Seeking Wisdom

O Epic Epistoler!

You write letters by the thousands on our hearts:

Salutations of peace be with you

Fear not

REJOICE, REJOICE!

I am EMMANUEL, GOD WITH YOU in every moment

I am WISDOM from on high who guides your path

I am the ROOT OF JESSE’S TREE

who rescues you from death

I am DAVID’S KEY

who opens wide the door of heaven’s home

I am your bright and MORNING STAR

who turns darkness into light

I am your PRINCE OF PEACE who ceases all sad divisions

O come, O come EMMANUEL!

Our lonely exile is over!

Bid us to open our full mailboxes

Re-read your daily invitations

shared in the postscripts of history

signed with the ink of eternity

and RSVP by our witness of service

to a world still in need

O Divine Dramatist!

All the world’s your stage and we your supporting players

written in the timeless comedy and tragedy called life.

With entrances and exits that perplex and mystify,

your scripts have endless chances for crucial parts

and there are no small actors in your productions.

From garden settings

Eden, Gethsemane, and New Jerusalem,

to humble abodes and big city temples,

your plot twists of paradise and peace,

suffering and surrender,

vulnerability and protection abound.

Sometimes in comedy, sometimes in tragedy,

sometimes with protagonists, other times with antagonists,

we find you in every act and every scene:

weeping at our tombs like at Bethany,

drinking at our weddings like at Cana,

healing our Bartimaeus blindness,

challenging our Thomas-like doubts,

stopping our stony judgments and

calming our turbulent seas.

No conflict ever without climactic resolve,

the show (your Passion Play) must go on.

O Playwright of Perfection, come!

Shine your spotlight on the dark stages of our lives;

prompt us to embrace our true and precious roles.

O Gospel Ghostwriter!

In the beginning was the Word,

(another name for YOU)

written on the hearts of all your children

but sidelined by abstract thinking and grown-up conflicts.

Then the Word became flesh and dwelt among us,

a light to the human race shining in the darkness

that will never be overcome.

From this fullness all received, grace in place of grace.

Such good news could not be contained!

Synoptic mysteries scribbled on parchment by many

centuries later according to

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John

an angel, a lion, a bull, an eagle (all winged);

Your Word proclaimed from pulpits and sidewalks

beguiling ordinary minds and

enticing scholars to exegete jots and tittles

in search of what they already possess.

O Hidden Autobiographer Come!

Reveal your ever-evolving Word

made manifest in the simple moments of our lives;

immerse us in your testament of love.

O Lyricist!

The music of creation sparkles with your love language:

dove’s coo, sparrow’s trill, meadowlark’s call;

cicada’s hiss, cricket’s chirp, frog’s croak.

You comfort our melancholy with your lilting

rain-on-the-roof lullabies.

You expand our vitality with

wind-in-the-trees arias and

thrill our weary souls with

crashing beach waves’ percussion solos.

Better than Rodgers and Hammerstein,

Stephen Sondheim, and Andrew Lloyd Weber

all rolled into one!

(Although your greatness shines through them, too.)

Come O Lyricist for insects, animals, plants and elements!

Lift our disconsolate spirits with your libretto of nature.

O Hidden Journalist!

Your unbiassed 24/7 news cycle crawls invisibly across the screen of every enlightened, asleep, or unaware soul.

Underneath angry, stalwart voices 

  who pontificate from social media platforms,

  post stories with artificial intelligence by-lines,

  and in godlike manner peddle truth as fake news,

Your constant reports remain the same:

Blessed are the poor,

as city tents of the unhoused go down.

Blessed are those who mourn,

as civilians and children die by bombs.

Blessed are the meek,

as millionaire athletes and superstars sit on thrones.

Blessed are those who hunger for righteousness,

as protesters collapse under arrest.

Blessed are the merciful,

as refugees remain in border camps.

Blessed are the clean of heart,

as the single-minded suffer mockery.

Blessed are the peacemakers,

as nations polarize.

Blessed are the persecuted,

as innocents die on death row.

Come O Chronicler of Justice!

Break into the cacophony of our big screens

and tiny mobile devices.

Heal our deafness.

Teach us to see.

Attune our hearts to recognize your disguises

and heed your endless pleas.

O Prophetic Poet of the Universe,

in each sunrise and sunset

You streak the sky with dazzling metaphors of justice,

the strength of your arm gleaming from goldleaf stanzas.

You scatter the proud in their conceit

with your fuchsia-streaked hair,

Lift up the lowly in glittering ruby slippers,

and nourish the hungry from an Orange Crush fountain.

“Trust me” shines like a simmering silver pendant

around the neck of messenger-bearing clouds.

Your faithful help remains constant

from the pink pulchritude of dawn

to the verdant gloaming of dusk.

Come O Creator of form and beauty,

help us remember your promise of mercy:

every generation that blesses will be blessed!

My favorite time of the Advent season has arrived! Time to say “Oh!” again as we pray the ancient “O Antiphons” the week before celebrating the Incarnation. I look forward to this week perhaps as much as the Twelve Days of Christmas. The week before December 25th, during the Liturgy of the Hours, we contemplate and reflect upon the ancient names for the Messiah intoned in the hymn, “O Come O Come Emmanuel”: O Wisdom, O Adonai, O Flower of Jesse, O Key of David, O Radiant Dawn, O King of All Nations, and O Emmanuel.

To me, the “Oh” sounds like the dawning of a spiritual insight– the “aha” moment when the reconciliation of opposites makes perfect sense. For several thousand years before the appearance of Jesus, ancient people of faith were calling out these names, longing for liberation from the captivity of the human condition. Throughout the ages, the past, present, and future meld together in a flash of light, whether felt or ignored, changing the trajectory of history.

Starting with the Big Bang, the first Incarnation took place, and “Wisdom walked on the land.” Adonai gave us the divine law of love in the form of a burning bush. The prophet Jesse’s family roots would bring forth the House of David, the sacred key that would unlock the doors of ignorance and could never be shut. An inextinguishable Light, called “Radiant Dawn” or “Dayspring,” would beckon all to its luminous warmth. And then, the Messiah would come, not in secular power or glory, but disguised as a helpless infant, a hidden King of All Nations, to become “Emmanuel,” God with us, the timeless cornerstone of history.

Last year, I was encouraged to write my own O Antiphons and did so with great relish. In the spirit of repurposing (my Christmas theme this year), I will repost each one with a few embellishments in the next seven days.

May all of us enter the final week of Advent with faith, hope, and love, three virtues the world needs more than ever right now.

O Ancient Storyteller,

author of pithy parables about lost sheep,

hidden coins, and mustard seeds,

the account of your birth still captivates

our twenty-first century technology-driven culture.

By your life, death, and resurrection,

you inscribe deep meaning into suffering,

and transform mortality with happily forever after.

Your story is our story.

Come, O Teller of Tales,

help us find the chapters of our lives

hidden inside yours.