Advent

Tomorrow, at least for the more liturgical churches, is the Second Sunday of Advent.  Advent is the traditional four-week period of preparation for the celebration of Christmas. 

As the poet/essayist Jeffrey Essmann writes this week,* the lessons or readings scheduled for Advent possess a certain strangeness, an emphasis on the voice of the prophets of the Old Testament -- prophets who themselves were often strange in many ways.

It is a voice that echoes in the sacred silence at the very heart of us, and Advent is a season of stillness so that we my pick up the resonance of -- and be drawn to God by -- that echo.

By coincidence, while looking through choral music on YouTube a few weeks ago, I hit upon a performance by the massive National Youth Choir of Scotland, singing "The Lord of Sea and Sky" -- a "top-hit" Catholic hymn, dating back only to 1981, that is also sung in many Protestant churches.  It has a catchy tune that sticks in your mind, which probably contributes to its popularity.

Play "The Lord of Sea and Sky"

The song has three verses, each representing a frustrated God who finds himself confronted with a human race that refuses to acknowledge or accept his gifts of love.  "Who will bear my light to them?  Whom shall I send?" God asks. The refrain is the congregation's response:

Here I am, Lord.  Is it I, Lord?
I have heard you calling in the night.
I will go, Lord, if you lead me,
I will hold your people in my heart.

The hymn -- especially the refrain -- is based on the Old Testament story of the boy Samuel, apprenticed to the aging priest Eli. Samuel was awakened three times during the night by a voice calling his name.  Each time he dutifully awoke Eli to ask what he wanted.  After the third visitation, Eli told Samuel that it was God who was calling, and if awakened again, Samuel should reply, "Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth." And that's what he did, at age eleven, and God replied, leading to Samuel's ultimately becoming one of the great prophets of Israel.

A memorable story for me, because when I was about nine, I was awakened by, I believed, someone calling my name.  We had recently learned the story of Samuel in Sunday School, and in the dark I got up on my young knees in bed and spoke some version of "Speak, Lord ..." 

Sadly, there was no reply.

But God speaks his love in silence, as well as by voice, as Essmann points out, because love can be conveyed through experiences other than words.  Essmann recalls his boyhood experiences, going out fishing with his own naturally-taciturn father:

We baited our hooks and pursued our perch in near monastic silence. I might occasionally have a question (Why do loons sound so funny?); ...  But, in general, we were silent -- silent and happy.  I watched my bobber bounce and totter in the morning sun; heard a tiny errant wave lap the side of the boat.  And I adored my father.  Those moments of sitting quietly in the presence of a loving father taught me just about everything I needed to know about prayer, about heaven.  Today, whatever minor ecstasies I may enjoy are redolent of freshwater lake and worms.

Essmann concludes his essay, reminding us that even in the Old Testament, God didn't usually speak to Israel directly, for example out of a burning bush.  He spoke through his prophets, through human beings. Today, each of us is called to be God's prophet and his voice -- to each other and to the world.  Each sharing God's love in his or her own small way, by words or through deeds, no matter how inept or unsuitable we may feel ourselves, just as timid eleven-year-old Samuel himself responded.

"I have heard you calling in the night."

Happy Advent.  And Merry Christmas!
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*America (December 9, 2019).