Give Me Jesus, 1999 | Performed by MissionSong (musicians of The Mission Chattanooga Parish), 2020

Father enthroned on high
Holy, holy
Ancient, eternal Light
Hear our prayer

Lord, save us from the dark
Of our striving
Faithless and troubled hearts
Weighed down

Refrain:
Come, oh Redeemer, come
Grant us mercy
Come, oh Redeemer, come
Grant us peace

Look now upon our need
Lord, be with us
Heal us and make us free
From our sin [Refrain ×2]

Father enthroned on high
Holy, holy
Ancient, eternal Light
Hear our prayer

Advent Prelude: Not Knowing

Watch therefore: for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come.

—Matthew 24:42 (KJV)

LOOK: Quote-Unquote, Hyphen, and The Point of Intersection by Kay Sage

There’s a wistful quality to the paintings of the midcentury American surrealist artist Kay Sage [previously], which often feature tenuous, draped structures and a distant light in the vast dark. The first work of hers I saw in person was Quote-Unquote, which shows a ragged, exposed architectonic form—is it fallen into disrepair, or incomplete?—whose vertical wood beams pierce the dreary gray sky.

Sage, Kay_Quote-Unquote
Kay Sage (American, 1898–1963), Quote-Unquote, 1958. Oil on canvas, 28 × 39 in. (71.1 × 99.1 cm). Wadsworth Atheneum, Hartford, Connecticut, 1963.198. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones. © Estate of Kay Sage / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

The museum label at the Wadsworth Atheneum reads in part: “Sage’s later paintings featured vertical architectural structures, such as walls and scaffolding, set in otherwise deserted landscapes. These inanimate forms were often draped with plain fabric, as if to suggest a human presence or absence.” The title Quote-Unquote provides little interpretive help. What is being quoted here? Is irony intended?

Painted the same decade, Sage’s Hyphen shows a towering structure of open doors and windows.

Sage, Kay_Hyphen
Kay Sage (American, 1898–1963), Hyphen, 1954. Oil on canvas, 30 × 20 in. (76.2 × 50.8 cm). Museum of Modern Art, New York. © Estate of Kay Sage / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

And The Point of Intersection shows a series of wooden boards and frames standing, slightly diagonal to the viewer, on a ground that recedes into infinity. In the bottom left corner a rumpled sheet or garment lies on a squat platform.

Sage, Kay_The Point of Intersection
Kay Sage (American, 1898–1963), The Point of Intersection, 1951–52. Oil on canvas, 39 × 32 in. (99.1 × 81.3 cm). Collection of Selma Ertegun, New York. © Estate of Kay Sage / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Source: Kay Sage: Catalogue Raisonné, p. 269

Is the “intersection” of the title between time and eternity, or . . . ?

LISTEN: “Not Knowing When the Dawn Will Come” | Words by Emily Dickinson, ca. 1884 | Music by Jan Van Outryve, 2018 | Performed by Naomi Beeldens (voice) and Jeroen Malaise (piano) on Elysium, Emily Dickinson Project, 2018

Not knowing when the Dawn will come,
I open every Door,
Or has it Feathers, like a Bird,
Or Billows, like a Shore –

This is one of twelve musical settings of Dickinson poems for piano and voice by the Belgian composer Jan Van Outryve. It’s sung by soprano Naomi Beeldens, with Jeroen Malaise on keys.

I’ve always read “Not knowing” as an Advent poem, as promoting a posture of readiness for the coming of Christ—he who is, as we call out in the O Antiphons of late Advent, our Oriens, Rising Sun, Dayspring. Will he come softly, rustling, avian-like, or will he come crashing onto earth’s shore like a wave?

Expecting Dawn’s imminent arrival, the speaker of the poem opens every door, welcoming its light.

