The season of Christmas is nearing its end and we continue to celebrate – singing our way into the new year.  This is one of the oldest carols I know, the tune going back to at least 1305.  The words are thought to have been written by Heinrich Seuse around 1328.  The story goes that he encountered angels singing these words and joined with them in a joyful dance.  It seemed an appropriate way to approach the new year.  Full of joy and dancing with angels.

In dulci jubilo,
Nun singet und seid froh!
Unsers Herzens Wonne
Leit in praesepio;
Und leuchtet wie die Sonne
Matris in gremio.
Alpha es et O!

These words are all about how now that our hearts’ joy lies in the manger, we rejoice sweetly with singing while this baby shines like the sun, the beginning and the end of all things.  The promise of this child clear and something to be celebrated with enthusiasm.

What is this promise?  There is much written on this subject. I am no theologian, so won’t even attempt to weed through it all, or even understand the varying positions, descriptions, interpretations, dogmas and theses.  When I look at the words and music I’ve been thinking about throughout this season, I come back to the advent themes.  Hope. Peace. Joy. Love.  Four simple ideas.  Four powerful words.  Four pieces that together make up one enormous promise.  A promise of what our world could be.  Hope for all that is good.  Peace for all that live. Joy to share generously. Love to encircle us in its warm embrace.  These need not be matters of complicated or divisive theology.  These need not be owned by a few or reserved for the approved. These are fundamental human choices that we can all commit to, that we can all engage in, that we can all receive.

As we enter a new year, let us sing and dance with the angels.  Look for them – they come in all shapes and sizes.  Some are religious.  Some are not. Some are beautiful.  Some are sad.  Some are weary.  Some are boundless.  Some are us. Some are them.  What I know for sure, is we need to both welcome them and become them; receiving and giving.  For at the beginning and the end of all things, we are hope, peace, joy and love.

In dulci jubilo.

Still, still, still,
Weil’s Kindlein schlafen will.
Die Englein tun schön jubilieren,
Bei dem Kripplein musizieren.
Still, still, still,
Weil’s Kindlein schlafen will.

*****

Still, still, still,
my heart with joy is filled.
I’ll sing you a song and watch by your manger,
guard you from harm and keep you from danger.
Still, still, still,
my hear with joy is filled.

Sleep, sleep, sleep,
mid the oxen and the sheep.
The shepherds have come who heard the story,
angels bend low in all their glory.
Sleep, sleep, sleep,
mid the oxen and the sheep.

Still, still, still,
o sleep my holy child,
and while you sleep my voice I will raise,
to God your father sing your praise.
Sleep, sleep,sleep,
o sleep my holy child.

*****

Merry Christmas!

On this final week of advent, we arrive at the theme of love.  Perhaps the most important of ideals – hope, peace and joy all emerging from love, encouraged by love, the results of active love.  When I thought about which carol I might like to consider this week, I had difficulty choosing.  But I thought maybe one that told the story would be appropriate.  Because whether we believe it to be true or just a lovely tale, the Christmas story is one of love.  The love of a gentle mother, willing to take on what would have been a difficult burden.  The love of a husband in circumstances that at best would have been confusing, at worst, devastating.  The love of the Divine gift given as an example of our human potential and our immense value.

So we find ourselves visiting this little town of Bethlehem – along with many before us, some travelling afar and some through the magic of music. These words were written in 1868 by Phillips Brooks after his visit to Bethlehem in 1866.  I chose the old English folk tune used by Ralph Vaughan Williams in 1906, not the one I’m most familiar with, but I found it to be quite lovely.

O little town of Bethlehem, 
how still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep 
the silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth 
the everlasting light;
the hopes and fears of all the years 
are met in thee tonight.

For Christ is born of Mary 
and, gathered all above,
while mortals sleep, the angels keep 
their watch of wond’ring love.
O morning stars, together
proclaim the holy birth,
and praises sing to God the King,
and peace to men on earth.

How silently, how silently
the wondrous gift is giv’n!
So God imparts to human hearts
the blessings of His heav’n.
No ear may hear His coming,
but in this world of sin,
where meek souls will receive Him still
the dear Christ enters in.

What struck me most about these words was the atmosphere of silence that this story of love is set within.  Silence.  What, for some, is considered to be the greatest gift of love ever exhibited is done in silence.  The peaceful night being watched by angels, dreamless sleep, no ear hearing the arrival of this wondrous gift.

