O Radix - 19 December

"O Root of Jesse, set up as a sign for the peoples, before whom kings will stop their mouths, to whom the nations will pray: come to set us free, delay no more."

O Adonai - 18 December

O Adonai, and leader of the house of Israel, who appeared to Moses in the fire of the burning bush, and who gave him the law on Sinai: come to redeem us with outstretched arm.

O Sapientia - 17 December

The text of today‘s antiphon is

O Wisdom, who came forth from the mouth of the Most High, reaching from one end to the other, powerfully and sweetly ordering all things: come to teach us the way of prudence.

Jesus, the Word or Wisdom of God, is like a bridge reaching from heaven to earth and from earth to heaven. We are invited to journey towards our Father by stepping on this bridge and following where it leads. Walking this 'way of prudence' helps to make the kingdom of God visible in our time. The one who utters the invitation is none less than the Messiah himself.

Our joy and our grace

Christmas Eve

The Annunciation is the turning point in human history because it is the moment in which the Word became flesh in the womb of Mary. It is at once the fulfillment of Old Testament joy and the beginning of New Testament grace. These are the first words of the new testament according to Luke: 'hail, full of grace', 'rejoice, highly favoured one', 'chaire kecharitomene' - be joyful (chara) you who are full of grace (charis). It is not accidental that, apart from the Crucifixion, this is the gospel event most often represented in art. In this moment the greatest joys spoken of in the Hebrew scriptures are fulfilled as the new grace of the Christian reality comes to be.


What were the greatest joys spoken of in the Hebrew scriptures? One was the joy of a barren woman discovering that she was to have a child. Such was Sarah, the aged wife of Abraham, who bore Isaac, the child who ensured the fulfillment of God’s promises. Such were the mother of Samson, and Hannah the mother of Samuel, and Elizabeth the mother of John the Baptist. The prophets of Israel used this imagery of the barren place that comes to life, the dry and sterile land in which water appears and life flourishes (Isaiah 41). God saves by turning the dry places into fertile ground. Mary says to the angel, ‘how can this come about since I am a virgin?’ Here is a different kind of infertility, a conception even more extraordinary than those of Samuel, or John the Baptist. Here, without any violence or intrusion into His creation, God’s creative power brings into being the human nature that the eternal Son of God took to Himself.

Another great moment of joy is the joy of being in God’s presence. The most striking example of this is the dance of King David as he welcomed the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. His wife, watching from a window, was not amused that her husband should throw off his clothes to disgrace himself in front of the servants. David’s joy was unrestrained, however, a joy overflowing because God was in the midst of His people (2 Samuel 6). The prophets speak of this also. Zephaniah, for example, says ‘rejoice for the Lord is in your midst, your God, the Holy One of Israel’. He even goes as far as to speak of God dancing for joy in the presence of his people, the exact mirror image of David in the presence of the Ark (Zephaniah 3). The angel Gabriel says to Mary ‘rejoice because the Lord is in your midst’. God is with us in a new and remarkable way: how could we not be joyful?


A third great experience of joy in the Bible is the liberation of slaves. The defining moment in the history of the relationship between the Hebrews and their God is the crossing of the Red Sea. The Lord brought them out of the land of Egypt and led them from the place where they had been slaves to a place of freedom, a land flowing with milk and honey. This joy too is contained in the Annunciation, for the child who is to be born of Mary will be called Jesus (or Joshua). The name means 'the Lord saves' and the first Joshua was the one who finally led the people across the river Jordan and into the Promised Land. The child born of Mary is the new Joshua, saving his people from their sins and leading them into the Kingdom of God.

Joy that the barren is now fruitful. Joy that the Lord is in our midst. Joy that slavery is ended and freedom established. Add to these a final moment of great joy, that of the renewal of the covenant. The people sinned again and again, but just as often God offered a covenant to them and taught them to hope for salvation (Jeremiah 36; see also Isaiah 54). The new covenant whose first act is the annunciation to Mary is the one foretold by Jeremiah, an everlasting covenant sealing the everlasting love with which God loves us. This covenant will be sealed in the blood of the one born of Mary, in Mary's blood we might even say, the sword of His passion piercing her heart also.


The grace announced here is life in the presence of God, freedom in an enduring relationship of love with God. It is the moment in which the new creation begins. And here is a final, joyful wonder. In the first creation the only one to speak was God. ‘Let there be light’, God said, ‘and so it was’ (Genesis 1). But in the new creation a new grace appears as God enables His human creatures to participate in the work He is doing in them and for them. ‘Let what you have said be done to me’, Mary says. God makes it possible for us to reciprocate, to love Him in return. This is the most remarkable mystery of grace, that God who comes to save us gives us the saving victory. It is one of us – Mary’s Son, our Brother, Jesus Christ – who has achieved salvation for humanity. He is truly our joy and our grace.

