Advent Love: A Candle-lighting Liturgy

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Open the heavens and come down, O God of love.

Bring Your love so near we can feel it

not just in our hearts, but on our skin,

like the sun on our upturned faces.

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We have seen glimpses of Your love in communities 

that surrounded us with care, stood by our sides, and had our backs.

When we heard confidence and optimism in our children’s voices, 

we knew Your presence.

Give us eyes keen enough to catch Your love in action,

and spirits quick enough to reflect Your grace,

as water catches and reflects the light.

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We have heard Your promises:

that You love us no matter what,

with a love greater even than faith and hope.

Where Your love rules, everything changes.

The stranger will be met with a smile.

The hurt will find a healer.

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Jesus, lover of our souls, come soothe where hate burns. 

Help us to love one another as You have loved us,

with an untamed love that is not safe, but it is good—

a love that spends its life for others.

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Anoint us with your Spirit to bring good news

to all in need of Your healing touch.

Restore what has been broken in rage.

Make us crafters of beauty from ashes.

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We are God’s people.

We light this candle as a sign of God’s love

that sets up camp among us,

tending the displaced and the wounded,

then sends us out to do the same.

O come, Immanuel. 

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(This year’s Advent candle-lighting liturgies are crafted around the 2023 lectionary texts and input from congregants of Bethany Presbyterian Church of Seattle)

Advent Again – Day 1

“Making Peace” by Denise Levertov

 

swords-to-ploughshares-evgeniy

“Let Us Beat Swords into Plowshares” by Evgeniy Vuchetich, in reference to today’s lectionary reading: Isaiah 2:1-5

 

 

A voice from the dark called out,

‘The poets must give us

imagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiar

imagination of disaster. Peace, not only

the absence of war.’

      But peace, like a poem,

is not there ahead of itself,

can’t be imagined before it is made,

can’t be known except

in the words of its making,

grammar of justice,

syntax of mutual aid.

   A feeling towards it,

dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have

until we begin to utter its metaphors,

learning them as we speak.

  A line of peace might appear

if we restructured the sentence our lives are making,

revoked its reaffirmation of profit and power,

questioned our needs, allowed

long pauses . . .

  A cadence of peace might balance its weight

on that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,

an energy field more intense than war,

might pulse then,

stanza by stanza into the world,

each act of living

one of its words, each word

a vibration of light—facets

of the forming crystal.