We do not live in a world of silence.  We live in a noisy world.  We are loud.  And, it often seems, the loudest among us are the most praised, the most valued, the most noticed.  Yet in silent acts of love there is so much power.  There are those in our midst that work tirelessly in silence.  They simply live and give what is needed with no fanfare, asking no fee, receiving little thanks and requiring no instructions. They see needs and fill them. They see unrest and provide peaceful solutions.  They live their lives expressing love – through all manner of acts, with all kinds of voices, in all sorts of places.   They are grandparents who help raise their grandchildren.  They are volunteers who give their time.  They are teachers who provide school supplies for their students. They are children who make new friends. They are parents who buy food. They are protesters who walk for peace.  They are artists who record our shared experiences.  They are scientists who look for cures.  They are sisters who knit warm scarves.  They are brothers who fix cars.  They are everywhere.

Whether we know it or not, we are all part of this little town of Bethlehem. Our lights can shine in the dark streets, silently giving our wondrous gifts.  As we celebrate this season, may we love fully.  May we love without need of repayment and without need of noise; calming fears and sharing hope.

How silently, how silently this wondrous gift is given.

We have looked for hope, considered peace and are now set to experience joy.  Or, rather, we are told that we are in a joyous season. We are inundated with joyful music, images and endless explanations on how to make our holidays cheery – from how we decorate to how we wrap our gifts, dress ourselves and plan our various parties and gatherings.  We are meant to be fully engaged in the happiest time of the year.  Easier said than done.

The impending birth of this baby is meant to bring great joy.  The significance, for those of the Christian faith, is immense – obviously something to celebrate.  The ideals represented by this child’s life, even for those who may not hold these specific religious beliefs, can be powerful – selfless and unconditional love, kindness and justice for all, treating the least of us as the most valued of treasures.  These are indeed ideals for which we should rejoice.

The words of this very old carol, originally from a 14^thcentury chant, speak to our seasonal joy.

Resonet in laudibus cum iucundis plausibus
Sion cum fidelibus, Apparuit quem genuit Maria.

Let praises resound with joyful applause,
Zion with the faithful: He has appeared who was borne of Mary.

There are many poetic translations of these words, and many variants used with this tune.  I found this English version, by an unknown author, in the United Church of Canada’s hymnal.

Joy is now in every place,
Christmas lightens every face;
now be with us, in your grace,
O hear us, bless us, holy Jesus.

May the star that shone that night,
making your poor stable bright,
fill our hearts with love and light,
O hear us, bless us, holy Jesus.

Through the New Year let it stay,
leading us upon your way,
making Christmas every day,
O hear us, bless us, holy Jesus.

Now and ever may we find
your good news to fill our minds:
peace and love to humankind,
O hear us, bless us, holy Jesus.

What I appreciate about this particular interpretation, is its directive to fill our hearts with love and light throughout the year.  The ideals of Christmas are meaningless if they only appear for this short season.  They are meaningless if they are not lived every day.  I know this has been said many times, in many ways, in many songs, in many cards.  But it remains elusive.  I sometimes marvel at the extent of the advertising at this time of year encouraging us to donate to our favourite charity.  I assume it is because people are in a generous mood, and organizations need to benefit from this reality.  But why is that?  Do we not care for those less fortunate, those in need the rest of the year?  Would the elderly not enjoy visits or concerts in July?  Do children stop eating in February?

Advent is a season of anticipation.  The celebration of the concept of joy is about what this anticipation promises.  We are joyful because there is hope.  We are joyful because we can make peace happen. Joy is not merely a superficial feeling of excitement or happiness in the short-term, it is a deep recognition of who we are and, consequently, what we have to give and what we are able to receive.  If I am able to give something that brings another soul some peace, surely that is worthy of intense joy.  If I am able to receive the hope that someone else offers, my joy – be it obvious or hidden beneath the weight of life – will begin to simmer.  Its tiny light brightening whatever stable I find myself in.  This kind of joy isn’t about sparkles and glitter. It is about understanding that we are one.  We are stumbling through this world together, bumping into each other and all the circumstances that we encounter.  But each little flame of joy we contain, lights the way for those around us, and for ourselves.

So applaud joyfully. Enjoy this season throughout the year. Sing loudly and give generously – of your time, your love and your joy.  And if you are unable, for whatever reason, to find your joy, listen to those beside you.  Feel their light warming your stable until you can find your own.

Resonet in laudibus.

