3 Things NaNoWriMo has taught me...

...About myself, about writing, and maybe even about being a vicar

1. Accountability and score-keeping work, even when they are explicitly notional. By the end of Day 2, I was hooked on the little graph that the NaNoWriMo website produces for you, showing your daily and cumulative word count alongside the target line of 1667 daily words. I know my children will behave better (sometimes) to get a star on a star chart, and I have discovered over the years that giving a reward - sweets, or a film - for winning so many stars adds nothing to its effectiveness. The stars are their own reward. This November, I discovered the power of that for myself. I felt I owed it to that graph to keep it going up (and I felt it looking at me reproachfully when I got off track one day!).

2. I am even more competitive and driven than I had realised, but only against myself. I love to win, but I was to discover this November that this drive is nothing at all to do with beating others. One of the lovely things about NaNoWriMo is that you are never competing against the other participants, you are competing with them. We all cheer each other on, meet up to write together, and it is perfectly possible for all to be winners. You don't win by beating others, you win by beating your own sloth, fear and despondence to produce 50,000 words. It's not 'all shall have prizes' - you only win by writing those words - but there is no reason why everyone couldn't be a winner. I like that.

3. Perfectionism is the enemy of achievement. When I stopped worrying about whether the words I was writing were any good, I found it much easier to get my daily word count written. My mantra for November was 'you're not writing a novel, you are just writing a first draft'. Much easier, much more achievable, and much less rabbit-in-headlights. I actually planned this novel in outline back in the first half of the year. But when I had finished planning, and the time came to write, I froze. Having an achievable and not quality-driven goal defrosted me.

...so then, because I'm an endlessly reflective practitioner (read, hopelessly over-analytical!) I started wondering if any of these lessons could be applied to my 'day job' of being a vicar.

Given the inescapability of the current Church Growth agenda - which I generally think of as a good thing - star charts and graphs seem immediately applicable. A new convert? have a gold star! Keep that Usual Sunday Attendance graph going steadily up!

However. When I think back over my experience in my first year in my current post, and compare it with my NaNoWriMo experience, the 'rabbit in headlights' panic is what resonates most strongly.

 I must get church growth! And just numbers aren't enough, it has to be good quality too! They have to be real converts, not transfer growth! And they have to be properly discipled! And start giving sacrificially as soon as possible so the diocese doesn't go bankrupt!

Panic. Freeze.

What might defrost this panic? Could something, like NaNoWriMo did for my embryonic novel, stop us staring into the headlights in terror and get us moving, slowly and steadily, in the right direction?

If the 3 things I learned about writing a novel are more generally applicable, then things I am wondering about are:

1. What about a star chart or graph? We collect attendance figures each week: I would be fascinated to find out what it would do to people's behaviour if that was graphed publicly, at the back of church. Would people feel more accountable to coming more regularly, to keep the graph looking happy? Or what about the PCC? We look at the state of our bank balance each month, but only rarely at our attendance figures. Maybe we should have the graph as a standing item on the agenda?

Or maybe this is more personal? I remember as a child getting a sticker each week in Sunday School, to go in my personal book: and now I have loyalty cards for Waterstones, Costa etc in my wallet, that get stamped each time I go...I would be wary of creating a consumer attitude to churchgoing, but I wonder if there is any way this sort of thing could be used to assist in habit-forming?

2. Church and diocesan culture can make the difference between whether church growth is seen as a game of winners and losers, or a shared endeavour. It is well known that the church has a very flat structure, with very few 'senior' positions with which to reward success, though, and this can encourage a sense of jockeying for position. Big churches throwing their weight around and threatening to take their people and money elsewhere doesn't help. How could a diocese, or the church centrally, use something like the NaNoWriMo structure to reward everyone's successes? Another thought experiment: what if the CofE website, when we enter our church statistics, sent everyone a certificate congratulating them?

