Holy ground and Advent's end

Written on the 23rd, Christmas Eve Eve, about the evening before

We have arrived at our annual already and not-yet: those final few days of Advent, when our waiting and expectancy turn from stillness to activity, filled with final preparations for Christmas. Our tabernacles are still veiled in purple; our Advent candles still burn, but all around them, poinsettias, cribs, trees and fairy lights are in place. All is ready... but all is still waiting... We are still waiting, still praying O Come, with humanity's ancient longing. 

Yesterday evening I was part of a small team putting the final touches to the myriad lights and decorations in and around our church. I spent my time quietly bedecking the two large trees on the sanctuary. Tinsel and baubles, glittery stars and fairy lights with which to welcome the one true Light; and in between them, lifted high as always... a very different, unadorned, but infinitely more precious tree: the crucifix, our reminder of Love's deepest reason and meaning... And just below... the Eucharist, Love's constant self-gift and presence: Jesus, our Emmanuel, our God-always-with-us, according to his promise; our hope, our fulfillment and our salvation, to whom we pray in today's O Antiphon. 

The parishioner in charge of the cribs stopped by, and asked if I'd heard the news of Chris Rea's death. Yes, I had - and hoped that he would now be doing more than simply driving home for Christmas. Adrian reminded me that this song's lyrics include the line, Get my feet on holy ground - where we certainly hope Chris Rea is now. And yesterday evening, we too were on holy ground. Not only in the holiness of a church building, but the holy ground of care, creativity, hard work and devotion, and what is truly an annual labour of love. The holy ground of shared effort, a common purpose and near-strangers working as a team. And the holy ground, too, of that mysterious, liminal space between expectancy and desire, and fulfillment; the One we long for and await, and the same One who has always been here, with and around and within us. 

And at our work's end, the holy ground of each other, our stories and our conviviality: of tea and mince pies beside the nearly-finished outdoor crib, with a luminous canopy of lights casting their near-magical, warming glow around this newly transformed corner. To quote another song, It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas... Not because of holly and toys and candy canes, but due to expectant cribs and hundreds of lights, brighter than angelic hosts, all assembled with great love.

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And if you prefer a somewhat grander scale: this is what I have seen whenever I've popped into Westminster Cathedral over the past week or so. The crib at the entrance, still awaiting its Infant completion; and a lifetime away at the other end of the nave... the great Rood, and yes; here too, Love's ultimate completion... 

Happy Christmas everyone! May we all truly know the enduring presence of Jesus, our Emmanuel, Love Incarnate forever dwelling among us, born and reborn within all our hearts.