Hope. Peace. Joy. Love.  The themes of Advent are filled with beauty.  Or, rather, they promise beautiful things.  In this season of anticipation, do we simply wait for these promises, or do we create them?  As I think about Peace, I wonder how much we are really doing to ensure its arrival.  Peace on earth, goodwill to all.  We say it, we sing it.  And yet, it eludes us.

This carol was written in 1872 by John B. Calkin, using the words of poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.  Written on Christmas Day in 1863, Longfellow was living in the midst of the American Civil War.  His wife had died in a fire three years earlier, and his eldest son had signed up as a soldier without his father’s blessing, and was subsequently severely injured.  It was a bleak time and these words reflect that.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play, 
and wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom 
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South, 
And with the sound the carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn the households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said; 
“For hate is strong, and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep; 
The Wrong shall fail, the Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”

The carol as we know it, leaves out some of these verses, but I actually think they are important.  It may be that we are no longer hearing the thundering canons of the South drowning out our voices, but there is much noise that does so equally well.  The words of the second last stanza were powerful in Longfellow’s time, as they are now.  “For hate is strong, and mocks the song of peace on earth, good-will to men.”  It is difficult to argue with this.  We live in a hate-filled time.  We live in a time of hostility and polarization.  We could embrace diversity and dialogue, but instead we fight to be right with little regard for the impact on our neighbours, our communities, our world.  Hate doesn’t promote peace.  It requires us to lose together; it requires us to both be and create casualties.

The final verse offers some hope.  As I read it, we must peal louder.  For love to prevail over hate, it must be loud and strong.  Love requires us to consider how every daily action is a reflection of its power, or its failure.  Love requires us to understand that peace for the few means no real peace at all – and those of us who live in relative comfort, wealth and safety are, indeed, part of the few.  Love requires us to look beyond ourselves and into the vastness that is this earth, filled with multitudes all seeking the same thing, and find ways to give the peace that we wish for ourselves.  For our acts of peacemaking, be they large or small, collectively become the deeply ringing bells that proclaim again and again:

Peace on earth, goodwill to all.

It seems it is once again time to shift into festive mode – actually, waiting until Advent to do so appears to be a bit slow when I think of the music and decorations that have, in most commercial settings, already plagued us for weeks.  I do love the Christmas season, but I don’t love the excess or the elongation of its celebration for purposes of consumption.  It is a strange time. It can be magical and warm and all things good. It can be crass and greedy and filled with loneliness.

As I thought about which carols I wanted to explore during this season, I referred to the ideals we usually reflect upon during advent.  Hope, Peace, Joy and Love.  It is fitting that we start with Hope.  This old English carol came to mind.  These words are clearly about the anticipation of who Christ will be – a Saviour, wearing a crown of thorns, sacrificing all for sinners’ benefit.  Everything Christians generally celebrate during advent; the hope found in the impending birth.

The holly and the ivy
when they are both full grown,
of all the trees that are in the wood
the holly bears the crown.

The holly bears a blossom,
white as the lily flower,
and Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,
to be our sweet Saviour.

The holly bears a berry,
as red as any blood,
and Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
to do poor sinners good.

The holly bears a prickle,
as sharp as any thorn,
and Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
on Christmas day in the morn.

The holly bears a bark,
as bitter as any gall,
and Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
for to redeem us all.

But there is other wisdom to be found in these words.   This carol, in this form, is likely from the early 1800s, although there is some claim of its words having been around in 1710.  What is interesting is the symbolism of its language. This goes back to a much earlier time – probably before Christianity was widely practiced in England.  A time when a deep connection to nature was prevalent. Both the Pagans and the Romans used evergreens to decorate in their winter celebrations (Winter Solstice or Yule and Saturnalia).  The reason was simple – to remember that when everything else lies dormant, the green of spring and all its resulting sustenance will return.  What a powerful example of celebrating renewal to come; of celebrating hope!

I also read an explanation of the way holly and ivy can grow intertwined in the forest – sometimes the holly prevails, sometimes the ivy.  But they survive together.  Different, competing, growing.  And, ultimately, exuding a beauty that we can experience and consider as we make our way through the darkness of winter.  It struck me that we are like the holly and the ivy.  In our differences, we can be both competitive and intertwined.  We can be prominent or subdued.  But let us try to be alive and thriving as we cover this world with our hopeful beauty. Filling spaces that are dreary with life that is evergreen, reminders of the hope to be found in the Spring.

The rising of the sun
and the running of the deer,
the playing of the merry organ,
sweet singing in the choir.