3. Perfectionism. Hmm. This is a biggie. In all the Church Growth conferences I've been to and books I've read, people are always at pains to point out that quality is as important as quantity. Sometimes, this is an excuse not to bother with numbers: more often it is due to a genuine desire to make disciples, and a genuine concern to deepen the faith of those already in church. However. I wonder if this 'of course, quality matters just as much or more' rhetoric in fact stifles conscious efforts to grow the church by inadvertently causing a 'rabbit in the headlights' reaction? Maybe if we just concentrated on the numbers for a bit, without worrying about quality initially, we'd actually get some material to work on? Just a thought...

(Post edited slightly, 3.12.13)

Church Growth in Medieval Christendom

 I have recently submitted a chapter for a forthcoming book, 'Towards a Theology of Church Growth', edited by David Goodhew, to be published by Ashgate in 2014. It developed out of a conference of the same title held at St.John's College Durham, under the auspices of the Centre for Church Growth Research, in September 2013.

Post updated 25.11.13; the full text of this article is no longer available here - you'll have to wait for the book! But here is the intro and conclusion:

Growing the Medieval Church:

Church Growth in Theory and Practice in Christendom

c.1000 - c.1500

Revd. Dr. Miranda Threlfall-Holmes

Introduction


This chapter discusses three key questions concerning church growth theory, and the reality of church growth, in medieval European Christendom. First, was church growth needed in medieval Europe? By the year 1000, all of mainland Europe was at least nominally Christian¹. Paganism had been wiped out, and it would have been hard indeed to find anyone who had not been baptised as an infant. Rulers were Christians, and increasingly law and society were organised on Christian principles. Christianity was officially the compulsory religion of each emerging nation state. In this context, was the concept of church growth meaningless?

There is substantial academic debate surronding the question of to what extent medieval Christendom was genuinely an 'age of faith', or whether Christianity had simply been superficially overlaid on an essentially pagan culture.² Such debate is beyond the scope of this paper to address, but it points to some of the subtleties involved when considering questions of church growth in this context. More importantly for our present purposes, there is a myth in the modern popular imagination that “everyone went to church” in medieval times. This chapter will therefore look at the evidence for levels of church going, and what scope clergy and others saw for growth in the medieval church. Accurate statistics for church membership and attendance in the medieval past are notoriously absent, but this chapter will consider what historical sources can be brought to bear on questions of church attendance and church growth.

Secondly, this chapter will then consider the medieval sources that explicitly discuss church growth. Through the words of those who were writing about this subject in the medieval past, we shall look at how church growth was conceptualised in a society where most were assumed to be at least nominally Christian. In particular, we will look in more detail at the ways in which the metaphor of 'growth' was used in medieval theology, as there are some very interesting differences here with our modern use of the concept. What did a medieval theology of church growth look like? And finally, this chapter will turn to the simple question: did it work? Was there church growth in medieval Europe?

Conclusion


So what can we, as budding theologians of church growth today, usefully learn from the medieval worldview? In most of our theology, the arguments and concepts that were formed in the medieval period remain foundational, and it does not seem unreasonable, therefore, for us to look here for help in formulating a contemporary theology of church growth too. In doing so, there are four points that I would like to draw out.
First, an historically accurate assessment of medieval levels of church going is a helpful corrective to the mythology of a golden age in which 'everyone went to church'. Contemporary discussions of the difficulties of evangelism often focus on the uniquely problematic nature of our post-modern context, in a way which can gloss over the reality of the situations faced by our colleagues in previous eras. It does seem to have been the case that clergy in every generation have worried about how they could increase the level of church attendance and affective Christianity amongst their flock. An awareness of this may help to prevent counsels of despair, and prompt a new realism about the task that confronts, and always has confronted, the church.


