By Drew Gilliland
Program & Research Associate, G.L.O.B.A.L. Justice
A couple of years ago, when I was in Ireland getting my Master’s degree in sociology, I remember December being very heavy. The content I was digesting was emotionally difficult; one cannot help but feel discouraged when analyzing the way our societies work. The pain, injustice, and the dark systemic forces of our world, whether human-made or spiritual, seem overwhelmingly powerful and deeply rooted.
It was in this state of mind that I came across a hymn while walking down the main village road in Blackrock, a quiet suburb south of Dublin. The sun was shining in the morning (a rare winter sight in Ireland) and I had my headphones in as I walked to the local coffee shop. The words struck me as I strode past the beautiful Catholic church across the street from my house.
“I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Peace on Earth, good-will to men.”
The Advent season which we are entering is a time of hope, pointing our eyes to the hope we have in Christ – a wild and sweet hope, as the song says. But the presence of hope also indicates that there are dire conditions that make hope necessary. One only needs to scan news headlines to begin to feel overwhelmed by the problems in our world. Two stanzas later, that old familiar dread and pain resonated within me as these words played:
“And in despair, I bowed my head
’There is no peace on Earth,’ I said
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on Earth, good-will to men.”
In the original poem, penned by an abolitionist whose son was a Union Army lieutenant wounded in the Civil War, two additional stanzas vividly describe the brutality of conflict and of the human condition.
“Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”
This section of the poems reminds me of the famous quote from The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky: “God and the devil are fighting there, and the battlefield is the human heart.” Each of us, our societies, and our physical world bear the scars of this war. Just this week, there have been earthquakes and floods, bombings and protests, details of systematic Chinese brainwashing camps for Uighur Muslims, apocalyptic climate change warnings, a frighteningly high death rate for young Americans like myself, reports of wars and conflicts, and new details of housing segregation, racism, and hatred in our country. And this doesn’t mention the countless stories of difficulty and pain each individual bears on a daily basis. The barrage never seems to end.
Indeed, there is no peace on Earth. I, too, bow my head in despair. Hate is strong and does seem to mock the song of peace on Earth, good-will to men. It is as one Yemeni man, whose daughter desperately needed medical care in a war zone, said: “We’re just waiting for doom or for a breakthrough from heaven.”
In this moment of being overwhelmed yet again by the weight of the world’s myriad problems, the song’s next stanzas pierced the darkness in my soul.
“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”
I remembered the coming of Jesus and the overwhelmingly beautiful truth that God sees you. He sees me. He sees the troubles of this world. He is not dead – he is the living God. He is the God of the resurrection. He is the God who has come to restore all things. “Aslan is on the move.” The night will turn to day. The cosmic Wrong – the prince of the power of the air, the ruler of this world, sin and death – shall fail. The cosmic Right – the fiercely creative love of God, who has come to take away the sins of the world and give live abundantly – shall prevail. God is not the silent clockmaker envisioned by Enlightenment thinkers. He is present and active, moving even as we speak. And we, as the church, are participating in his work of justice in anticipation of his second coming.
This is Advent: living in the reality of the already and the not-yet. We acknowledge the present reality of pain and brokenness in this world, and yet we know that the real reality is the New Earth and the New Jerusalem, when God will reside with his people and they with him. And he will wipe every tear from our eyes, and pain and sin and death will be no more. So, this is my Advent prayer:
“O come, O come Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appears.
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee O Israel…”
Thanks to the work of Fleming Rutledge in her book Advent: The Once and Future Coming of Jesus Christ. It has been an invaluable resource to me.