These four fleeting weeks of Advent, by their very swiftness, are reminders of how quickly all things in this world pass away. It may not seem that way looking at the pyramids or Stonehenge, but those who built them have passed away. This is not a morbid thought, but it is a mortal thought. “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (2 Cor. 5:17).
Advent with its darkening days is a reminder that the human lifespan has a purpose intended by the Creator. He makes us a “new creation” in baptism as a foretaste of eternal joy. With holy practicality, Advent proclaims the great mysteries of Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell. The fast pace of Advent is different from the rather silly Christmas rush which easily preoccupies people who would rather not think deeply. The way to make the best of fugitive time is to be profound about each moment granted to us.
Christ stands at the door of the new year just as he stands at the door of our souls. The last Sunday of the liturgical year celebrated his kingship over the whole universe, but by giving human beings a free will, he limits himself to an old royal protocol. As William Pitt put it in legal terms: “The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown.” Christ does not invade us when he comes into history but rather he proposes himself to us: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me” (Rev. 3:20). Our eternal destiny hangs on our response to that “if.”
The human soul, its intellect and will, is the door on which the Lord knocks. We are our own householder. In 1628, a lawyer, Sir Edward Coke, said that “a man’s house is his castle.” A London headmaster, Richard Mulcaster, said the same thing in 1581. Blackstone goes back farther, citing Cicero: “What more sacred, what more strongly guarded by holy feeling, than a man’s own home?” If we are a castle, we have the freedom to pull up the drawbridge and keep Christ outside. But even Pitt admitted that our earthly dwelling “may be frail, its roof may shake, the wind may blow through it, the storm may enter, the rain may enter.” Yet there is a great promise: “For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens” (2 Cor. 5:1). So in Advent, the Church joyfully says in the language Christ spoke on earth: “Marana tha! Come Lord!” (1 Cor. 16:22).
Advent with its darkening days is a reminder that the human lifespan has a purpose intended by the Creator. He makes us a “new creation” in baptism as a foretaste of eternal joy. With holy practicality, Advent proclaims the great mysteries of Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell. The fast pace of Advent is different from the rather silly Christmas rush which easily preoccupies people who would rather not think deeply. The way to make the best of fugitive time is to be profound about each moment granted to us.
Christ stands at the door of the new year just as he stands at the door of our souls. The last Sunday of the liturgical year celebrated his kingship over the whole universe, but by giving human beings a free will, he limits himself to an old royal protocol. As William Pitt put it in legal terms: “The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown.” Christ does not invade us when he comes into history but rather he proposes himself to us: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me” (Rev. 3:20). Our eternal destiny hangs on our response to that “if.”
The human soul, its intellect and will, is the door on which the Lord knocks. We are our own householder. In 1628, a lawyer, Sir Edward Coke, said that “a man’s house is his castle.” A London headmaster, Richard Mulcaster, said the same thing in 1581. Blackstone goes back farther, citing Cicero: “What more sacred, what more strongly guarded by holy feeling, than a man’s own home?” If we are a castle, we have the freedom to pull up the drawbridge and keep Christ outside. But even Pitt admitted that our earthly dwelling “may be frail, its roof may shake, the wind may blow through it, the storm may enter, the rain may enter.” Yet there is a great promise: “For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens” (2 Cor. 5:1). So in Advent, the Church joyfully says in the language Christ spoke on earth: “Marana tha! Come Lord!” (1 Cor. 16:22).
Fr. George W. Rutler is the pastor of the Church of our Saviour in New York City. His latest book, Coincidentally: Unserious Reflections on Trivial Connections, is available from Crossroads Publishing.
I love the Byzantine icons at Christ our Saviour! Right in the midst of NYC. I shall definitely visit and pray next time I am in the city.
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