Secondly, the fully fleshed out way in which medieval theologians understood the metaphor of 'growth' is an important resource as we seek to discern a theology of church growth. Understanding the primary task as keeping down the weeds, which are constantly threatening to overwhelm the garden, resonates very accurately with the lived experience of clergy and others involved in trying to grow the church in practice. It is very easy to feel discouraged by these dynamics. A great deal of hard work is expended, yet the result is not often a great expansion of the vineyard, but simply (at best) the only-to-be-expected harvest of the vines that have been tended. In our modern understanding of work, we expect to see a product, the fruits of our labours. Emma Percy draws theological attention to the philosopher Hannah Arendt, who distinguished between three different realms of human activity: labour, the domestic tasks needed for everyday life; work or fabrication, where the end is a tangible product, and action, the work that builds up human communities.⁵⁶ We tend to conceptualise working harder as producing more. Yet the wisdom of the medieval theologians of church growth would suggest that the work of ministry might be more helpfully seen as parallel to domestic work – washing, ironing, cooking a meal and washing up – which needs to be done, but then needs to be done again, than to artisan or factory work, which produce a measurable product. This does not mean that growth does not take place, but it is more analagous to natural, organic growth – the growth of a garden, or a child – rather than capitalist expansion and productivity.


Thirdly, and more positively, this survey of medieval church growth would suggest very strongly that intentionality is key. Throughout the history of the church, it has grown – numerically and in spiritual depth – when people have chosen to focus on that task.


Finally, there is a further historical question which arises from this evidence for medieval church growth. To what extent did this growth in lay involvement, in the depth and vibrancy of medieval Catholic religious practice over this period, inadvertantly give birth to the Reformation? To extend the metaphor of growth: even if we assiduously keep the weeds under control, we can't control the shape of the growth that God gives, or whether its fruit will be to our taste.




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Women Bishops: Take Two...

Proposals for new legislation to enable women to be bishops, have just been published. They can be found here, on the Church of England website.

Overall reaction

Overall, I welcome this report and would support this legislation. It seems to me to provide a wise balance of simple legislation and guiding principles, giving effect to the wishes of General Synod as expressed in July.

There are points on which I have some serious reservations, but I can of course see that the same could be said by everybody in this process, and that some mutual compromise is necessary. For me personally, the biggest concession demanded by this legislation is the continued ordination of candidates who are against the ordination of women.

I welcome, however, the structure of the new proposals, with their four inter-dependent elements which need to be read as a whole.

Guide to the new proposals

The new package is designed to be seen and understood as a whole. Each element needs to be read and interpreted in the light of each other element.

There are four parts to this new package:

1. The Measure.
This is the bit that will become law, and that will need to be passed by Parliament as well as by General Synod. It is much simpler than before, as requested by General Synod in July. It basically says men and women can both be bishops, end of. The only other substantial provision is a single amendment to the Equality Act, designed to prevent legal challenges to this package.

2. The Amending Canon. 
This changes the internal rules of the Church of England. The  main point here is that both for priests and bishops, the rules will simply say men and women can be ordained and consecrated, without having separate provision for the ordination of women . A new Canon will also mandate the grievance procedure (see 4 in this list).

3. The House of Bishops' Declaration. 
This is the heart of the package for those who disagree with the ordination of women. All arrangements for dealing with the variety of opinion that exists are in this Declaration, which would have similar force to the current Act of Synod. It includes the provision that, once the Bishops have agreed this text, it can only be changed by a 2/3 majority of each House of General Synod.

4. The Grievance Procedure.
The newest element of the proposals, this will be an ombudsman-style process, and it will be made compulsory by being included in Canon Law. This means all clergy, including bishops, will have to comply with it. It exists primarily to provide a way for PCCs who don't think their theological convictions have been handled adequately to complain, but the stated aim is not so much to deal with such complaints, but to prevent them arising in the first place by providing an independent and national level of scrutiny over how (for example) bishops go about providing male bishops for petitioning parishes. It doesn't include penalties, but it seems likely that failure to comply with its recommendations would be grounds for a complaint under the Clergy Discipline Measure.


What now?

So, this November, Synod will be voting on whether
1) to give First Approval to the Measure and Canon and
2) to ask the Bishops to agree texts for the Declaration and Grievance Procedure.

If all goes to plan, the February 2014 Synod will then hold the Revision Stage of the legislation (the Measure), and will have the full set of documents agreed.
At the end of the February Synod, they will vote on sending the whole package to the dioceses again. The dioceses will only be voting on the Measure, but will be able to see the whole package so they aren't 'signing a blank cheque'.