O Emmanuel - God is with us

Readings: Malachi 3:1-4,23-24; Psalm 24; Luke 1:57-66


‘O Emmanuel, our king and our lawgiver, the hope of the nations and their Saviour: come and save us, Lord our God’. The prophet Isaiah wrote: ‘therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son and shall name him Emmanuel’ (7:14). Emmanuel means ‘God is with us’. In Matthew’s gospel (1:23) the Old Testament verse is obviously understood to be foretelling the birth of Christ. How might we understand the significance of this name of God’s anointed son?

The use of the name Emmanuel in this way by the gospel writer has the intention of guiding the hearer’s attention to the incarnation itself. How is God with us? God is with us in a human being who walked among us and underwent suffering similar to our own, unencumbered only by sin. God, in Christ, came to accompany us in our journey and struggles, not only in the spirit but in the reality of flesh and blood. Part of our struggle as human beings is the knowledge that we can only go so far in understanding and sharing the paths of our contemporaries: our love has its flaws and limitations. It is only God who can truly walk with all, for He came to share the space of each one of us for all time in Jesus, who blends human experience and divine perspective.



O Emmanuel, our King and lawgiver, for whom the nations wait, their Saviour: come to save us, Lord, our God.

O Rex gentium - Christ our cornerstone

Readings: 1 Samuel 1:24-28; Responsorial psalm: 1 Samuel 2:1,4-8; Luke 1:46-56

Any building whose foundation is unsound will fracture, become unstable and ultimately collapse, and buildings built on clay or marshy soil do not endure like those founded on solid rock. Hence, in 1 Peter 2:4-8, Christ is proclaimed as the cornerstone, echoing the prophet Isaiah who proclaimed that God was laying a “sure foundation” (Isaiah 28:16), and the permanence of this cornerstone is juxtaposed in today’s antiphon with the lowly clay from which we are fashioned. Because of Christ, we are no longer just transient clay bricks but “living stones” which are to be built into a “spiritual house” with Christ as the “head of the corner” (Psalm 118:2), thus giving the building permanence, strength and endurance.

A society which has rejected Christ – for example that of the proposed European Constitution – is one that cannot perdure and has no firm foundation, for “unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labour in vain” (Psalm 127:1). Built on the shifting soil of popular opinion rather than truth and permanent values, such a society cracks and crumbles. Today’s antiphon proclaims that Christ is the One whom all nations desire because he alone brings harmony and unity, just as the cornerstone unites two walls, making them stand as one.

As Christmas dawns and we recall again “the wonderful deeds of him who called [us] out of darkness into his marvellous light” (1 Peter 2:9), let us implore the Lord to craft us into his “living stones”, so that, built on the “precious cornerstone” of Christ and his Gospel truth, we may be united as “God’s own people”. Thus, may we, sharing in the “royal priesthood” of Christ our King and Redeemer, help reconcile and unite humanity, and endue society with the permanence and endurance of the Truth.

The photo above, taken by the author, is of the keystone in the lantern of Ely cathedral.




O King of the Nations, whom they desire, and the cornerstone, who join two together into one: come and save mankind, whom you formed from the clay.

O Oriens - a day of festival

Readings: Song of Songs 2:8-14 or Zephaniah 3:14-18; Psalm 32; Luke 1:39-45

Yahweh your God is there with you, the warrior saviour. He will rejoice over you with happy song, he will renew you by his love, he will dance with shouts of joy for you, as on a day of festival ( Zephaniah 3:17-18)

I find this prophesy by Zephaniah very interesting. It is true that the prophesy speaks about what will happen to us 'when that day comes'. However, at the same time, we get an insight into how God will respond on that day. This is what is interesting, we get to see how the almighty God will re-act on that day.


This information, though, causes us to reflect carefully on the manner in which we are going to do what we are going to do. Clearly, the festive season is not just about us, about us getting gifts and giving gifts. In all our rejoicing have we considered, when God sees all that we are doing, will he dance with shouts of joy over all that we are doing? The prophet, Zephaniah, is telling us, in a sense, that God too seeks to rejoice with us. He seeks to dance with us. He seeks to shout with us. He seeks to rejoice with us. In all our preparation thus far to celebrate the birthday of the Christ, have we considered these points?



O Rising Sun, splendour of eternal Light and sun of righteousness: come and shine upon those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death.

Advent Talk 3 on Video

The third and final Advent talk, delivered by Br Alistair Jones OP on Wednesday night, is now available in a pre-recorded video.

O Radix - it is not too late

Readings: Judges 13:2-7, 24-25, Psalm 70:3-6, 16-17, Luke 1:5-25

Let’s try for a moment to imagine that all we know about Jesus is some vague notion that he has something to do with God, that he is someone who will change our lives and that we will find out how on Christmas day. Then when Christmas day comes we discover that Jesus is God incarnate, God come into the world as flesh and blood. Can we imagine how this incredible news might dramatically change our lives, not just on Christmas day, but forever? For most of us it is hard to imagine what this might feel like. We are all too familiar with the story, so we pass over it almost without a second thought. During these last days of Advent we must prepare for Christmas in such a way that when we hear the Christmas story, it comes to us afresh, as if for the first time.


