No better way to start off Advent season than spending the entirety of the Church service worried that one left the first purple Advent candle burning whilst rushing out the door with one’s slightly disheveled ducklings.

Good news: I did not burn down our house. It seems that I did, indeed, blow out the candle, perhaps in our frantic flurry to get to said distracted worship service.

Even better news: Advent has begun.

I think I get as excited about Advent as SEC fans do about rivalry week, and that is saying a lot. I recognize that a fixation on liturgical tradition is not a widespread phenomenon; however, but I do recommend Advent practices, along with tradition, “the democracy of the dead.”

This year, I am endeavoring to write a poem each Sunday of Advent as a way to force myself to linger more longingly over the coming Christ.

Ripples of Redemption

At the epicenter of redemption
Lies the infant Immanuel.
His birth cries promising,
“In Me, all shall be well.”

Through His cosmic coming,
Heralded by a strange star,
God the Father went to fetch
His children, near and far.

Eternal ripples of redemption
Emanating out from a cave,
Against all odds and obstacles,
God His people came to save.

May these ripples reach us,
Stirring our deepest parts,
May they disturb our slumber,
Awakening again our hearts.

May the hope of Christ, the epicenter of redemption, ripple into our ordinary lives this week, reminding us of the extraordinary Coming of Christ which changed everything.