As fall gives way to winter and the night grows gradually longer, we find ourselves in the midst of a transition. In the course of the liturgical year, we find ourselves in a similar transition and we must wait. As much as society plays Bing Crosby’s Silver Bells, it is not Christmastime in the city. It is Advent.
Among the forgotten traditions of this season, is the Rorate Cæli chant and the candlelit votive Mass to Our Lady of Advent. In the early hours of the morning, as most of the world sleeps in darkness, chapels lit only by candlelight are filled with the faithful praying in expectation of the true Dawn, Christ our Lord. In the course of the chant, we are drawn into the mysteries of ancient Israel as their “many prophets and righteous people longed to see” the Light of their salvation (Matt 13:17). Taking up the themes of this Mass and its chant, the poem below is a meditation upon salvation history as men throughout the centuries–from Moses and Gideon, a judge over the tribes of Israel, to David and Elijah in psalms and prophecies–have called out to God to pour out the dew of his grace in their need and how these prayers were ultimately fulfilled in Christ.
Like the dew at daybreak, Christ did not enter the world in violence to our nature but chose to condescend into the cloistered garden of his Virgin Mother’s womb. Our Lord comes like the dewfall, not returning to heaven until he has washed us in his saving grace and fed us with himself, the bread of angels (Isa 55:10). This Advent, wait with Mary, Our Lady of the Expectation, for your Joy to drop down from heaven and fill you with the warmth and sweetness of his love.
Rorate Cæli Desuper
Drop down, O Lord, your heavenly Dew,
And with it come and draw the Dawn.
The world which once your Light imbued,
This night, has fallen and withdrawn.
The hills grown cold without your ray,
and birds their morning songs forsake.
Come down to meet our disarray,
And from our sin’s dark sleep awake.
In waste and barren wilderness,
You fed our fathers with the dew.
Their manna fell, a bread so blessed,
A pledge of future glory true.
As mighty Judge o’er Jacob’s seed,
You chose the humble and the least.
Now come, in Virgin womb decreed,
O Dew of Justice on Gideon’s fleece.
Break open heaven and come down,
And fall on us like springtime rain;
From Carmel new Elias sounds:
“Prepare! The cloud shall not restrain.”
Like Hermon’s dew, let blessings flow,
That faithful ones with us may sing:
On Zion’s heights, your grace bestow,
The Righteous One, our Lord and King.
O Savior of the world, make haste,
Leap down from your celestial throne.
In manger straw and bosom chaste,
Lord, let your Mercy find a home.
Amid the bleak midwinter’s vale,
Drop down, O Dew, O Joy divine,
And in our lowly hearts wassail,
Christ’s advent now in Flesh enshrined.
✠
Photo by Lawrence Lew, O.P. (used with permission)
