I am told that just before dawn,
there is a moment
when it is neither dawn nor night.
It is a blink after the dark
and a flash before the light.
It is promise of life held in an instant;
moving but not yet ours to see;
suspended between what was,
and what is yet to be.
We exist in this holy interregnum,
for the old is past, and behold a new day,
but not yet. Not yet.
In this moment between movements,
we strain and ache for the promised
joy that comes with the morning.
This is time between time,
a breath between days;
the rupture of epochs:
marking a border between the inauguration
and the consummation of all things.
Here, the Word whispers softly,
disturbing our sleep,
so that we might awaken
in the embrace of the son,
whose life is the light
that illuminates the world.
This is the moment when all is quiet
before creations sings.
A stillness heard so deeply
it is barely heard at all.
It is advent,
– Trygve David Johnson, ‘Advent’. A Poem written for Hope College Vespers 2010, Dimnent Chapel.
[Image: Flandrum Hill]