Our Lady of Advent

 

Our Lady of Advent:

(A meditation poem for the Feast of the Immaculate Conception)

O Lady of the first Advent,

bright ray of violet dawn 

glimpsed upon horizon’s edge,

you promise of patriarch’s prayers 

and prophet’s deep dreaming, 

presaged by ark and veil and temple, 

we call you now,

come and make us ready!

O green bud; who heals the root 

of the world’s tree you appear 

as seed of Spring in the midst

of deep sin wintered darkness; 

a light, a tindered spark, 

arising from the dry long fruitless 

wood now tender touched at last 

consumed by fire,

but unburned and unburied, 

appearing in the mind’s eye

of all who long for light 

and feel the past ages of 

our benighted vision’s yearning.

O bright Woman, born of the long line 

of Eve, hidden and hoped for 

in their tears and broken hearts 

and in their courage that quakes 

the ages of men.

You step a girl into this world 

as wisdom and benediction both, 

who will draw down from Heaven’s halls

the promised peace, who shatters walls and gates of the warmonger and in the grace of emptiness wakes our world soul with hope at last

of Eden’s long lost promise 

while magnifying the mystery of love.

We call you! 

Come and make us ready!

O Lady of the second Advent,

you will come sky mantled and star crowned, 

wrapped in sun splendour and moon’s 

slow silver stepping, become again the great cosmic solstice of the end, 

when the dance shall cease at last

the sky shall tear and you the Holy Ark 

be seen in the blue Heaven’s angeled embrace.

O come! 

Make us ready for that day when you as Queen and Mother and wisdom’s spouse all 

open the treasure houses of the heavens, when mercy is poured out at your prayer and we shall know ourselves your sainted subjects.

We call you! 

Come and make us ready!

O Lady of this Advent’s present blessing, seen in sign and circle down the spiral of the long years appearing, present in pillared candle flame, green and berried branch 

and open wreath’s enfolding emptiness;

make of us a manger, for we are straw, 

our cave hearts long for light 

though the mind’s inn, so filled with noise, crowded with distracted din, has too often no room for your birthing rest, 

your saving stillness, your broken heart

by which you bear us all anew in blessing. Come now and enter our darkness 

O wise Virgin, 

O green new shoot, 

O wisdom wild and dangerous,

O Queen, O woman,

O Lady of Advent,

we call you!

O come and make us ready.