In today’s Gospel, Zechariah seems to be world weary, set in his ways and caught up in the routine of daily life. So much so that he is not a man prepared to receive God’s message, a message which is God’s gift. This probably resonates with our own experience. But see how God brings Zechariah two gifts: the gift of a son, and the gift of silence. The silence gives him the time to be prepared, time for his idea of an inferior, predictable God to be swept away, preparing him to receive God’s love more fully. Regardless of how good or bad this Advent has been there is still time left for us to be silent, to allow God to shape us into people who will willingly accept his Son this Christmas. It is an opportunity not to be missed.



O Root of Jesse, set up as a sign for the peoples, before whom kings will stop their mouths, to whom the nations will pray: come to set us free, delay no more.

O Adonai - hope beyond adversity

Readings: Jeremiah 23:5-8; Psalm 71; Matthew 1:18-24

The prophet Jeremiah lived at a time when God’s chosen people faced the catastrophe of invasion and deportation to Babylon in the north. Jeremiah did not shrink from warning the people of the tragedy that was about to befall them. Yet at the same time he was able to hold out the hope that God would not neglect his people in their adversity. The Lord ‘will raise up a righteous shoot to David’ who will reign as a just and wise king so that the people may live securely in their land.

Later in the Book of Jeremiah the prophet will tell of God’s promise of a new covenant with his people, one that offers a deeper salvation than rescue from invading armies. For God will enter into a more intimate relationship with his people and will forgive their guilt and never more call to mind their sin (Jeremiah 31:34).

In the Gospel today we see these promises coming to fulfilment. A new king is to be born from the house of David who will save his people from their sins. Again this message of hope is made known in the midst of anxiety - this time Joseph's anxiety about Mary’s pregnancy. Today’s readings suggest that it is often easier to recognise God’s plan for our lives when things don’t appear to be going well. Certainly, it is in times of adversity that we most need to cry out in hope ‘O Adonai - O Mighty Lord… come to redeem us with outstretched arm’.

O Adonai, and leader of the house of Israel, who appeared to Moses in the fire of the burning bush, and who gave him the law on Sinai: come to redeem us with outstretched arm.

The Great Antiphons

Now there are only seven days left before Christmas. The coming of Jesus Christ is very near. The Liturgy shapes this week in a unique way in order to help Christians concentrate on the coming of the Messiah and prepare them for Christmas Eve. One of the most beautiful features of these seven 'Golden Nights' is the singing of the 'O' antiphons, sung at Vespers each evening between December 17 and December 23. These short songs of praise accompany the Magnificat, Mary's prayer recorded by Saint Luke at the moment of Mary's visit to her cousin Elizabeth (Luke 1:46-55).

The 'O' antiphons have a particular musical structure and a remarkable theological depth. Their history can be traced back to the first centuries of Christianity. Each antiphon, beginning with 'O', addresses Jesus with a unique title taken from the prophecies of Isaiah and praises him for being what each title indicates he is. Each ends with a petition for God's people and with the Advent cry: 'Come'. The well known hymn 'O come, o come Emmanuel' is actually a paraphrase of these antiphons.

The seven titles attributed to Jesus in the antiphons are:

1 Wisdom (Sapientia)
2 Ruler of the House of Israel (Adonai)
3 Root of Jesse (Radix Iesse)
4 Key of David (Clavis David)
5 Rising Dawn (Oriens)
6 King of the Nations (Rex gentium)
7 God With Us (Emmanuel)

Taking the first letter of each and reversing the order - Emmanuel, Rex, Oriens, Clavis, Radix, Adonai, Sapientia - gives the Latin words ero cras which means 'tomorrow I will come'. These great antiphons carry us from our Advent preparation to its joyful climax on Christmas Eve.

Godzdogz will present these antiphons each day, sung by the Dominican student brothers in Oxford, with the Latin text, chant and a translation. They are sung according to the Dominican antiphonal which varies slightly from the Roman chant books.

In his book Hallowing the Time, Geoffrey Preston OP writes as follows about these antiphons:

In the Great Antiphons of Advent, we turn to Christ with the longing expressed in the O itself. This longing is the groaning of the Holy Spirit in us when we do not know how to pray, when we have no other words than this primordial word so close to the roots of our western experience. For our O is strictly comparable to the Hindu OM, the mystic syllable in that other part of our Indo-European tradition, the OM beyond which there vibrates that absolutely primordial and eternal unheard sound which is itself the first Cause of the universe.

The Advent Os of the Christian West go back at least to the eighth century, to those ages that we somewhat inaccurately, yet appropriately in this context, call 'dark'. From the dark ages men have called out to the Messiah to come ... We too as we sing these antiphons stand in the dark ages, vergente mundi vespere as the Office Hymn puts it, as earth draws near its evening hour ... So we pray for him to come at either end of the Song of Mary, the Magnificat.