This Reference to the Dioceses stage is expected to be fast-tracked, and should be back with General Synod by July or November 2014.

In theory, then, Final Approval could be given in 2014, or in Feb 2015.

Typical women: it just goes to show...

A twitter conversation yesterday started like this:

@SallyHitchiner: Antje Jackelen elected Sweden's first woman archbishop - Come on England: the Swedes are decades ahead again! http://t.co/cKj4GIhtGl

@PeterOuld: @SallyHitchiner Are you not slightly concerned she denies parts of the Creed? Is that OK because she's XX?

...... And a few tweets later:

@PeterOuld: @SallyHitchiner @MirandaTHolmes You're celebrating an XX archbish who won't affirm Creeds. This does CofE pro XX bish position no favours.

@PeterOuld: @SallyHitchiner @MirandaTHolmes It plays very nicely into the hands of those who think we are wrong for wanting women bishops.


Typical women, eh? When one of them says something we disagree with, it just goes to show that women shouldn't be allowed a platform or voice. See, we told you they couldn't be trusted with it. Leave this to the chaps, girls.

This is why gender is still an issue, even where it isn't meant to be an issue anymore. If a man screws up, he is an individual who is bad at his job. If a woman screws up, it seems to show that women shouldn't do that job.

Please note that I am not discussing the new Archbishop of Sweden elect's views here, or her suitability or otherwise for the post. I know nothing about her except what has been written in a couple of English language reports of her appointment, and I would not presume to criticise another church's choice of leader on such flimsy evidence.

My beef is more straightforward. Why on earth does the appointment of a female archbishop who has views which may be controversial, 'play very nicely into the hands of those who think we are wrong for wanting women bishops'? Does her gender determine her theology? Do all women think the same?

Lets take a male example for comparison. How about David Jenkins, a previous Bishop of Durham? He was notoriously controversial in his theological views. Partly this was because he was genuinely questioning and de-mythologising, partly because the complexity of his views were often misquoted and misunderstood. (The Resurrection, for example, he said was 'not just a conjuring trick with bones', but somehow the 'not' seemed to get lost along the way.) Many people said he shouldn't be a bishop, even suggested that God had struck York Minster with lightening in retaliation for his consecration there a few days earlier. But no one, as far as I am aware, suggested that it just went to show that men shouldn't be bishops.

Or how about Richard Holloway, a previous Bishop of Edinburgh? I heard him speak very movingly at the Hexham Book Festival last year, about his new book 'Leaving Alexandria'. In the questions afterwards, he thought aloud about resigning from his see, saying that he had done so because he came to think that those who said he shouldn't be a bishop due to his unorthodox views were probably right. But again, I have never heard anyone suggest that his radical take on Christianity casts doubt on men's suitability for the episcopate.

I am an academic by training, so in fairness, I shall acknowledge that there is some research to suggest that, on average and broadly speaking, female clergy tend to be more theologically liberal than male clergy. Personally, I think this is a good thing and am proud to be one of them!

But it is nonsensical to suggest that all women think the same, or that the fact that some of us are more liberal than the average clergyman means that women shouldn't be ordained, or become bishops. Even if you genuinely think that only conservative thinkers with no capacity or inclination to question the received wisdom should be ordained, to argue that since the average woman is more 'liberal' than the average man, no woman should be ordained would be specious nonsense.

We will know we have achieved genuine gender equality when a woman can mess up, or be controversial, or do something unpopular, and be criticised for her actions rather than as a representative of her sex.

Women Bishops: Crest of a Wave

I should be in a really good mood. What a fantastic month it has been for those of us who have been immersed in advocacy for women's equality in the Church!

First, we heard that Helen-Ann Hartley has been elected as the next bishop in New Zealand. She will be the first woman ordained in the Church of England to become a bishop, even if it is still only possible the other side of the world.

Then, the Church in Wales - much nearer home - voted to open the episcopate to women. Even better, they voted to remove any statutory discrimination from the draft legislation.

Thirdly, the Church of Ireland announced that the first woman had been elected to be a bishop there.

