Today’s alphabet block is the letter L which stands for lo, light, lectio and love.
Lo is one of those
words we usually only hear in church or when we’ve looked everywhere for
something and, lo and behold, it shows up unexpectedly. Lo in the church-y sense is used in scripture or scripture used in
hymns and prayers to call attention to something, a sort of shorthand for
“look,” “behold,” or “see.” Usually it’s something strange or unexpected but it
definitely points to something the reader or listener is not supposed to miss.
In the NRSV there are 32 uses of “lo,” most frequently in the words of prophets
but in the New Testament it is often translated as “Fear not.” Somehow it
doesn’t seem quite the same. There’s a bit of loss of emphasis on “See? This is
something extraordinary!” and instead become an assurance that really there’s
nothing to worry about. Still, each has their place, and today, I will read the
story of the announcement to the shepherds in the language of the Bible I
learned as a child. “And, lo,
the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round
about them: and they were sore afraid.” (Luke 2:9 KJV)
Advent is born by candlelight. The light of the first candle on the Advent wreath invites us to a
period of reflection, meditation, and expectation, dusted with a bit of
penitence like the gentle sprinkling of colored nonpareils on the sugar
cookies. We are creatures of light, uncomfortable in pitch darkness where we
can easily become prey or fall into gullies or trip over rocks and tree roots.
God created us in daylight and we’re most comfortable there, most of us,
anyway. In the darkness of winter, light becomes even more precious and we use
bulbs and fluorescents, candles, fireplaces, firepits, almost anything to give
us light and some sense of security and warmth. Our readings during Advent
sometimes talk of light but usually the light they bring is that of hope, hope
that is made manifest in the appearance of the Christ child in the crèche. A
tiny spark of life in a huge, dark world and look what became of it. Throughout
the intervening centuries, that light has grown and spread until there is
hardly a place on the earth that has not heard of it or been touched by it. We
who treasure this light must ensure it is a light of peace and hope, not a
conflagration that destroys everything in its path.
Lectio is the first word in the phrase lectio divina, “divine reading,” a method of scripture reading and
prayer followed by millions of Christians both individually and in groups.
There are four stages—lectio, meditatio,
oratio, and contemplatio— which
begin with lectio, reading a short
passage of scripture and noting any words or phrases that seem to stand out. It
is often those words or phrases that can open the door for God to speak to the
person in a very direct way. The practice has been part of Christianity for
millennia and was alluded to in his Rule,
the guidebook of Benedictines, in the 400s. The practice itself was described
fully in the writings of a Carthusian monk named Guigo in the 11th century. Interest in it outside of
monasteries was revived in the 1960s by Vatican II and has continued to be
taught as a contemplative practice. It is particularly recommended as a
spiritual practice during Advent and Lent.
With the light comes love,
because it was for love that God sent Jesus to earth in the first place. Like
the noble vineyard owner in the parable Jesus taught later in his life (Luke
19:11-27), God first sent servants (prophets) to Israel (vineyard workers) to
their duty but three times they beat and threw out those servants. Finally the
noble sends his own son to the workers, trusting that the sight of a lone
figure, one known to be beloved of the owner, might bring the desired result of
recall to loyalty and honor to the owner. The parable is prophetic in itself,
and the light that had been born in a stable in Bethlehem was almost
extinguished on a cross on a Jerusalem hillside about thirty-three years later.
But every year, the light is recalled and with it the trust, faith and hope
that it brings, not for material things but things of the spirit. And it all
began with love. In fact, it continues with love and that is as it should be.
Love is a force greater than hate or discord. Love overcomes when might cannot.
As the poet Christina Rosetti said in part:
Love came down at Christmas,
love all lovely, love divine;
love was born at Christmas:
love was born at Christmas:
star and angels gave the sign.[1]
[1]
“Love Came Down at Christmas,” http://allpoetry.com/poem/8449175-Love-Came-Down-at-Christmas-by-Christina_Georgina_Rossetti
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