Pitched into the bleakness of winter arrives the season of Advent. In the northern hemisphere the beginning of Advent accompanies the slow march into darkness. Shorter days; longer nights; a steady drop in temperature. The themes of Advent – death; judgement; heaven and hell – match the somber mood of gloomier days. Threaded through topics of great moment, the story of the incarnation is pulled ever nearer. Alongside the readings in church of end-times and apocalypse, every village, town and city displays the brightness of festival lights. The cynical and despairing may shun these illuminations as simply a commercial gimmick; the cold work of retail-marketing to boost sales in a flagging economy. Yet for many of us, somehow, the glimmer of hope these lights celebrate, the baby lying in the crib, can never be given its proper price. There is something here, something to which Advent leads, which can’t be contained by the measure of this world, or our desire to conform everything to our own likeness.

It can often feel, as it does this year, that there is temerity in setting out lights as the nights draw in. How dare we suggest, imply or hint, that something might come to defeat the darkness? It is the ridiculous hope written down by John in the Prologue to his Gospel: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not”. Like Handel’s taunting rendition of St Paul’s words asking Death where its sting has gone, the hope that light might eventually overcome personal darkness, and the darkness of our world, feels an outrageous folly. Perhaps this is so because “the bleak midwinter” can feel so tangible, close and all-encompassing. Nordic countries have recently issued booklets to their citizens about surviving war. Sometimes it is so much easier to embrace fear and resignation, than fasten our eyes on something hardly visible; beyond the horizon; too good to be true.

Advent candle-bridges are a tradition in the windows of homes along Minster Yard in York.

Advent is not for everyone. The images of apocalypse and the ending of time are neither comfortable nor reassuring. “Like a thief in the night”. We cannot be permanently vigilant – we need to sleep. The metaphor suggests that the completion of things will come when we are oblivious to its approach. There is no warning or alarm. We will be shaken our of slumber and the myths with which we live will dissolve in the presence of the Divine reality. In another sections of Handel’s Messiah, we are reminded of the “refiner’s fire”. Who may abide the day of his coming?

Advent reminds us that we cannot control the appearance of sudden and defining events. We are always only a heartbeat away from immortality, and our own encounter with what Sterne’s character Tristram Shandy refers to as “this great catastrophe” which will – at some point – overtake us and bring our experience of this world to an end. Of course, following Friday’s vote in the UK parliament, it appears that there will be limited control, for some, about when that moment arrives. However, as one person said during the debates about this issue, it may also give rise to “internal coercion” and perhaps lead people to opt for something which does not reflect their personal wishes about either motivation and timing.

“We are standing upon the edge of a precipice, with nothing but the single thread of human life to hold us up”.

From a Sermon delivered by Laurence Sterne, quoted in A Sterne Lent 2024

Advent is – and should be – disconcerting. Angela Tilby’s excellent reflection in the current issue of The Church Times draws attention to Archbishop Laud’s prayer for the church. It is a succinct and impassioned petition for truth; peace; purity; and reform in the institution. All of these virtues and corrections are needed now almost as much as they were required in the 17th century. Canon Tilby concludes her piece with a simpler prayer which she wrote some years ago, but one which feels as pertinent as ever for 2024:

As light in the darkness,
As hope in our hearts.
Come, Lord Jesus, come.

Angela Tilby, The Church Times 29 November 2024

• The photograph at the head of this blog features the underside of York Minster’s three metre wide Advent wreath, with the interior of the central tower seen in the centre.