And finally, for now at least, we have heard that the Church of South India has elected their first woman as a bishop, too.

Yet despite all this good news, I have been feeling strangely down this week. And I think they are connected.

All these announcements are bitter-sweet for us here in England, aren't they? Even if you don't think women should become bishops, I'm sure you can empathise with the mixed feelings such announcements have brought with them.

First, they bring back all the pain of last November's 'No'. Rather like remembering a bereavement all over again when you hear of another death, seeing all these wonderful announcements means we can't continue to compartmentalise that hurt and sense of rejection. I read my blog post from November again today, and yes - those feelings are still raw, just below the surface. We have of course been ignoring them, suppressing them, just getting on with the day to day work of being a priest or a laywoman in Christ's church. But they are still there, only lightly scabbed over, and this month they have been itching.

Secondly, I am mourning what might have been. If the vote had gone the other way, we would be close to hearing our own announcements now. The new bishop of Durham could have been a woman. The back log of bishop appointments could have become a wave of brilliant women whose gifts could have flooded in to the House of Bishops. Instead, we are gathering up the crumbs under the rich man's table: a few women are to be permitted to attend the House of Bishop's meetings. Tweets pour scorn on those doing so as 'silly women' accepting posts as 'pseudo bishops'. Though a more accurate reading of the situation might be that the bishops are begging them to attend, to make them look better and to make their meeting dynamics work better, and the women concerned are graciously accepting the invitation, choosing with great dignity and calm not to be insulted. Hats off to them.

Thirdly, all these appointments remind us again and again that nowhere else in the Anglican Communion has the admission of women to the episcopate been hedged about by conditions, restrictions, provisions for opponents or discriminatory regulations. Every other province that currently allows women to be bishops - whether or not they actually have any yet- has simple legislation. Yet the Church of England is still agonising over how and whether this can be done, and what complicated arrangements might be suitable for those who wish to reject women's ministry. We appear unable to simply follow the lead of our brothers and sisters around the world, in a huge variety of contexts - from Canada to the Sudan.

And of course, all these appointments have provoked once again the usual statements of disapproval from the usual suspects, forcing us to hear once again that women are unequal, women should be subordinate, women can't be what many of us are - priests, deacons, bishops, co-workers with God on equal terms with our male colleagues. The arguments are the same, the rhetoric is tired, and our wince is a familiar one.

So I just feel tired, and a bit down. I wish I could rejoice, but at least I've worked out why I'm not feeling as great as I thought I would be.

There is a wave cresting, but it seems to be taking an awfully long time to break on this shore.

Luke 16:1-13 The Parable of the Dishonest Steward

My sermon notes for St.Laurence Pittington this coming Sunday:

This parable has always fascinated me. It is very hard to understand – is Jesus commending dishonesty? Is he recommending that we be as cunning in our faith as crooked buisnessmen? Hundreds of different interpretations over the centuries have sought to get Jesus off the hook of praising sin, and yet we’re left rather confused. All sorts of questions fly out at us. Who is doing the praising? Jesus or the rich man? If it is Jesus, what it is he approves of here? Deceit? Surely not. The sacked manager’s cleverness or determination? Partly, it would seem. The self interest? That appears to be in his mind too. And then on the other hand, if the boss is the one doing the praising, why would he praise a steward who was being sacked for bad management in the first place, when he is now standing to lose money? Was it honour among thieves? Or, again, is it the cleverness, the shrewdness that is being praised?

Partly it depends on how we understand the story in the first place. Some people think that the sacked man was overcharging and so, when he knew he was to be dismissed, he was forgoing his cut to gain acceptance among his former clients. Or its been suggested that he setting up a situation which would enhance his master’s reputation as well as his own – hoping to make his master look generous and so by a public relations coup hoping to regain his job? Or maybe the amount he reduced each bill by was the disguised interest his master was charging on his debts, so he gains the moral high ground and the master can do nothing about it because charging usury was illegal in the first place.

Perhaps that is all there is to it: a rather confusing little story that simply means, be clever. But its also been suggested that this may been a story that was circulating at the time, which Jesus then picked and used for his own ends.