(Related posts: https://artandtheology.org/2022/12/14/advent-day-18-will-there-really-be-a-morning/; https://artandtheology.org/2022/12/15/advent-day-19-healing-wings/)

From Augustine (Confessions) to Teresa of Ávila (The Interior Castle), the picture-making nuns of St. Walburga’s Abbey in Eichstätt to C. S. Lewis (Mere Christianity), the human heart has long been compared to a house. To open the windows or doors of the heart to Christ is to invite him to come in and dwell there and to transform the place.

Advent commemorates three comings of Christ: his coming in “history, mystery, and majesty,” as one priest put it. That is, Christ’s coming (1) as a babe in Bethlehem, (2) in the Spirit, to convert, illuminate, equip, and console, and in the bread and wine of the Eucharist, and (3) at the end of time.

Have you opened every door to him? Do you eagerly expect him to arrive—this Christmas (are you telling, singing, enacting the story of his nativity?); into your struggles and brokenness, to companion you and to heal and strengthen; and again on earth, to unite it with heaven and establish, fully and finally, his universal reign?

This is the first post in a daily Advent and Christmastide series that will extend to January 6. I hope you follow along!

Advent Series 2025

Want to receive a daily pairing of art and music in your inbox during this Advent and Christmas season? Sign up here. (If you already subscribe to the blog, you’re all set.) Posts will run from November 29, the day before the first Sunday of Advent, to Epiphany on January 6. I have also planned a few poems and roundups to go out during that time.

Advent 2025 promo

Advent is my favorite season of the church year because it taps into the deep yearning I feel for this world to be set right, for God’s beauty to burst into it with an irrefutable finality—no more sin, no more sorrow. The season is a chance to practice hope, something I sometimes struggle with, as I tend to lean more cynical.

The readings, art, and music of Advent sweep me up into the grand narrative of scripture, attuning me to the ways God has always been coming to us, but fixing me especially on how in Bethlehem of Judea, he came in a very special way—as a human being—and nurturing my excitement for his imminent return to earth to wed it to heaven.

Advent themes include:

  • Lament and longing
  • Hope, peace, joy, love
  • Promise
  • John the Baptist, especially his call to repentance in preparation for the coming kingdom
  • The second coming of Christ (individual judgment, cosmic renewal)
  • The parable of the ten bridesmaids
  • The new heavens and the new earth
  • Isaiah’s messianic prophecies: a virgin conceiving, swords into plowshares, a peaceable kingdom, a great light shining on a people in darkness, a flowering branch from the root of Jesse, etc.
  • Pregnancy
  • Mary’s song
  • God with us

Based on these, I’ve curated dozens of visual and musical selections that I hope will make God’s story come alive to you in fresh ways. A thread installation, a soil-based performance, quilted detritus, a photograph from a war zone, confetti skies, stained glass oracles, a sixth-century apsidal mosaic from a Roman basilica, a medieval German New Year’s greeting by and for nuns, a Jemez Pueblo nativity in clay, a site-specific dance before a mural in Atlanta . . . these are some of the artworks that will be featured.

As for music, you’ll hear a classical setting of an Emily Dickinson poem, an adaptation of Psalm 27 by a Ugandan worship collective, a contemporary “Mass for Peace,” a Latin American song of the Annunciation, a dialogue between Mary and the infant Christ from Renaissance England, a responsory by the medieval polymath Hildegard of Bingen, offerings from many different singer-songwriters, and more.

Many of the songs will be drawn from my Advent playlist on Spotify, which I first published in 2020 but have been adding to each year:

If you know of anyone else who might be interested in an arts-based approach to Advent and Christmas devotions, please share with them the link to this post. You can peruse previous years’ entries to get a flavor:

Advent 2024 | Christmas 2024
Advent 2023 | Christmas 2023
Advent 2022 | Christmas 2022
Advent 2021 | Christmas 2021
Advent 2020 (abbreviated)

I’m looking forward to sharing what I’ve curated for the start of this new liturgical year, as time unfolds across four hallowed weeks of expectant waiting and then Twelve Days of festivity and wonder.