The Holy Season of Advent begins at sundown with the lighting of the first candle of the Advent wreaths and the Office of Vespers this evening...an old meditation poem for this evergreen moment of turning towards the light in the midst of darkness follows...
Advent Vespers
At the thinnest time
of the year,
when
the worlds whisper
to each other
across the cosmos,
and tell their ancient tales
while the darkness draws in,
we draw the cloak of comfort
close against the cold.
And,
at our vesper vigiling,
a spark is struck
then
enfolded
in the ever-green,
that circle of
hoped for Spring,
sprinkled
with blood-berried scarlet,
of wounds wilding,
and see
once again
time's yearning path
retold
in leaves,
the slow greening
of patriarch's prayer
and prophet's longing.
So we wreathe ourselves
in hope,
again,
as
a wavering flame
proclaims
faith's abiding presence
beyond
dark's doubting
and
invokes the coming
of the One who
is always present;
knowing that
as flame will beget flame
until
the candled constellation
is complete,
and our caroled voices
rise
to join the sister stars
in their long remembering
of that ancient night
when,
once,
they
stilled their dance
awhile,
and,
awestruck,
watched
the silent Word
appear,
whose light,
now hidden
beneath
Mary's mantle
and
settled on straw,
first
kindled their flame
and
set the measure
of their orbit's pace.
But,
in this moment's breathing
we
simply stand
and psalm our way
to Advent's
gates of longing,
and there,
with open hands
and heart's made poor again,
we are gentled
by a single flame's
appearing,
and watch
soul's inward sky
for Grace's
first falling
flake,
as children
look up
and long
for
snow.
Thank you for this. Your words evoke longing and knowing and connection. Are you the author? I am an artist from Wisconsin USA...connected with St Paul's Monastery of Benedictine sisters. Blessings on your Advent journey
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