By Father Ted

“Since many have undertaken to set down an orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed on to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the word, I too decided, after investigating everything carefully from the very first, to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, so that you may know the truth concerning the things about which you have been instructed.”

-Luke 1:1-4

 

On the First Sunday of Advent, we began the third year of readings in the Revised Common Lectionary. Many of you will know that each of the three years focuses on a different gospel. In Year A we read through most of the Gospel of Matthew; Year B focuses on Mark, and Year C is primarily Luke. Portions of John’s Gospel are found in all three years, particularly around major feasts. (We also hear a lot of John in Year B, because Mark is considerably shorter Matthew and Luke.)

I’m not sure it’s useful to say that one year is better than any other year, but I am willing to make the case that the start to Year C is stronger than the other two years, and it has everything to do with the Gospel of Luke. While Luke may not include the story about the Magi, which is only in Matthew, or the theologically rich discourse on the Incarnation which begins John’s Gospel, Luke has something particularly special: Canticles.

Looking back at the preface to the gospel, Luke’s goal is to provide Theophilus (in actuality: Luke’s community) with an “orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us.” However instead of a dry, “just-the-facts” account of Jesus’ life, Luke starts off by giving us four beautifully rich tales surrounding Jesus’ birth, each with its own musical number, all woven together into a complex tapestry of narrative. (I used to tell people in The Way that canticles were proof that the Bible was originally intended to be a musical.)

The first vignette in Luke’s Gospel is the birth of John the Baptist, which includes the story of his parents, Elizabeth and Zechariah. The old couple is surprised to learn that they would have a son, and Zechariah’s question about God’s plan causes Gabriel to silence his tongue until John is born. Once the angel’s prophecy is fulfilled and Zechariah does as God commands, he sings a magnificent song. The Song of Zechariah, also called the Benedictus Dominus Deus, is an anthem of praise and prophecy about the coming of the Messiah. We heard it as the Gradual on Advent 2 this year, but for those who pray the Daily Office, it comes up every week during Morning Prayer. The line towards the end, “In the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us,” makes it perfect for early morning prayers.

The second story in Luke which includes a canticle is the story of Mary. Once upon a time, I remember looking for the canticle in the story of the Annunciation, however it comes well-after Mary’s encounter with Gabriel. Mary sings this song, the Magnificat, when she visits her cousin, Elizabeth. Mary’s song is a powerful condemnation of the rulers of the earth and a song of hope for the lowly, like herself. Luke seems to have used the “Song of Hannah” from 1 Samuel as inspiration for the Magnificat, the first line of which is: “My heart exults in the Lord; my strength is exalted in my God.” The Song of Mary has long been associated with the service of Vespers, and Thomas Cranmer retained it when he composed Evening Prayer in his first Book of Common Prayer.

Skipping ahead, the fourth, and last, canticle in Luke’s infancy narrative is the Song of Simeon which comes from the story of Jesus’ presentation in the Temple. Simeon was a righteous and devout man, and God promised that he would live long enough to see the Savior of the World. (Sadly, Luke didn’t include the story of how that promise was made.) The Song of Simeon, also called the Nunc dimittis, is much softer and gentler than the other canticles. As such, it is the appropriate song for Compline at the end of the day. As Simeon was looking forward to his final rest, we too can sleep because we have seen the face of Christ in those we served throughout the day.

Moving backward, the third Lukan canticle is associated with the Holy Eucharist more than any service of the Daily Office. It is also the shortest of the four: only one verse long. It is the Gloria in excelsis, the song the angels sang to the shepherds at the birth of Jesus. Noticeably absent in the season of Advent, it is not simply a song of rejoicing; it is about a very real inbreaking of the heavenly kingdom into the daily lives of God’s people. (Sounds like Holy Eucharist, right?) As Christians, we live in a liminal, in-between state, in the “already-and-not-yet.” Advent is a time to lean into the “not-yet,” so we put a pause on things like the Gloria in excelsis. (If you’d like to hear the best rendition of this canticle, I suggest you search for the clip of Linus telling Charlie Brown about the meaning of Christmas.)

Luke’s choice to use canticles to tell the story of the birth of Jesus is a powerful way to bring the stories into the present. It forces us to do more than simply recall an “orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us.” As we re-tell the story of Jesus’ birth, we sing the Song of Mary and recommit ourselves to bringing down systems of oppression and raising up “the least of these.” We sing the Song of Zechariah and renew our covenant to be a Holy People for God’s purposes. We sing the Song of Simeon and remember that we cannot rest until have seen and shared the light of Christ throughout the world. And we sing the Song of the Angels, joining with the heavenly host as we prepare to worship the one who was once laid in a stall, but now reigns from a sapphire throne unto endless ages of ages.

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