O Radiant Dawn

by Bill Alt on the Fourth Sunday of Advent

O Radiant Dawn, splendor of eternal light, sun of justice; come, shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.

Every night, my sons want the bathroom light on when they go to sleep and I don’t blame them. I want the light on too. I don’t want to be in the dark where I cannot see, where there is fear and grief. I don’t want the pain of unknowing. I don’t want the long wait, the uncertainty of whether change is really possible, and perhaps that is why I fill my Advent with Christmas, celebrating the days with carols, cookies, shopping, and parties before Christmas dawns. Yet, I know that if there is to be the day, there must also be the night and I must wait.

Tonight at vespers, the Church’s evening prayer, we will sing “O Radiant Dawn” and call upon the light of Christ to break upon our dark and tired world. These words are one of the “O antiphons”, the antiphons sung the last week before Christmas. Together they evoke marvelous images for Christ, reminding us of who we have been waiting for and calling us to greater anticipation for Christmas. Tomorrow, the dawn will come a little sooner, the darkness will recede, and our days will grow longer. Christmas is almost here!

But it is not Christmas yet and there is still waiting to be done and darkness. The darkness is uncomfortable and scary but it is where we wait for Christ. Sometimes, however, the darkness can seem to be unbearable as when a mother loses a child or a husband loses a wife, death coming for those we love. I know that kind of darkness this year.

My very first friend, Laura, who I met when I was five years-old pretending to be a dog nipping and barking at her feet and her laughing, died this past February after battling breast cancer. I love her and I miss her and it still hurts. My hurt does not compare to the pain her sister and parents, her husband and little boys are feeling at their first Christmas without her.

 What can we do but hold each other in the dark, wait, and sing for the dawn we believe must come, needs to come, and will come. Everyone will feel or has felt loss, pain, and regret. What can you do but hold each other in the dark, wait, and sing for the morning to come. Christmas will come and we are sentinels for it patiently waiting and calling for the first light to slip the edge of the world and change everything.

Questions for Reflection: 

In what ways have you waited in darkness for the light of Christ? 

How have you waited with others and how have others waited with you?

-Bill Alt is the Alternative Spring Break Assistant at St. Mary Student Parish