Whilst researching candle liturgies, I came across a series of 'poems' by Katherine Hawker at www.liturgyoutside.net

Here's the one for the Candle of Hope

hope in the bleak midwinter

hope
like a seed
buried deep within the earth;
hidden
covered by layers,
disappointment, struggle, pain;
buried yet stretching,
growing and becoming.
hope
like a seed
becoming new life.
we light a candle for hope.

St Michael defeating the devil at Coventry Cathedral.

I was pretty young the first time we visited Coventry Cathedral, catching the train from Northampton, visiting the ruins of the old cathedral, climbing the tower (I think it cost 10p each) and then marvelling at the stained glass in the new cathedral.

Since then, I've visited the cathedral numerous times, twice to attend anglican ordinations, and on the day I bought my red duffle coat, indeed, the latter was secondary to the former, as the cathedral and its precints are a place where I can find space to be still amidst the swirl of life.

Like Dresden, a city devastated by the effects of war.  Like Dresden, a city where hope defied evil.  Unsurprisingly, there is a special relationship between these two cities and the Cross of Nails is a sahred symbol of hope.

Not a prayer of my own today, but rather the Coventry Liturgy of reconiliation - an invitation from the angels who guard Coventry and Dresden to a more peaceful life...

When I was doing a web search for 'angels in art' this photograph appeared on a website purporting to share the most iconic images.  I absolutely love it, even though it's anything but a classic angel portrayal.  Indeed, I have been unable to find out anything about the statue, other than the fact that it is overlooking the bombed out city of Dresden.

The left hand, which apprears damaged, reaches out towards the ruins, guiding the viewer's eye to the devastation below.  It seems as if the angel (let's accept that it is, despite the absence of wings) stands sentinel over this broken place, and yearns to show the horror to anyone who will allow themself to look.

The face is striking too - undamaged, hair perfectly coiffured, lips slightly parted, eyes focussed on the city below... as if to say, this is my city, that I love. 

Maybe the hand reaches out not merely to draw the eye city-wards but as a gesture of hope, the upturned palm suggesting that the city will rise from its ashes, will live again.

I am reminded of two things:

In the gospels, Jesus stood on a hill outside Jerusalem and, wept because he loved it so much.

It also reminds me of the poem 'The Prophet's Speech' by Rev Dr Doug Gay

Lamenting over what is lost, dreaming of will be... this is the task of the prophet, and the message of the angels.

God who watches over this weary world,

Where, as the carol expresses so perfectly

"beneath the angel strains have rolled

Two thousand years of wrong"

We know you must weep over the wanton destruction

Inhumanity, greed, despair

Yet, in unending love you reach out your hand -

Scarred by the nails of crucifixion -

To lead us onwards in hope.

This morning I gleefully opened my Walter Brueggeman book, only to discover that it doesn't start until Sunday.  Ah well.

I opened my Festive Family Box, and the first reading to reflect upon was one I'm going to use on Sunday... Hmm!

So, in a spur of the moment decision, I decided I'd pick up on the theme of 'angels' we're using at church through Advent this year, and share an image, chosen each day, plus some sort of a 'stream of consciousness' thought!!

The Angel of the North is a huge sculpture in the north east of England.  Living in in the west of Scotland, I'd have to go east and south in order to see it.  That makes me chuckle a bit, and reminds me how relative any definition of place is, how we tend to define others in relation to ourselves, as if, somehow, we are the centre of the universe.

I haven't seen this staue in real life, but there is something about it's slightly industrial design and lack of arms that draws me to it... it's not a pretty angel, it's a rugged, earthy angel.  It stands sentinel over a part of England that is simultaneously incredibly beautiful and incredibly pained.

Today I'm pondering the idea of angels as sentinels, as guardians if you like, watching over us, wherever we are, whatever our lives are like.  A divine-inspired presence, unarmed (so peaceful) armless (so maybe maimed) quietly observing, and spreading its protective wings like hen shelters her chicks.

God whose angels stand sentinel over a bruised creation, guard us, we pray, on our journey through Advent, and bring us safe to the wonder of Christ's birth.  Amen.

Advent calendars and Advent books all begin tomorrow, even if Advent doesn't formally start until Sunday.

This year I have chosen to read a slim volume by Walter Brueggeman, entitled 'Celebrating Abundance'. Only a couple of pages a day, so very manageable amidst the mayhem of stuff to be done.

I will also be using an ALTERnativity 'festive family box' each day as a prompt for action/inaction

In between times I will be enjoying preparing services, and playing my small part in making Christmas happen this year.

I will also try to do a post each day in Advent, as I know some of my most loyal readers value it as their own 'advent calendar'.