- Cover us beneath the shelter of your ethereal wings . . . deliver us from danger, O Prince of the Powers!

Gabriel is a central figure in the Annunciation (Lk 1.26-38) announcing the Incarnation to Mary and through her, to us. Proklos of Constantinople (d. 464) extended the Eve-Mary Parallel and saw in the figure of Gabriel a counter to the Serpent who decieved Eve in Paradise:

“Come let us behold the spiritual serpent, conversing with the daughter of Eve, invalidating the bill of disobedience.”
- Hom. 4.1

Largely due to his association with the Annunciation, Gabriel is depicted early and often in late antique talismans and devotional images.

Earlier this week I posted on Feasts – and the converstaion took an interesting and unexpected direction to discuss fasting and the customary fasting periods before Pascha, and other feast days. I’ve been pondering this thread of the conversation ever since, been doing some reading too. It struck me this morning that many (if not all) religious traditions have fasting customs. Often (at least the examples I can think of off the cuff) these culminate in a feast.

Our historic custom of fast periods is a shared experience across the religious spectrum – a point of solidarity with other faithful people, and seekers of God. What a shame then that over the past century or so the value of fasting customs has been diminished; such that in the extreme (z.b. giving up chocolate for lent) it is little more than a quaint after-taste of a long lost medaeval tradition.

At yesterday’s Liturgy we commemorated the Ancestors of Christ – all those who through faithfulness and wisdom contribute to our understanding the whole story of the immanent Incarnation and our salvation. They have taught us, and we now invite them to join with us in our joyful expectation of the coming Incarnation.

Yesterday’s Gospel – Lk. 14.16-24 – is a curious juxtaposition with the tenor of the commemoration. Here the ones invited, the ones who are expected to enjoy the feast, withdraw, and are then replaced with others who are unknown to the host. “For, I tell you, none of those men who were invited will taste my dinner.” The feast was planned – the invitations went out weeks ago. Invited guests “knew” that they were coming, that they were expected; but who ends up at the table, those who had no idea a feast was prepared, who had no expectation of being invited, let alone attending.

We are faced, it seems, with a paradox, on the one hand a celebration of Israel and her contribution to our (Gentile) enlightenment; on the other, a rejection of Israel in favour of the Gentiles – who were never invited in the first place.

Saturday (6 Dec) we celebrated the feast of St. Nicholas of Myra. For me, this is the “beginning” of the Nativity season. This is the day that we decorate the house – the tree though, does not go up until Christmas Eve – small gifts are given, and we enjoy a good meal with family and friends.

We are now “in” the season that more than any other, emphasises the exchange of gifts. For the next three weeks, many of us will be searching for “the right” gift for a friend or family member, we sometimes go to great lengths to acquire these – as they are a conscious expression of the value we place on those relationships. We have come to associate St. Nicholas with gift giving (and gift receiving), largely due to the many legends of his charity. One, in particular, many of you will be familiar with. A poor widower had three daughters, and was faced with the horrible prospect of selling them into slavery simply to ensure that they would have enough to eat. Over the course of three nights – Nicholas tossed bags of coin through the man’s window, enough for each daughter to have a dowry. Through his gift giving, Nicholas enabled the young women to marry well, and restored the family’s freedom. Nicholas embodies the zeal of the prophet bringing glad tidings to the belittled, healing the broken spirit, bringing relief to captives and releasing the imprisoned.

In three weeks we commemorate an exchange of gifts (humanity and divinity) that transforms a long relationship, and that inaugurates our own personal transformation – here we are the poor young women facing a life of subjugation, freed by an act of charity and love. In the meantime, while we are preparing for parties, and the annual potlatch under the tree, it is I think worth using our experience of the current feast, as a means of preparing for the feast yet to come. The annual commemoration of the works of St. Nicholas offers us just this opportunity – to take the next three weeks and reflect on how, over the past year, we may have been the giver of gifts, and not only the receiver of gifts. I’m not talking about fast abandoned chartreuse turtlenecks, and fancy bottles of distilled yak urine; instead I’m talking about a loaf of bread, a kind word, a visitation, a phone call, a meal, the possibilities for one individual acting alone to positively transform the life of another are endless, and are often very simple. The feast that inaugurates the Nativity season, is a point in the year when we might pause to reflect on how we have been (if we have been) embodying the spirit of St. Nicholas, giving gifts to others; and if we have not been, then what might we do to change that in the coming year.