We put all we have into that praying. In the monastic tradition it is surrounded by all the wealth of ceremonial of which the brethren are capable ... In monasteries the abbot himself in full pontifical vestments comes and stands before the great pulpit in the midst of the choir and intones O Sapientia. Night after night the senior members of the community in full vestments come out to take up the cry to the Messiah. The bells of the monastery sound throughout the singing of the Magnificat, sung as it is to the most solemn chant in the book. All that the community has to show for itself, all by which it might cut something of a figure in the world, is wheeled on; and it sings 'O come!'

As they come down from the mountain …

Saturday 2 of Advent

Readings: Ecclesiasticus (Sirach) 48:1-4,9-11; Psalm 79; Matthew 17:10-13

Jesus comes down from the mountain with Peter, James and his brother John. The reading of today’s gospel comes just after the story of the transfiguration in which the disciples —looking up— saw no one except Jesus himself. Nevertheless, on the high mountain, the disciples do not understand and do not know that Elijah is coming and has already come. They want to make for him a dwelling…

Surprisingly enough, it is only by descending the mountain that the disciples are able to understand what is happening. It is only by discussing with Jesus —coming down the mountain— that these three disciples are able to discover that Jesus was speaking to them about John the Baptist… We have to contemplate, but we need to share the fruits of this contemplation if we are to understand better what we are and what Jesus is for us. This is what Christian life —and Dominican life!— is about.

In our lives, we sometimes come across high mountains of contemplation. We also meet valleys. The journey of Peter, James and John is the one taken by every faithful person. We are not Christians alone. We have to descend from our mountains and share what we have seen, otherwise they would become mere ivory towers… It is only by sharing and discussing that we will be able to share and to grasp what we are and what Jesus is for us. Why should we not use this time of Advent to descend into the depth of what we are and there discover the high place in which He indwells?

God seeking our attention

Friday 2 of Advent

Readings: Isaiah 48:17-19; Psalm 1; Matthew 11:16-19

The behaviour of the children of the parable in today’s gospel will be familiar from our own experience “we played the flute for you, and you did not dance, we sang a dirge, and you did not mourn” (Mt 11:16-19). Children learn by role play and mimicry, and here one active group are trying to persuade a passive group to join in.

The point of the parable (coming after a description of the relations between Jesus and John the Baptist, and their respective disciples) is that there is no positive response to either Jesus or John by their opponents. Matthew seems to use this to give his community a means of understanding its relative lack of success in proclaiming its message: not the roles (the way of life of John or Jesus) but the mean-spiritedness and blindness of their opponents are the problem.


Children, especially younger ones, are needy and importunate, demanding the active involvement of adults. Why should they not? This is, after all, how they survive. We might tend to see ourselves in the role of the children in this scenario, seeking the attention of Jesus, but that, I think, is to get the wrong end of the stick. Rather, it’s God who is importuning us, to wake up from our self-absorption and learn how to keep his company, dance to his tune, which Matthew has scored for us a few chapters earlier in the beatitudes, in the Sermon on the Mount.

The violence of the Cross

Thursday 2 of Advent

Readings: Isaiah 41:13-20; Psalm 145; Matthew 11:11-15

‘From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and men of violence take it by force’ [Matthew 11:12].

Jesus again speaks in riddles. When the news reached them that John the Baptist was imprisoned, he has just finished instructing his disciples that he had come to ‘not to bring peace, but a sword’. The crowd is waiting anxiously for Jesus to declare himself to be the Messiah. They want to see him as their captain in the revolt against the Roman occupant.

At first, Jesus seems to be saying what they expect to hear: ‘the kingdom is to be regained by violence’. But there is more to his words: what he is about to do surpasses any expectation. Indeed, the prophets prophesied about this:

‘He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that made us whole, and with his stripes we are healed’ [Isaiah 53;5].

Jesus himself is the Man of violence, and he regained the kingdom of heaven for us by the violence of the Cross.

‘He who has ears to hear, let him hear’ [Matthew 11:5].

God Alone Suffices

Wednesday 2 of Advent

Readings: Isaiah 40:25-31; Psalm 102; Matthew 11:28-30

Come to Me, all you who labour and are heavy burdened and I will give you rest. Shoulder My yoke and learn from Me, for I am meek and humble of heart. And you’ll find rest for your souls, for My yoke is easy, and My burden light.

In the depths of an Oxford winter, we are no strangers to the darkness. As people hurry about their December business, they valiantly endeavour to exclude the wet and the cold. Summer sunshine seems many miles away, and we can be forgiven for wondering if it will ever come back. In the midst of these dreary days, we celebrate the season of Advent, with its sombre purple and muffled church bells. We are waiting joyfully; we know what we have been promised: ‘The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light’. But in our waiting we are tested, and sometimes it is difficult to cling on to hope.

In our earthly lives, we experience much darkness, and we are tempted to despair. Sometimes it is hard to hope. Sometimes it is hard to believe. We are unable to rescue ourselves from our own depression and misery, and we must wait for the light to shine.


We hope … and sometimes we wonder why. Sometimes the darkness is so very dark that we fear that it has overpowered the light. We wallow in the helplessness of our humanity – poor, sinful, fragile, weak. Despite our great learning and sophistication, we cannot shut out the darkness. It is simply too much. In the face of this, where is our hope, why do we hope, how can we hope? Is our search as futile as that of Beckett’s Vladimir and Estragon, waiting for a Godot that never seems to come, where nothing is certain and there is nothing to be done? Sobering thoughts.

