An Advent Reflection

An Advent Reflection for From Darkness to Light

The Very Reverend Nicholas Papadopulos, Dean of Salisbury

‘The person who has had a taste of prison life knows what it means to be shut up in a narrow cell, his wrists fettered, his mind occupied with a thousand depressing thoughts as he visualizes the flag of freedom drooping forgotten in some obscure corner’.

It is November 1944, and words are pouring out of Father Alfred Delp.  He is writing a reflection on the season of Advent.  The manacles restraining his wrists make this difficult, but he persists.  ‘Again and again your hopes rise only to fall back into despair… dreams fade into reality and it all seems hopeless.  Again and again you come back to the same point – you have no key, and even if you had there is no keyhole on the inside of a prison door… Unless someone comes from the outside to set you free there can be no end to your misery’.

Inscribed around the bronze rim of the Cathedral’s Spire Crossing altar are the seven titles drawn from the ancient Hebrew Scriptures that Christians have traditionally ascribed to Jesus and that have become the Advent Antiphons.  They are sung from the West end of the Cathedral throughout this Advent Procession.  The fourth was surely in Delp’s mind that far-off Advent.  ‘O Key of David, that openest and no man shutteth; and shuttest, and no man openeth: Come, and bring the prisoner out of the prison-house, and him that sitteth in darkness, and the shadow of death.

In a moment the lights of the Cathedral will be extinguished, and we will all be in darkness.  Not a theatrical trick but a reminder of our world’s reality.  ‘Humanity’s condition in general is just like mine’ Delp writes from his cell.  It is not just prisoners who dwell in darkness.  It is not just the refugees of Palestine, treasuring the keys of the homes their grandparents fled; it is not just the survivors of abuse, betrayed and silenced by our institution, who dwell in darkness.  It is all of us.  Delp contemplates the devastation of war engulfing Europe, and writes, ‘Left to ourselves, with only our own strength to rely on we shall never find freedom… we must reorder our lives’.

His Advent voice reaches across eight decades and speaks to our angry, disillusioned, weary world.  We must reorder our lives.

Delp was brought from the prison house on 2 February 1945, the feast of Candlemas, and was led to his death.  Convicted of high treason against the Nazi regime the prison chaplain blessed him as he went to the gallows.  Father Delp responded, ‘In half an hour I will know more than you do’.

This Advent, may we know more than we know now.  This Advent, may we know our need of freedom.  This Advent, may we trust Christ’s promise to free us.