OH THAT YOU WOULD TEAR THE HEAVENS OPEN (Advent 2023)
“Oh, that you would tear the heavens open and come down!” (Isaiah 64)
This is the aching cry
Of a single soul
Plea of the people
Groaning of creation
Oh, that you would!
I prayed this Word of God with great intensity as a young man’ prayed it for years. Yearned for Jesus to come decisively, definitively – to loosen the bonds of my clinging sins, the tenacious chains of addictions. That He would come down to this body seeking consummation.
It is the prayer of Advent. Come! Come Lord Jesus!
He came
He is here
He is yet to come
My own need is not so great now, so I pray this Word for the person in distress, the world at war, the people who live in darkness. For the earth itself.
I pray it for the heavily pregnant woman whose time is near, that she may have the support and strength of Mary, the blessedness of Jesus for her baby.
The prayer of Advent. Maranatha, come Lord Jesus!
It is the prayer of parents for the child who has left, the prayer of waiting for the return.
It is the prayer of one who lives in a foreign land. The prayer of the exile.
It is the prayer of the estranged, the alienated.
It is also the prayer of coming home.
Tearing the heavens open occurs twice in the Bible. There may be others, but I only know of two. First in Isaiah 64 and the second in Mark 1 after the Baptism of Jesus. A third instance might be the night that Jesus was born with the appearance of the Angels to the shepherds. Even though it doesn’t speak of heaven being torn open, it is nonetheless the opening of heaven to the earth.
It's a very strong expression – tear the heavens open, heaven being torn open – and it is the prayer, the state in which we exist in Advent between the prophecy and its fulfilment. It is the space of which St. Bernard speaks, the space within which we await the unseen coming of Christ in Spirit in the soul of the faithful.
I have seen it in my parents when Maura, the eldest, left for England where she was to settle, marry, have children and not to live at home again – not until long after my father had died. They felt her leaving very deeply. We all felt her absence keenly as she was everyone’s favourite. She was in particular the apple of my father’s eye.
And the delight of his aching heart every time she travelled home for Christmas with her sons and husband. The excitement in him was palpable. It is in him that I witnessed the kind of feeling, the depth of love that Advent is meant to stir in us.
Communication was different in those days and in the early years we didn’t even have a landline phone, not to mind mobiles. It was done mostly by letter.
Maura and her family would drive from Birkenhead to Holyhead to catch the ferry for Dublin and if it was delayed due to bad weather, there was no way of communicating the delay to our waiting parents. There was no clear sense of the time of arrival. So, the appointed day was spent watching, waiting, anticipating.
The previous week was spent putting down extra mattresses on the floor, stocking up food, getting everything ready for the invasion, not just of the Fosters but the rest of us who would also turn up for Christmas. We were a crowded house!
Much of the day of arrival, Dad would stand at the sitting room window watching for the car to pull up outside. Watching and pacing up and down for hours on end. And when the car arrived he would leap in the direction of the front door, my mother shouting at him, “don’t open it or they’ll know you were watching!” But he would open it anyway and tears would fill his eyes, running down his face as he held her, loved her, admired her. Delight of his eyes, love of his heart.
Oh, that you would tear the heavens open now with such earnest yearning, such delight, such a restless anticipation. Such desire for Jesus and such heartfelt welcome for Him.
My body itself is restless now, impatient for its consummation, the Desire of my soul having seeped into every cell of my flesh. It will not rest, will not be satisfied until He has claimed every fibre of my being. Oh, that you would come Lord Jesus. Maranatha! And, like an impatient child, I want it to happen now!
The prayer of Advent. Maranatha, come Lord Jesus!
It is the prayer of parents for the child who has left, the prayer of waiting for the return.
It is the prayer of one who lives in a foreign land. The prayer of the exile.
It is the prayer of the estranged, the alienated.
It is also the prayer of coming home.
Tearing the heavens open occurs twice in the Bible. There may be others, but I only know of two. First in Isaiah 64 and the second in Mark 1 after the Baptism of Jesus. A third instance might be the night that Jesus was born with the appearance of the Angels to the shepherds. Even though it doesn’t speak of heaven being torn open, it is nonetheless the opening of heaven to the earth.
It's a very strong expression – tear the heavens open, heaven being torn open – and it is the prayer, the state in which we exist in Advent between the prophecy and its fulfilment. It is the space of which St. Bernard speaks, the space within which we await the unseen coming of Christ in Spirit in the soul of the faithful.
I have seen it in my parents when Maura, the eldest, left for England where she was to settle, marry, have children and not to live at home again – not until long after my father had died. They felt her leaving very deeply. We all felt her absence keenly as she was everyone’s favourite. She was in particular the apple of my father’s eye.
And the delight of his aching heart every time she travelled home for Christmas with her sons and husband. The excitement in him was palpable. It is in him that I witnessed the kind of feeling, the depth of love that Advent is meant to stir in us.
Communication was different in those days and in the early years we didn’t even have a landline phone, not to mind mobiles. It was done mostly by letter.
Maura and her family would drive from Birkenhead to Holyhead to catch the ferry for Dublin and if it was delayed due to bad weather, there was no way of communicating the delay to our waiting parents. There was no clear sense of the time of arrival. So, the appointed day was spent watching, waiting, anticipating.
The previous week was spent putting down extra mattresses on the floor, stocking up food, getting everything ready for the invasion, not just of the Fosters but the rest of us who would also turn up for Christmas. We were a crowded house!
Much of the day of arrival, Dad would stand at the sitting room window watching for the car to pull up outside. Watching and pacing up and down for hours on end. And when the car arrived he would leap in the direction of the front door, my mother shouting at him, “don’t open it or they’ll know you were watching!” But he would open it anyway and tears would fill his eyes, running down his face as he held her, loved her, admired her. Delight of his eyes, love of his heart.
Oh, that you would tear the heavens open now with such earnest yearning, such delight, such a restless anticipation. Such desire for Jesus and such heartfelt welcome for Him.
My body itself is restless now, impatient for its consummation, the Desire of my soul having seeped into every cell of my flesh. It will not rest, will not be satisfied until He has claimed every fibre of my being. Oh, that you would come Lord Jesus. Maranatha! And, like an impatient child, I want it to happen now!
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