I think the key to understanding this parable as more than simple advice is to turn the focus from us – who are we in this story? To Jesus – where is Jesus in this story?

Debt was used more than once by Jesus as a metaphor for sins and forgiving debts, for forgiving sins. Jesus uses the imagery in the Lord’s Prayer, and in other parables. For example, earlier in Luke’s gospel we are told the story of a woman pouring perfume on Jesus’s feet, and wiping them with her hair. Jesus’s host, a pharisee, was horrified and thought to himself ‘if this man really was a prophet, surely he would know what kind of a woman this is, that she is a sinner?’. Jesus knew what he was thinking, and told him a parable of two debtors, one who owed five hundred denarii, the other fifty. Both debts were written off by the creditor, and the one who owed more was more grateful. Jesus then said to the woman, ‘your sins are forgiven’ , to the consternation of the other guests at the feast.

Central to the parable of the unjust steward is the fact that the rogue had no authorisation to go around cancelling or cutting people’s debts. It was outrageous behaviour. But Luke has just been telling us, for the whole of the previous two chapters, that Jesus’ behaviour was outrageous. His opponents were saying he had no right to go about welcoming sinners and declaring God’s forgiveness to them. Jesus was a rogue in the system. The scribes, and the pharisees, and other religious authorities denied his authority to do what he did. They criticised the company he hung out with, and they criticised his failure to conform to the moral standards of the day. It was in answer to these criticsms that Jesus told the previous parables, the stories of the lost sheep and the lost coin that we heard last week, and the story of the prodigal son that is between them and this story in Luke. In all those stories, Jesus makes the point that God is more concerned with finding the lost than simply keeping the righteous. He told those stories specifically to defend himself against the pharisees criticisms that he was spending time with those deemed to be sinners and inappropriate company for a rabbi. In the context of those stories, it seems likely that this parable too is telling us something about God and his relationship with us, rather than simply offering some rather odd advice.

It seems very likely that Jesus has taken up a popular story about a rogue manager and used it in self defence and to confront his opponents. He’s telling this story against himself, and what a bold stroke! Suddenly the whole difficult, complicated, immoral story untwists itself if , we think of Jesus as likening himself to the unjust steward. Jesus is the one whom his opponents were accusing of being a bad steward of God’s holy things, and being unauthorised to forgive debts, but, he asserts, he does so with God’s approval. As the master praised the sacked manager, so, claims Jesus, God will approve his ministry and his radical generosity. Jesus is the legitimate agent. And God is that generous!

Jesus often used stories from the commercial world, including those which likened God or himself to rather shady characters – in other parables he used the images of an unjust judge or a ruthless king, for example. And if we think back to the parables of the previous chapter of Luke, such as the lost sheep and the prodigal son, it is easy to see the similarities. We are used to thinking of these stories as illustrating God’s goodness, but in the context of the time they were told, and especially in the context of the pharisees disapproval of Jesus, they show God as good, yes, but to an almost irresponsible degree. The parable of the lost sheep could be called the parable of the irresponsible shepherd – what sort of shepherd abandons 99 sheep to bandits or wolves, to search for one lost one which might already be dead? And the story of the prodigal son has the father showing a reckless generosity, which enrages the older brother. In all these parables, Jesus is asserting the outrageous, reckless, irresponsible nature of God’s grace. The parable of the unjust steward is defiant in the face of the criticism that Jesus is subverting normal values. He insists that normal wordly standards can’t be simply transposed onto God, and you can’t simply expect God to behave as a human being might be expected to in a situation. Time and again in the gospels, Jesus uses parables to hammer home the message that God is not like a normal debtor, insisting that we pay what we owe, he forgives us freely and much more than we deserve. And the corollary of that is that we should do the same.

The world of debts and debtors was not fantasy for Jesus’ first hearers. While applying the imagery of debt to a broader theme, Jesus was also indicating that he knew what was going on in his world. He knew how oppressive systems worked themselves out in his Galilee to drive people from their land into unemployment and poverty. While it is naïve to read into Jesus’ teaching our perceptions of the complexities of economic exploitation, nevertheless the proclamation of the kingdom was meant to be good news for these poor and bring them blessing. How can you assert these things as God’s priorities and not address what is going on?