Then, the small flicker of light penetrates the lacuna of darkness. There is hope, and we believe. The more that light is allowed to penetrate the more our hope can grow. As long as that flicker is glimmering, we know that we will not be left in the darkness. Salvation is at hand. The love of God shines through our human weakness, and there lies our hope. The light that shines is so glorious that our doubt becomes certainty, our weakness becomes strength, and our misery turns to joy.

In this Advent time, as the darkness closes in, we cry ‘Maranatha, Come Lord Jesus. Come to us and save us’. And He replies by saying: ‘Come to Me, all you who labour and are heavy burdened and I will give you rest. Shoulder My yoke and learn from Me, for I am meek and humble of heart. And you’ll find rest for your souls, for My yoke is easy, and My burden light.’ What beautiful imagery – this mutual invitation to love. In our misery and weakness, we cry to Him, and He responds by inviting us into His love. To cast on Him our burdens, and find rest in His love.

The love of Christ for us is the cause of great joy in our Christian life. It was this that prompted St Augustine to cry, ‘We are an Easter people, and Alleluia is our song!’ But we are also an Advent people, and Maranatha is our song. We must sojourn through this valley of tears, with the love of Christ as our guiding light, the flicker that invades the lacuna of darkness. We must be vigilant that the light remains aflame, so that the light is not diminished by hopelessness and despair. St Teresa of Avila knew this, and she offers this advice to her fellow sojourners:

Let nothing disturb you, let nothing dismay you.
All things are passing: God never changes.
Patience obtains all things.
The one who has God lacks nothing
God alone suffices.

This beautiful little phrase is a great comfort, but a difficult maxim. It is hard to let nothing disturb or dismay. It is hard to endure the suffering as we wait for things to pass away. We are not a patient race – there are no heroes in the face of pain. But it is only in this kind of endurance that we can really learn to love and trust in God. Suffering brings us to humility, and in this humility we hear most profoundly the loving call of Jesus, when he says ‘come to me’. In the depths of our weakness, imprisoned in our own frailty, we can only cry, ‘Maranatha’.

Lord, we pray for the gift of hope. We ask that we may always be open to the flicker of light in the darkness of our lives. Through all our turmoil, may ‘Maranatha’ be our song, and may we sing a joyful Alleluia when we experience the power of Your love. When we dwell in You we lack nothing, as You are our strength, in You rests all our joy, all our hope, all our peace. We are not waiting in vain for a Godot who will never come. We are waiting in joyful hope for the coming of our saviour, Jesus Christ.

All praise eternal Son, to Thee,
Whose Advent sets Thy people free,
Whom with the father we adore,
And Holy Ghost, for ever more.

Advent Talk 2 on Video

The second Advent talk, delivered by Br David Rocks, O.P. on Wednesday night, is now available in a pre-recorded video for readers who cannot join us for this weekly talk, meditation and Compline.

What shall we cry?

Tuesday 2 of Advent - 12 December 2006

Readings: Isaiah 40:1-11; Psalm 96; Matthew 18:12-14



“A voice said, ‘Cry aloud!’, and I said, ‘What shall I cry?’” (Isaiah. 40. 6). The prophet Isaiah, in today’s first reading, asks a question which surely haunts the tongue and pen of many preachers. Why should we cry out? Because the celestial voice (in the words spoken to Isaiah, which echo in the hearts of all Christians) has commanded us to ready all peoples for the coming of the Lord. How might this be achieved? What great work can be found within us to give worthy witness to the joy which is to come? Could I fill a valley or flatten a mountain with the little strength afforded me?

What we are called to make known is what God has already done for us, ‘Console my people, console them’. Human beings are weak and will die, but our God has conquered death in His beloved son. We are challenged to bring hope in our words and actions: to affirm that there is something in our lives that sustains and feeds us in the face of all that withers and fades.

As we prepare to remember the first coming and anticipate the return of Jesus, we must call to mind the joy that He has engendered in his friends. Let us pray for grace, through which our preaching and lives may become signs of hope, to make fertile ground of the hearts of those the Lord has given us to nurture so that His coming may reap rich harvest.

Rorate coeli desuper ...

Monday 2 of Advent - 11 December 2006

Readings: Isaiah 25:1-10; Psalm 85; Luke 5:17-26

Isaiah's vision is a perennial promise of salvation as God causes the barren and desolate to become like a fruitful and flowering garden of the Lord, which is what Carmel ('vineyards of God') and Sharon ('fruitful') symbolise.

Around this time in 1531, St Juan Diego actually beheld this on the usually-barren summit of Tepayac in Mexico where "he was greatly astonished at all the different kinds of precious flowers that were growing there, blossoming... They were very fragrant, and the night dew on them was like precious pearls." That miraculous event indeed heralded the evangelisation of the Americas.

But such things are rare. How may we see "the majesty of Carmel and Sharon"?

