Advent

Christmas poetry by George Herbert unfolds like a quiet hymn: delicate yet profound, simple yet soaked in the weighty struggle of glory. Herbert's words draw us into the heart of the incarnation, where divinity stoops low, where majesty wears humility, and where heaven kisses earth's dust.

Herbert's lines shimmer with paradox. He paints a God who, though infinite, wraps Himself in swaddling cloths. A King who trades His throne for a manger, whose crown is not of gold but the vulnerability of flesh. This is love defying comprehension, a mystery so immense that words strain to contain it. Herbert does not merely speak of the Nativity; he invites us to inhabit it. To kneel beside shepherds. To marvel with angels. To bring our hearts, broken and poor, to the manger where mercy and grace lie waiting.

In his poems, the birth of Christ is not just a historical event but an ongoing call to transformation. "Let all the world be quiet and adore," Herbert seems to whisper. Adore the God who comes so close, who does not remain distant but steps into our dust and darkness. Adore the Christ who stoops so low to lift us so high. In the stillness of this sacred moment, we are invited to rest: rest from the noise of our striving, the cacophony of our voices, the clamour of our expectations and fears. In a world that never stops demanding more, we are called to pause, to bow before the mystery of grace that we will never fully understand but are nevertheless embraced by.

During Advent I received a kindly gifted copy of Richard Harries’ Wounded I Sing which offers a deeply thoughtful exploration of George Herbert's poetry, weaving personal reflection with theological insight. Harries illuminates Herbert's ability to intertwine human vulnerability with pulsing grace, making his work resonate across centuries. It translates well. This book is both an inspiring spiritual companion and a rich introduction to one of the finest metaphysical poets.

To adore is to gaze upon the mystery, to let the wonder of His love overwhelm us. In this quiet adoration, we are not asked to perform or prove. We are simply invited to rest in the knowledge that we are deeply known, deeply loved, and held by the hands of grace. To adore is to surrender to this truth, to allow our hearts to soften and open, to let the weight of His goodness settle within us.

In the quiet of adoration, there is no striving to be better, no list of accomplishments to meet. There is only the unyielding truth of who He is and who we are to Him. We are His beloved, not because of our perfection, but because He has set His heart upon us. We are adored because He chooses: not in some abstract, distant way, but in the concrete, flesh-and-blood reality of Jesus Christ.

There is something holy in the quiet. It is in the silence that we hear God's voice, not shouting or demanding, but whispering, "You are mine." His love is a quiet storm, relentless in its pursuit of our hearts. In the stillness, we receive it with our whole being, open and vulnerable, as we simply adore Him in return.

Let the world be quiet. Let us put down our burdens, our doubts, our fears. Let us be still and know that He is God, not because we have figured it all out, but because He has loved us first. The world will continue its frenetic pace, but in this moment, we can choose to set down our worries and focus only on the One who is. To adore is to recognise His greatness, His beauty, His holiness, and to surrender to it. It is to be like Mary, sitting at His feet, letting all other demands fall away so we can give Him the worship He alone deserves. It is to look into His eyes and see eternity reflected back, a love so vast and deep that it overwhelms us.

Let all the world be quiet and adore. For in this adoration, we find our true selves: lost in wonder, wrapped in love, anchored in grace. The noise will return, and the distractions will press in, but for these sacred moments, we rest in the stillness of His presence. 

And that is enough.