The Advent wind begins to stir
With sea-like sounds in our Scotch fir,
It’s dark at breakfast, dark at tea,
And in between we only see
Clouds hurrying across the sky
And rain-wet roads the wind blows dry
And branches bending to the gale…
There can be no disagreement with what John Betjeman writes here, in his poem Advent 1955, especially after our experiences this last weekend: wind, rain, no market on Saturday, Mayor’s Carols cancelled on Sunday….Yet we have not suffered like others in this country, whom we hold in our prayers.
But, what about later lines:
The Advent bells call out ‘Prepare,
Your world is journeying to the birth
Of God made Man for us on earth.’
Does the world hear that in the bells, amongst the decorations?
Betjeman even makes fun of our so-called preparations:
Some ways indeed are very odd
By which we hail the birth of God.
We raise the price of things in shops,
We give plain boxes fancy tops
And lines which traders cannot sell
Thus parcell’d go extremely well.
We dole out bribes we call a present
The important words, the words which ring true about this season come, though, at the end of the poem:
The time draws near the birth of Christ.
A present that cannot be priced
Given two thousand years ago.
Yet if God had not given so
He still would be a distant stranger
And not the Baby in the manger.
Amidst the hustle and bustle of this season, may we make real preparations for that special birth.
Loving Father,
we thank for the gift of your Son,
whose birth at Bethleham
we now prepare to celebrate.
May our hearts and our homes
always be open to him,
that he may dwell with us for ever. Amen
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