As the Advent prose Rorate coeli invokes: "Drop down dew, ye heavens, from above, and let the clouds rain the Just One". God's dew causes our stony hearts to flower and in the Scriptures and Patristic teaching, this refers to the Holy Spirit whose grace fructifies us. Hence St Irenaeus says: "If we are not to be scorched and made unfruitful, we need the dew of God", and the Pentecost Sequence asks that the Spirit "pour your dew on our dryness".

Mary, "full of the dew of heaven", is our model. When our hearts, like hers, are refreshed by grace, Christ is born in us too, and he uses us to bring him to the blind, the deaf, the lame and the mute, to those who thirst for the healing and forgiveness that the "Just One" bestows. So, as we sing, "let the earth be opened and bud forth a Saviour", we pray the Spirit to be-dew us, that we may be that fruitful earth, so that all may behold "the glory of the Lord".

A new shoot will grow

Sunday 2 of Advent - 10 December 2006

Readings: Baruch 5:1-9; Psalm 125; Philippians 1:3-6,8-11; Luke 3:1-6

“A shoot will spring from the stock of Jesse, a new shoot will grow from his roots. On him will rest the spirit of Yahweh, the spirit of wisdom and insight, the spirit of counsel and power, the spirit of knowledge and fear of Yahweh” (Isaiah 11:1-2)
These words of Isaiah are beautiful: 'a shoot will spring…a new shoot will grow’. The imagery here is one of life. One of the most amazing things in nature is to see the germination of seedlings. Before this, however, the ground has to be tilled. When that is finished all one will see is dark soil all around. Then one plants the seeds, and it is all still very dark, that is, all you see is the big lumps of earth. Then one has to water the soil, and wait. The wait, however, is never a dreary wait, for the farmer knows his crops will grow. One morning he will wake up, and all he will see is these little green ‘creatures’. The sight of this is beautiful. The farmer’s heart then becomes full of joy. Yes! Joy. In the fullness of time the Son of God, new life, came into a dark world, and he brought joy to our lives. This is the ever-present presence that we seek ever so surely.

This is the way, follow it

Saturday 1 of Advent - 9 December 2006

Readings:Isaiah 30:19-21, 23-26; Psalm 146:1-6; Matthew 9:35-10:1, 6-8.


There is true beauty in God’s love for us, a beauty shown forth most of all through our struggles. Even in the most difficult moments of our lives, the Lord promises to come to us and bring us new life… if only we would let him. Our greatest struggles can become moments when Christ’s love is most effective and powerful, marking the beginning of new life... if we would only share our difficulties with God, presenting them all to him in prayer, an honest open prayer that holds nothing back from him who knows the deepest needs and longings of the heart. Prayer of the heart opens the door to allow God to enter in. Allowing God to enter in, and to dwell with us, we open ourselves so that we can listen to him, who assures us of his guidance on our journey: ‘This is the way, follow it’. And in following this way, our lives are transformed.

And the way to follow is the way of Christ. Christ is the way, and Christ is the source of life. Today’s Gospel is a reminder that Christ has compassion for all his people, and that he knows our need for guidance and healing. It is for this reason that he pours out his grace through the Church, giving us nothing less than the gift of himself, through word and sacrament. This advent let us resolve to open ourselves evermore to God’s healing grace, so that Christ may be born in us this Christmas.

Alma Redemptoris Mater

Feast of the Immaculate Conception - 8 December 2006

Readings: Genesis 3:9-15.20; Psalm 97:1-4; Ephesians 1:3-6. 11-12; Luke 1:26-38

The angel Gabriel went in and said to Mary ‘Rejoice, so highly favoured! The Lord is with you’ (Luke 1:28).

Today we celebrate the feast of the Immaculate Conception, a time to remember God’s great gift to Mary who from the first moment of her existence in her mother’s womb found favour in the sight of God. How appropriate that it is during Advent that we commemorate this event which draws us more intimately into the final stages of the Father’s plan of redemption, the final preparations before the Saviour appears on earth and God's plan is brought to fulfilment. By this great privilege to Mary, God prepares her more worthily to be the Mother of Christ and the Mother of all the Redeemed.

Advent is a time for us too to prepare to welcome Christ. It is a time to ask our Father more fervently for the grace to reject everything that keeps us from him so that we may more joyfully greet his Son when he comes. Sin always makes us anxious and often, like Adam in the garden, afraid. As we approach Christmas, however, we must heed the angel’s message to Mary and learn to rejoice at the peace that Christ comes to bring. We can pray to Mary to help us find this peace – Alma Redemptoris Mater – Loving Mother of the Redeemer, gate of heaven, star of the sea, assist your people who have fallen yet strive to rise again… You who received Gabriel’s joyful greeting, have pity on us poor sinners.

A God who loses Himself ...

Thursday 1 of Advent - 7 December 2006

Readings: Isaiah 26:1-6; Psalm 117; Matthew 7:21,24-27

You know … rushing from shop to shop with the shopping list in one's hand, looking for the right Christmas cards, one can easily feel lost. The cities are so busy these days. Everybody has plenty of things to do. However, no one of my old friends shall be forgotten (well, actually I haven’t seen some of them for ages) they are all written down on my list and, of course, all members of the family, too.


