What child is this? (The double season of Advent)

You stand in an art gallery, pondering two paintings.  On your left in a gold frame is a large painting of the last judgement.  On the right is a small painting of the nativity.

In many ways that is what Advent season has felt like for me.  On the one hand we look forward to his second coming: glorious king, coming judge.  On the other we contemplate his first: Word become flesh - a screaming baby born in a dirty animal pen, God taking on our sin.

The hymns we sing take up these themes.  We feel the longing of the people of Israel, who waited for a promised king who would set things right:

O come, O come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.

We sing of the mystery of the incarnation (O Come, All Ye Faithful):

God of God,
Light of Light,
Lo, he abhors not the Virgin's womb;
Very God,
Begotten, not created

and the majesty of his return (Let all Mortal Flesh):

Rank on rank the host of heaven
Spreads its vanguard on the way,
As the Light of light descendeth
From the realms of endless day,
That the powers of hell may vanish
As the darkness clears away.

Both are found in the same verse of Angels from the Realms of Glory:

Though an infant now we view him,
He shall fill his Father's throne,
Gather all the nations to him,
Every knee shall then bow down:

The contrast between incarnation and second coming is almost as stark as the light-in-darkness metaphor of his coming, which we symbolize with candles.

It is this very duality of Advent for which I am thankful.  Contemplating only the incarnation, we are thankful that he came and that he knows our suffering, but we are still longing.  Considering only the return, we fear his judgement.  Only in light of his second coming do we fully understand the first; only because of his first can we bear -and hope for- his second.

Michelangelo, The Last Judgement

Until

Until

"How long, O Lord?"

cry time-garbed prophets

of dusty days

waiting waiting waiting -

for judgement of judges, 

for heart-graven laws -

waiting working waiting.

"How long, O Lord?"

weeping over Jerusalem.

For forty coins, O innocent Lamb

lifted up to be looked upon

by tearless blind and 

sorrow-blinded seeing.

Forgive us, Judge of all.

"How long, O Lord?"

cries the waiting church,

wallowing spotless bride 

hearing the mockers speak

their oft-merited scorn,

holding firstfruits of one Adam

still eating that fruit of another.

"How long, O Lord?"

as false expectations hang,

a fragile shining cloud

above us who feel not their weight

until shattered they descend

piercing trust and pride and most of all

the hearts of those who hope.

"How long, O Lord?"

will the gift of discernment,

of vision,

be not a thwarted burden

but a treasure of seeing

free from maligned motives,

truly serving.

"How long, O Lord?"

as we bow in thankfulness and awe 

to our rescuer and consuming fire.

We fear to ask for justice we 

fear not to

knowing that beauty will not save the world

but only You, Beautiful Christ.

"How long, O Lord?"

We've hung our harps

on poplar trees 

we groan in certain hope

of resurrection, restoration, re-creation.

waiting working waiting

O Lord, keep us in hope.

for reference: Heb12:28-29, 1 Cor 15, and Psalm 137