When the word has been conveyed to you, does not the sound seem to say: ‘The word ought to grow, and I should diminish?’ The sound of the voice has made itself heard in the service of the word, and has gone away, as though it were saying: ‘My joy is complete.’ Let us hold on to the word; we must not lose the word conceived inwardly in our hearts.
Do you need proof that the voice passes away but the divine Word remains? Where is John’s baptism today? It served its purpose, and it went away. Now it is Christ’s baptism that we celebrate. It is in Christ that we all believe; we hope for salvation in him. This is the message the voice cried out.
Because it is hard to distinguish word from voice, even John himself was thought to be the Christ. The voice was thought to be the word. But the voice acknowledged what it was, anxious not to give offence to the word. ‘I am not the Christ,’ he said, ‘nor Elijah nor the prophet.’ And the question came: ‘Who are you, then?’ He replied: ‘I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness: Prepare the way for the Lord.’
‘The voice of one crying in the wilderness’ is the voice of one breaking the silence. ‘Prepare the way for the Lord,’ the voice says, as though it were saying: ‘I speak out in order to lead him into your hearts, but he does not choose to come where I lead him unless you prepare the way for him.’
‘To prepare the way’ means to pray well; it means thinking humbly of oneself. We should take our lesson from John the Baptist. He is thought to be the Christ; he declares he is not what they think. He does not take advantage of their mistake to further his own glory. If he had said, ‘I am the Christ,’ you can imagine how readily he would have been believed, since they believed he was the Christ even before he spoke. But he did not say it; he acknowledged what he was. He pointed out clearly who he was; he humbled himself. He saw where his salvation lay. He understood that he was a lamp, and his fear was that it might be blown out by the wind of pride.
Monday after Advent 3
A Reading from a treatise Against Heresies by Irenaeus
God is the glory of humankind. We are the vessels which receive God’s action, his wisdom and power.
Just as the skill of a doctor is revealed in the care of his patients, so the nature of God is revealed through the way he relates to us. This is the background behind Paul’s statement: ‘God has made the whole world prisoner of unbelief that he may have mercy on all.’ Paul was speaking of the entire human race who were disobedient to God, cast off from immortality, but who then found mercy, receiving through the Son of God their adoption as God’s children.
If we, without being puffed up or boastful, come to a true evaluation of created things and their divine Creator who, having brought them into being, sustains them through his power; and if we persevere in God’s love, in obedience and gratitude to him, then we will receive greater glory from him. Moreover, it will be a glory which will grow ever brighter as we gradually assume the likeness of him who died for us.
He it was who took on the likeness of our sinful flesh to condemn sin and purge the flesh of its errors. He came to invite us to become like himself, commissioning us to be imitators of God, and establishing us in a way of life, grounded in obedience to the Father, that would lead to the vision of God, endowing us with power to receive the Father. He is the Word of God who dwelt among us and became the Son of Man to open the way for us to receive God, for God to dwell with us according to the will of the Father.
That is why the Lord himself gave as the sign of our salvation the one who was born of the Virgin, Emmanuel. It was ‘the Lord himself who saved them’, for of ourselves we had no power to be saved. For this reason Paul regularly refers to the weakness of human nature, and says: ‘I know that no good dwells in my flesh.’ By this he means that the blessing of salvation comes not from us but from God. Again, he says: ‘O wretched man that I am! Who will save me from this body doomed to die?’ And then, in answer to his own question, he speaks of a liberator, ‘the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ’.
Isaiah says the same: ‘Hands that are feeble, grow strong! Knees that are weak, be firm! Hearts that are faint, take courage! Fear not – behold, our God is coming in judgement and he will repay. He himself will come and save us.’ We cannot save ourselves: it is only with the help of God that we are saved.
Tuesday after Advent 3
A Reading from a commentary on St John’s Gospel
by Augustine
Behold, even lamps bear witness to the day because of our weakness, for we cannot bear to look at the brightness of the day. Indeed, in comparison with unbelievers, we Christians are even now light; as the Apostle says: ‘There was a time when you were darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Well, then, live as children of light.’ And elsewhere he says: ‘The night is far spent; the day is at hand. Let us cast off deeds of darkness and put on the armour of light. Let us live honourably as in daylight.’
Yet, in comparison with the light of that day which is to come, even the day in which we now find ourselves is still night. ‘We possess,’ says the Apostle, ‘the prophetic message as something altogether reliable. Keep your attention closely fixed on it, as you would on a lamp shining in a dark place until the first streaks of dawn appear and the morning star rises in your hearts.’
Therefore, when our Lord Jesus Christ comes, he will as the apostle Paul also says, ‘bring to light what is hidden in darkness and manifest the intention of our hearts’, that everyone may receive praise from God. Then, in the presence of such a day, lamps will not be needed. No prophet shall then be read to us; no book of an apostle shall be opened. We shall not require the witness of John; we shall have no need of the gospel itself. Accordingly, when all these are taken away, all the Scriptures – which in the night of the world were as lamps kindled for us that we might not remain in darkness – shall also be taken out of the way, that they may not shine as if we needed them. Then the messengers of God by whom these were ministered to us shall themselves, together with us, behold that true and clear light. You shall see that very light, from which a ray was sent aslant and through many windings into your dark heart, in its purity, for the seeing and bearing of which you are being purified. John himself says: ‘Dearly beloved, we are God’s children now; what we shall later be has not yet been revealed. We know that when it is revealed we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.’
Wednesday after Advent 3
A Reading from The Coming of God by Maria Boulding
The New Testament hope that Christ will come again is in some way earthed in our own expectations, fears and desires. If modern men and women are to be more than simply agnostic about the long-term prospects for our race, their most fundamental hope must be that it will not end in meaningless destruction. If we are going to blow ourselves out of existence as though we had never been, or make our planet uninhabitable without finding alternative accommodation, there is little point in hoping for anything else. To believe that the human race will eventually reach the end of its earthly pilgrimage is one thing; to equate the end with total, blind destruction is another. It is sad that the latter prospect is what many moderns term ‘apocalyptic’, if they use the word at all.
The hope that we are travelling towards a destiny, rather than a mere collapse, is linked with the faith that our origins were already purposeful. If we think that our existence is a mere fluke, the result of some wildly improbable mix in some primal soup that threw up the conditions required to sustain life, then our whole human story is a chance bubble; it has no purpose and can be pricked as meaninglessly as