3 minute read
FROM THE RECTOR
The Rev. R. Casey Shobe, D.Min.
During the seasons of Advent and Lent, the doors of the triptych are closed. In Lent, the closed triptych is covered by a shroud, but during Advent, we leave the triptych uncovered so we can gaze upon the two figures who adorn the doors. They are angels, of course, but not just any angels. They are Gabriel and Michael, and these particular angels have much to do with Advent.
Advertisement
On the left is Gabriel, who bears a lily, the traditional symbol of the annunciation. It was Gabriel who appeared to Mary in Nazareth and shared with her God’s desire that she bear God’s Son. Before that, Gabriel had also appeared to Zechariah in the Temple, sharing the news that his wife Elizabeth would soon become pregnant with the one who would prepare the way for the Lord. Gabriel, then, is the angel of the first Advent, and when we look up at this beautiful figure, we are reminded of when God came among us in great humility and inaugurated the story of our salvation.
On the right side of the triptych is another angelic figure, Michael. Michael is vested, by tradition, as a Byzantine bodyguard, for Michael is a warrior and leader of the heavenly host. In his hands, Michael holds a sheath of stars, symbolizing the archangel’s presence at the end of time, which is dramatically and metaphorically described in Revelation. Michael, then, is the angel of the final Advent. When we gaze up at him, we are reminded that Christ will come again on the Last Day to judge the living and the dead.
So the triptych is not closed in Advent to hide the Transfigured Christ, but to allow us to reflect upon two central beliefs of our faith: Christ has come and Christ will come again.
It’s no secret that we prefer the first coming to the last. We love to look backward to the long ago and far away of the Nativity, and the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay. It’s harder to be sentimental about the apocalypse, although plenty of Christians are completely consumed by thinking about the end of time. But the truth is that we aren’t in either of those places. We don’t live in the “back then,” nor do we live in the “not yet.” We live in-between. We live now. We live in the meantime. What God has done has already been done, and what God will do is not under our control.
Yet, now is every bit as sacred as the past and the future, for God has not left or abandoned us. In the meantime of this sacred now, God still comes to us all the time, hallowing our world with the same Spirit that hovered over the world in the beginning. In the meantime, God still makes a home among us and works through us to make it more on earth as it is in heaven. In the meantime, God trusts us enough to be the Body of the One whose birth was heralded by the angels long ago, and who will one day come again with that same heavenly host at the end of time.
As we embark on another year in the meantime – one that will inevitably bring joys and sorrows, things to celebrate and things to lament, beauty and tragedy, and everything in between – I pray we will all remember that there are not two Advents, but three. We live under the watchful eye of a loving God, who is still very much with us. For God still makes a home among mortals, and joyfully abides in all those who open their hearts to allow God to enter in. So, while you may have long since removed the wreath from your front door, consider the wisdom of the 4th century poet and musician Ephrem of Syria:
