Readings:
Isaiah 40:1-11;
Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13;
2 Peter 3:8-15a;
Mark 1:1-8

Collect:
With tender comfort and transforming power
you come into our midst,
O God of mercy and might.
Make ready a way in the wilderness,
clear a straight path in our hearts,
and form us into a repentant people,
that the advent of your Son
may find us watchful and eager for the glory he reveals.
This we pray through him whose coming is certain,
whose day draws near,
your Son, Jesus Christ our Saviour. Amen.

Reflection

The Collect I’ve used above is slightly adapted from that little blue book I use for an opening prayer at worship on Sundays. This prayer is for the Second Sunday of Advent, Year B – this Sunday. It could hardly be more appropriate.

Every Advent we hold so many contradictions together. The rest of our society seems intent on eating as much as possible and endlessly jingling Christmas tunes wherever we go. This Advent, as last year, we are acutely aware of war raging and destroying people’s lives. In distress we ask: “Will it ever end?”

In Church, we remember that the liturgical colour for the season is purple, the same as Lent – the colour of penance and repentance. There is certainly excitement to come – God with us, here among us, Immanuel. We proclaim this the biggest moment of all in the life of the world, so celebration is good, right and proper. We know also, however, that we live in the midst of great difficulties and much pain, so we need to prepare ourselves.

We speak of God’s coming among us as if it is to come, and it is. More significantly, though, we set this time aside because it has already happened. God among us, here among us, Immanuel. We realize too, that we are negligent of God, so we set time aside to consider our personal life and our corporate life in order to repent and to change our ways, make changes to our life-style and to the priorities of life we consider most important. This Advent, what needs changing? What needs strengthening? What needs to be left? 

Advent means coming. It also means adventure, and we are invited to approach the season anew. We encourage this sense of anticipation with our Advent calendars – counting each and every day, opening a little door with an image, or perhaps a surprise, behind it. The big day is coming and we get ourselves ready for it. So too, we light the candles on our Advent wreath to remind ourselves every week that, while daylight reduces and darkness threatens to overwhelm us, we light another candle. We will not let the fear of darkness get the upper hand. At a time when people at war are on our TV screens every night, we remember we humans are a bellicose lot. Wars seem never-ending. Violent or oppressive occupation, apparently to keep peace, is the story too many tell. We defy this. We light another candle in rejection of all the violence we see. We know full well that peace is elusive, and in some parts of the world, completely absent. We also know national budgets preparing for war are as massive as ever. We light another candle, and join all those who will this week light candles.

One candle dispels the dark. Two are better, three even stronger. We join all who wish to dispel anger and fear, seeking only to respond to God’s glory made known here on earth. In our churches we light one more candle every week during Advent, symbols of our commitment to love, peace, joy and hope. Then on Christmas Day we light the central candle and join our prayers that “the advent of your Son may find us watchful and eager for the glory he reveals”.

Collect above adapted from Opening Prayers: Collects in Contemporary Language published by Canterbury Press (1999). This volume of liturgical texts is from The Sacramentary, Volume One: Sundays and Feasts © 1997 International Commission on English in the Liturgy, inc.

Barry Lotz