When do you think is the right time to begin singing Christmas carols? They’ve been on the radio and in stores for weeks now—a powerful tool to create a mood and get one into the spirit, whether for worship or shopping! Today, I’d like to reflect on how our musical choices contribute to shaping a seasonal theme, using Ed’s selections for this second Sunday of Advent.

Not all music we hear in worship today was originally sacred. Some pieces began as edifying entertainment to be performed both by professionals, such as Handel’s Messiah, and amateurs, like Victorian-era carols and hymns. During that time, the home market for music flourished. Middle- and upper-class brides were expected to learn piano – as we notice in Jane Austen’s novels! – and singing in harmony was believed to encourage harmony in relationships. Carols, derived from the French carole (circle dance songs), naturally feel festive, while hymns are inherently devotional. Yet neither genre was ever restricted to one season, as for example, Advent and Easter carols exist, and the Messiah spans the entirety of Christ’s life. So, the notion that carols and energetic music must wait until Christmas, while darker, slower hymns dominate Advent, isn’t entirely accurate. Instead, scripture is our guide. Today’s closing song, People, Look East, is considered a carol, yet it resonates with our OT reading and embodies Advent theology. And as we set the altar, we’ll sing the fairly upbeat hymn There’s a Voice in the Wilderness Crying, honouring John the Baptist, to whom Advent 2 belongs.

We remember John both on his birthday in July, as well as now in Advent because his story intertwines with Jesus’ from the time of their mothers’ pregnancies. John’s life ended as tragically as that of Jesus, shortly after affirming Jesus’ ministry through baptism. The words of his father Zechariah became the canticle Benedictus, which we’ll hear as a communion hymn today. In my cover image, Zechariah gazes at his baby with the hope that every parent feels—that his child would find his true life purpose. John surely did live into his purpose, which was, in his own words, to “prepare the way of the Lord”, a phrase that Luke quotes directly from Isaiah 40 and parallel to Baruch 5.

Large-city dwellers dread road repairs, but in the Iron Age, kings considered it their right to have roads levelled and straightened for their journeys. As such, the prophets use this imagery to signal the arrival of someone special. Consider the subtle nuances, however, regarding who and where is in charge of the preparation, and who is going to travel. Isaiah’s “A voice cries out: ‘In the wilderness, prepare…’” becomes Luke’s, “A voice cries out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare…’” And in contrast to both, in Baruch, it is God, rather than people, who levels and straightens the road, and the people are the ones to journey upon it. Thus, the path by which God comes to us is also the one that we take to Him—a comforting thought, reminding us that God equips us to receive Him, even when our hearts feel like deserts. Chapter 40 is a pivotal chapter that marks a shift of the entire text of Isaiah from accusation to hope, opening with, “Comfort, my people… [your] hard service has been completed”, as Jesus would say much later, “it is finished.” These words inspired Goudimel, the 16th-century French protestant composer whose anthem we’ll hear shortly, and the Messiah aria Comfort Ye. And Baruch similarly calls Jerusalem to cease mourning—to “look East”.

This brings me to our closing carol, People, Look East, written by Eleanor Farjeon (1881–1965), who was raised in a household steeped in books, music, and the arts, and counted poets like Robert Frost among her friends. Farjeon authored over 80 works of children’s literature and poetry, including the beloved hymn Morning Has Broken. However, it is People, Look East, that I think, reflects both her imaginative spirit and sacrificial stance, developed over the 12 years of caring for her terminally ill mother. Set to a lively tune from Besançon (Goudimel’s birthplace!), it focuses on the symbolism of the East and presents five personifications of love. 

The reference to the east as the source of hope and renewal is ancient. It is where God planted Eden and hovered over the Temple’s eastern gate, where the Son of Man will appear as lightning (Matt. 24:27) and as morning star (2 Pet. 1:19; Rev. 2:28 & 22:16), and from where the star guided the Magi. Even when churches, like St. Tim’s, aren’t geographically east-facing, their altar ends are still called “liturgical East”, as symbolic of worship, resurrection, renewal, and divine presence. The carol’s personifications of love are also scripturally based, but bring it closer to daily life: the guest who knocks rather than intrudes’ the rose evoking Isaiah’s “shoot from the stump of Jesse” and “the desert blooming with crocuses,” and the Rose of Sharon from Song of Solomon, all sustained by hospitable soil. The furrow and bird reflect the sacrifice required to nourish new life, and trust in God’s timing for its arrival. The stars remind us to be humble enough to recognize brighter lights than ourselves, and the angels call us to be messengers of hope, as they repeat the words of Isaiah, Baruch, and John, saying that “every peak and valley humming.”

Have you ever hummed a tune while preparing for love’s arrival? Whether in carrying a baby yet to be born, planning a wedding, hosting a guest, or decorating for Christmas, love is both present and on its way. Similarly, God’s love is already here in our lives and yet awaited anew—not just every Advent but every morning as the sun rises in the east. As we sing this carol, let its words inspire us to reflect on who or what personifies God’s love for us and how we can make our hearts and lives a welcoming place for renewal and the inevitable change it brings.

Questions to Consider

1. The Advent carol “People, Look East” personifies love as a “Guest,”
   “Rose,” “Bird,” “Star,” and “Lord.” If you were to write about or
   illustrate love, what images—perhaps a person, plant, place, animal,
   or shape—might you choose to represent it metaphorically? What colours, textures, or even literary devices like alliteration would you use to convey its essence?
2. Have you ever prepared for the “arrival of love”? Perhaps, by getting ready for the return of a loved one after a long absence, a visit with someone you rarely see, a first date, the birth of a child, planning a wedding or family reunion… What parallels might you draw between those experiences and the anticipation inherent to Advent each year?