Rushing from shop to shop I suddenly became aware that He knows about them all. And He knows about my feeling lost. Because He lost himself. Soon, very soon we will see him lying in a manger, the creator of the earth. He gave everything he had; he gave even his life. And sparkling like that star of Bethlehem he shows: some day we will rest, some day we will be with him … in the Glory of the Father.

Rushing from shop to shop I calm down, stand still and look around. Holding the Christmas cards in my hand, I discover that I have become part of the self- giving love of my God, who knows about it all …

Waiting for the Lord

Wednesday 1 of Advent - 6 December 2006

Readings: Isaiah 25:6-10; Psalm 22; Matthew 15:29-37

How can we explain the relativity of time? Well, if I am rushing to catch a plane and am delayed because the official at the check-in is slow, those extra two minutes don’t make much difference to him, but they really make a difference to me!

It is at this time of year that our sense of time is tested to the limit. The church closes her year and begins it at a time when the days are darkening into nothing and time and life seem to be fading on us. Last week, as the year ended, we heard in the scripture about the last times, the coming of the Son of Man, the ‘day of the Lord’ as the prophets call it. This week… well, we are still waiting, looking forward to ‘that day’ when the Lord will provide a ‘feast of fat things’ on his holy mountain (Is. 25:6-10).

Still waiting. Our sense of time transforms when we’re waiting. I’m sure the feeling is familiar: as the minutes pass and the hoped-for friend is still absent, our emotions pass from waiting in joyful hope, to annoyance, to anxiety, to (angry) resignation at the ‘no-show’. The minutes grow, filling the space left by the absentee: impatience, frustration is all we experience and finally, as the expected friend does not materialise, we give up. Time’s facade of relativity is not our friend at this (time?) point: the longer we wait, the heavier the time seems. We’re not good at waiting.

Jesus knows our failure at waiting. At his darkest moment, in the mental anguish of his waiting for the passion, he asked us to be near, to wait with him.

'I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me…’

But we couldn’t,

‘So, could you not stay awake with me one hour? Stay awake and pray that you may not come into temptation; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak…’ (Mt. 26:38, 40f)

Waiting and praying. Chastened by this scene in the garden, Bishop Fulton Sheen tried to spend an hour in meditation before the Blessed Sacrament each day: ‘could you not stay with me one hour?’ But prayerful waiting is difficult, impossible even; particularly when we ‘do not know the day or the hour’ when the Master is coming (Mt. 24:36; 25:13).

And yet, Jesus asks us to wait – for him, for ‘the hour’. ‘Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour…’ (Mt 24:44). And this is the time of year when that waiting comes into full focus; when the weight of time’s relativity falls hard upon us. We are now preparing for Christmas… yes; for celebrating the event of our salvation that the prophets foretold and which unfolded 2,000 years ago. But we are also in that Christian time-delay known as the ‘already and the not yet’, waiting still for what seems to have already happened. Waiting for the Lord to come. How difficult is that?!

Loyalty to the ‘absent friend’ can be a painful burden; the weight of time something the psalmist felt.

'My tears have become my bread,
by night, by day:
as I hear it said all the day long,
‘Where is your God?’ (Ps. 42:3)

Again this ridicule may be a familiar experience. And like with our truant friend we start to ask, where is he? Where is God?

God never went anywhere: Jesus Christ is not an absentee Lord. In this truth of God’s love for the world we find the meaning of waiting, of praying, of resting in him. We exist because God is always making us to exist – keeping us in being. God is always at hand, for he never changes, he is always new. Our problem with time has no bearing on God which is why Christians are presented with their ‘already but not yet’. The eternity of God admits of no sense of time’s disclosure.

How are we to wait for him who has come and who was always present anyway? We are waiting for the Lord it is true. We are waiting expectantly for Jesus as he asks us to: ‘stay awake, for you know neither the day nor the hour’ (Mt. 25:13). We do not know the hour because the advent of the kingdom takes us out of time’s burden. As we are told by the second letter of Peter:

'What we are waiting for is what he promised: the new heavens and new earth, the place where righteousness will be at home ' (2 Pet. 3:13f)

So the apocalyptic visions of the old year coincide with the hopeful expectancy of the new, because time no longer(!) constrains the Lord. We watch, pray, stay awake for this moment: - when changing, time-bound creation becomes present to the unchanging, always new God, in ‘the new heavens and new earth’.

But this prayerful watching can often feel like a burden: minutes growing in the sleepy heaviness of time – when at Mass, in choir, listening to a talk(!); especially in silent prayer. The disciples were the same.

'And once more Jesus came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were very heavy; and they did not know what to say to him' (Mk 14:40)

This, from men who heard, saw with their eyes and touched with their hands the word of life (1 Jn 1.1). What chance then do we have? By remembering God’s background to our being: his unchanging presence. Expectant, communicative meditation is simply taking the time to do nothing else but be with God; to wait with him; being aware that we are always in his company and setting aside some time to respond to that love.