All through the gospels, and especially in Luke’s gospel, money and wealth and exploitation come up again and again. For the past couple of months, Sunday after Sunday, we’ve heard about treasure on earth, treasure in heaven, inviting the poor not just our friends or useful contacts to our parties, how we use our money, and debt. Wealth and exploitation are not simply one more moral issue which Christians need to address, but something quite central to the gospel. No one is to be written off, because what people have held against others has been written off by the roguery, the outrageous behaviour, of divine grace.

The mathematics that God uses is not like our arithmetic. A very traditional view of how gods judge humans after death, common to many religions and world views across different times and cultures, is that we are weighed in the scales. You may have seen ancient Egyptian paintings of the soul being weighed – the idea being that the good and the bad we have done are weighed against each other, and the gods see which is more significant. Jesus’s economic parables turn that idea on its head. God is more likely to throw the scales across the room, and come dancing forward to embrace us. God’s grace is ridiculous, unfair, profligate – that’s why the pharisees were so annoyed by Jesus. It is lavished on us, regardless of whether we deserve it. But time and again, in parable after parable – the lost sheep, the prodigal son, the unjust steward – Jesus continues to insist that like it or not, that is what God’s grace is like.

Advent Hymn

Suggested tune: In Christ Alone (or other 8888 tune).

Update: Since blogging this, Chris Upton has composed a lovely new tune specifically for this hymn, Advent Hope, as he explains in the comments below. You can find it online here, at the CPDL free choral sheet music site.

This hymn is structured around the traditional candles of the Advent Wreath, and would work particularly well sung at the lighting of the candles. Either the verse for the week can be sung between the first and last verses, or the verses could be sung cumulatively through Advent. The hymn can also, of course, be sung as a whole, and this would be particularly appropriate on Advent Sunday, or at an Advent carol service.

First Verse:
In Advent hope, we watch for Christ,
Eagerly waiting for his birth.
Preparing hearts, our minds and lives,
Anticipating his return.
Watching for light, watching for love,
Watching for joy, watching for peace.
We'll see him soon, in life or death,
God with us then for evermore.
God with us then for evermore.

Advent 1:
In ages past the ancients told
Stories of what God promises:
From Noah's dove, to Sarah's laugh,
Wrestling with God or counting stars.
Stories of light, stories of love,
Stories of joy, stories of peace.
Through exiled years of slavery
Stories of hope and faithfulness.
Stories of hope and faithfulness.

Advent 2:
Your prophets held before our eyes
Visions of how the world could be
When righteousness is redefined:
Visions of grace and jubilee.
Visions of light, visions of love,
Visions of joy, visions of peace:
A coming king, who'll rule to serve,
Visions of justice all will see.
Visions of justice all will see.

Advent 3:
John warned your people to prepare
Baptising all who turned from sin,
From selfishness, unfairness, greed:
Guiding your people to your path.
The path of light, the path of love,
The path of joy, the path of peace.
Guiding us to eternal life,
Calling us all to fruitfulness.
Calling us all to fruitfulness.

Advent 4:
With Mary's yes, God came to grow,
Curled in the darkness of her womb.
And Mary sang, rejoicingly,
Telling of God's eternal plan.
Singing of light, singing of love,
Singing of joy, singing of peace.
Of how God loves the poor and low,
Turning the kingdom upside down.
Turning the kingdom upside down.

Final verse:
Inspired by them*, and trusting God,
We wait in darkness for the dawn.
In eager hope, expectantly,
Longing for Christ, the morning star.
Longing for light, longing for love,
Longing for joy, longing for peace.
Impatient for the coming day,
Longing to meet Christ face to face.
Longing to meet Christ face to face.

[*NB: if only the verse for Advent 3 or Advent 4 has been used on a particular occasion, change 'them' to 'him' or 'her']

You are welcome to use these words freely, with attribution (Creative Commons Licence Share-Alike Licence). I hope they are useful!