The O Antiphons

     Quite likely, the best-known Advent hymn is "O Come, O Come Emmanuel," probably because it is considered by many a Christmas carol and makes its way onto numerous Christmas albums. The hymn's haunting and memorable melody complement well its beautiful lyrics, which resound with a deep sense of longing--for ransom, freedom, redemption.
 

     But these wonderful lyrics are actually derived from what the Church knows as the O Antiphons. Beginning on December 17, and continuing on through December 23, the Church's longing for the coming of Christ grows particularly acute, and that longing is expressed through the singing of these seven O Antiphons, each sung on successive evenings as the antiphon to the Magnificat (Gospel canticle) at Vespers (Evening Prayer) on those days.
 

     Each of the O Antiphons consists of two parts: a title or quality ascribed to Jesus Christ and a prophecy from the prophet Isaiah fulfilled in the coming of Christ. While the exact origin of these antiphons is uncertain, there is reference to them as early as the sixth century, and they were in widespread use by the 900s. And, as you may know if you are a Vespers pray-er, they are still used today!
 

     The seven antiphons begin (in Latin and English),

• O Sapientia / O Wisdom...,
• O Adonai / O sacred Lord...,
• O Radix Jesse / O Flower of Jesse's stem...,
• O Clavis David / O Key of David...,
• O Oriens / O Radiant Dawn...,
• O Rex Gentium / O King of all the nations..., and
• O Emmanuel / O Emmanuel (God with us)... 

 image from https://www.etsy.com/listing/85895407/o-antiphons-golden-ornaments

      To find out more about the O Antiphons and to read them in their entirety, click here.
 
      To pray the (Catholic) Liturgy of the Hours (including Vespers/Evening Prayer) each day, visit divineoffice.org.

Christmassed Out?

Recently away at a personal retreat, I joined other retreatants at a common dinner. Not surprisingly, one of our topics of conversation was Thanksgiving plans. It was then we learned that two of our companions happened to be chefs. "Ugh!" one exclaimed. "I'm 'turkeyed out.' I've been cooking turkeys for about two months now." The other agreed...come early October, turkey becomes the featured item at restaurants and grocery delis. The first chef emphatically stated that she was not making a turkey for her own Thanksgiving celebration.

Which, of course, immediately made me reflect on the treasure that is the Holy Season Advent.

Our society--including retailers, to be sure, but also offices, restaurants, radio and television stations, neighbors, and yes, sadly, even some churches--is convinced that Christmas begins (in 2014, anyway) sometime around the first week of October and continues, full-bore, until December 26 (when the post-Christmas sales begin). The problem? When we are thus saturated by Christmas (music, "spirit," decorations, flavors, colors, traditions, etc.) for weeks on end, the actual celebration loses a lot of its meaning. It can even become distasteful. We only come truly to treasure something when it is out-of-the-ordinary.

I love pizza. It's easily my favorite food. But if I were to have pizza every day or night for a few days, I would find I'm not enjoying it as much...I may even begin craving other foods! Pizza always tastes best, and is most a treat, when I haven't had it for a good long while--especially when I know pizza night is coming a few days in advance!

Similarly, Christmas is so much richer when we take the time to prepare for it without actually celebrating it. That's what Advent is all about...our anticipation and preparation for the celebration of Christmas (which, incidentally, in church reckoning, actually begins the evening of December 24 and continues for a minimum of 12 days).

Perish the thought we should arrive at December 25 and people are so 'Christmassed out' that we cannot properly celebrate the birth of God-made-flesh, or worse--that we are tired of Christmas and are ready for it all to be behind us. What a sadness that would be.

Instead, this year, take a trial run through Advent...coming this Sunday to a liturgical church near you!

The Unsettling Silence

There is a great deal of noise in my life. A small part of it is a welcome addition, such as the joyful shrieks of young family members, the playful growl of my dog as we wrestle, etc., but most of it clamors to steal my attention away from things of greater importance. What's worse, I not only put up with this noise, I actually invite it in—I use such noise as an escape from the pressures of job, school, relationships, responsibilities.

In yesterday’s Gospel lesson (Matthew 8:5-11), the centurion, upon telling Jesus of his servant who is ill, and Jesus expressing his willingness to come and cure him, says, “Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof; only say the word and my servant will be healed.”

Only say the word.

Advent is a season of entreating the Word to say the word, of asking the Spoken to speak comfort and joy, health and life, love and mercy. But I fear that, with all the noise in my life, I may not be able to hear this word when it comes in a still, small voice, in the cry of a babe.

This Advent, my prayer is that I might bring personal determination to the centurion’s prayer, which the Catholic faithful claim for our own at each Mass just before receiving Christ, and that I may sacrifice the empty ease of noise for the unsettling silence—eagerly listening for the word, that my soul may be healed.

A Reflection for Advent, 2011

As Christmas draws ever nearer and the shopping fervor kicks into high gear, we tend to hear more religious messages dissuading us from our rampant consumerism and reminding us of the “Reason for the Season.” And this is as it should be, given how we are often easily taken in by the mad dash to make sure everyone on our gift list is accounted for, not to mention making sure we’ve put the finishing touches on our own gift list! Surely the gift God gave to humankind in the birth of Jesus is incomparable, and it is all too easily lost in our overly commercialized holiday celebrations.

But lately, especially in this season of Advent, I’ve been reflecting on the whole idea of longing. Often accompanying the admonitions of fellow Christians is the offering of assurance that all of our deepest longings are filled not in those things which fill our stockings, but in Him who fills our hearts. Well, I would say, yes and no.

I can, without reservation, say along with Saint Augustine that “Our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee.” I hold that human beings have an innate longing for God which we try to fill with a variety of things which seem to promise happiness—power, fame, sensual pleasure, and yes, material possessions. Each and all of these end up being vain pursuits, never delivering true peace for the soul. In this regard, I agree with those brothers and sisters of mine I’ve mentioned above: a reconciled relationship with God, made possible through the One born in Bethlehem is what we truly seek, and entering into such a relationship squelches the potency of these earthly longings.

I would hasten to add, however, that that is not the end of the story. Beginning and deepening a relationship with God decidedly does not mark the end of all our longings. Instead, as we walk with God and as our wills are conformed ever more greatly to His, we find that our longings change. While our longings for those false lures to happiness decrease, other longings appear and increase: the very longings of God. These include longings for peace, for reconciled human relationships, for an end to wars, violence, and injustice, for suffering to cease, for no more sickness, dying, and death, and for a deep, profound love to be shared between all who are made in their Creator’s image.

Contrary to what I used to think, these longings cannot be passed over with a blind optimism which merely imagines either the day we individually pass on into the life everlasting and everything is as it should be, or when Jesus triumphantly returns and sets things right. Instead, these are precisely the longings that come to inhabit our thoughts, our prayers, our very lives. We pray “thy kingdom come, thy will be done,” and we mean right here and right now. What’s more, we also mean in us and through us. We are both the object and the instrument of that prayer’s answer.

Longing for the things God longs for in no way diminishes our hope in the resurrection or desire for the return of Christ. Rather, it prepares us for it by stirring us to greater partnership with, and deeper dependence upon, God. May this Advent see our hearts ache for God’s kingdom to come, his will to be done.

“Graciously grant us peace in our days.”