'You did not see him, yet you love him; and still without seeing him, you are already filled with a joy so glorious that it cannot be described, because you believe' (1 Pet. 1:8)

It is preparation for release from the constraints of time.

So, the one who is to come can be the one who has come and the one who has always been involved. The nostalgia, the relativity of time and its painful waiting is all on our part; it is our problem. A problem nevertheless, God came to share: ‘can you not wait with me one hour?’ By responding to Jesus’s command to keep awake with him we can say with Isaiah on ‘that day’:

'Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, that he might save us. This is the LORD; we have waited for him; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation' (Is. 25:9)

Advent Talk 1 on Video

For our readers who are not able to join us tonight for the Advent talk at Blackfriars, we have posted the text of tonight's talk and also a pre-recorded video of it being delivered.

To view the talk, given by Br. Bruno, please click the video below.

Let us learn ignorance and become clever children

Tuesday 1 of Advent - 5 December 2006

Readings: Isaiah 11:1-10; Psalm 71; Luke 10:21-24

“I bless you, Father, Lord of heaven and of earth, for hiding these things from the learned and the clever and revealing them to mere children” (Luke 10, 21-24).

Today, this passage of Luke’s gospel invites us to think about our way of learning and seeking the truth. And what a strange paradox: the learned and clever do not know, but those who do not know —the mere children— actually know the truth revealed by the Father… Is there a contradiction here? Could we hope to learn the truth anymore? Yes, our God is a God who hides himself, but he did not speak in secret in a land of darkness. He, the Lord, speaks the truth (Is 45:15;19).

As Christians, we have to seek this truth like mere children, and not like the clever. How are we to understand this paradoxical path that Jesus invites us to follow? Does it mean that the more we study, the less we are close to God? Of course not, if the way we study accepts our ignorance. We have to become ‘clever children’ by accepting that we do not have the entire truth and that we are still ignorant... and, then, able to be amazed... To seek the truth as a child is not to search for a good answer or a self-contained truth. It is an openness to have, which accepts its ignorance because there is always truth coming from outside, from other people, opinions, cultures or Churches than ours.

May these four weeks of Advent be a path for us to ‘learn ignorance’ so that we might be amazed when our saviour comes… as a little child.

Our dignity as children of God

Monday 1 of Advent - 4 December 2006

Readings: Isaiah 2:1-5; Psalm 121; Matthew 8:5-11

Today we keep the memorial of St John of Damascus. He was a monk and a scholar; regarded by both the Western and Eastern Churches as the last of the Greek Fathers, and declared a doctor of the Church in 1890. He was also a famous hymnodist - in the West he is familiar as the author of two well-known Easter hymns (‘Come ye faithful, raise the strain’ and ‘The day of Resurrection! Earth, tell it out abroad!’).


All very well, but what has this to do with Advent? In the excerpt from his Statement of Faith used in Matins today we hear the following:

“Through the blessing of the Holy Spirit you brought it about that I was created and came into being not by the will of man or lust of the flesh but by your grace…by adopting me as your son”

This, of course, recalls the prologue of John’s gospel:

“But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God” (John 1: 12-13).

John of Damascus reminds us of our dignity as children of God, called to “go up to the house of the God of Jacob, that he may teach us his ways” (Isaiah 2: 2-5). Let’s use this season to listen more attentively to God’s teaching, in the icon of his Word.

Advent Talks and Compline in Blackfriars

If you are in Oxford on any of the Wednesdays before Christmas you are welcome to join us for an Advent talk followed by meditation and Compline. Details are on the poster below (click to enlarge it):

Love beyond judgement

Sunday 1 of Advent - 3 December 2006

Readings: Jeremiah 33:14-16; Psalm 24; 1 Thessalonians 3:12-4:2; Luke 21:25-28,34-36

In Luke's Gospel today Jesus himself tells us that he will come for a second time as a judge at the end of things. He does this out of love, to give us time to grow. Indeed, His coming in the flesh two thousand years ago was already an act of judgement. For in Him judgement is love and love is judgement. He loves us so much that He judged it worthy to become one of us.

What shall I do then, to prepare myself for His second coming? ‘Pray’ he says ‘to have strength’. So I look on his Sacred Face, a token of His first coming, and I know that I do not belong here. I bear the seal of Christ on my soul and I belong to where He, my Head, is. I feel as though I were standing on the seashore facing its vastness and longing to see what is beyond horizon.

I look for the signs of His second coming: the sea roars, stars fall, there is famine, and unceasing wars, innocent people die everyday and everywhere. Is it close, Lord, the hour of your coming?

And then I know: although not yet present, as He will be in His glorious body, Christ is already with me. And so is His judgement, but - as I now see clearly - it is my choices that pronounce a judgement on me, even before He says: 'I love you'. Will I choose Him or the things of the world? I pray that He may increase my love for God and my brethren and confirm my freedom to choose good works.

Advent Daily Meditations

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