Prepare the Soil

On the fourth Sunday of Advent, the new song of our chanted praise reaches a high point of beauty and meaning with the Introit for the day.  




Drop down dew, you heavens, from above, and let the clouds rain down the Just One; let the earth open and bud forth a Savior.





The chant Rorate was originally provided for ember Wednesday, part of the winter “tempora” kept during the week following the feast of St Lucy.  Ember days were a sort of celebration of the seasons, to attract the fruits of the earth and the blessings of God and to thank him for the harvest.  A certain Wednesday, Friday and Saturday were set aside at the beginning of each season to be observed with prayer and fasting, as well as the time when ordinations of bishops, priests, and deacons were conducted.  The Fourth Sunday of Advent only came to have its own Mass in the 8th century, when the final Mass of the ember day was moved back to Saturday morning and the chants from ember Wednesday were adopted for this final Sunday before Christmas.  This is why today’s chants fall under the heading “Feria IV” in our books, and some of the seniors remember singing them on ember Wednesday.  In the new Gradual currently being prepared by the Order of Cistercians, which is fully adapted to the current liturgical calendar, Rorate is the Introit for the Fourth Sunday of Advent.

The words of the chant are taken from the prophet Isaiah according to the Vulgate translation of St Jerome.  Jerome’s contribution to the text is the translation of the original Hebrew words “justice” and “salvation” to the more Christologically suggestive “Just One” and “Savior” in Latin.  The prophecy of Isaiah is embodied in the figure of Christ, which not coincidentally becomes on winter ember Wednesday the fruit of the earth and gift of the clouds of heaven.  Our chant follows two opposite movements, tracking the coming of the awaited One from above and from below.

The prophet first addresses the heavens with an extravagantly articulated imperative, calling on them to drop down dew from above, from the heights on which the notes linger.  He then repeats his request to the clouds, with a pleading high note and rhythmic descent, that they might rain down the Just One.  It is to God above that we look for help, calling upon him to break open the heavens and come down to us as our source of life, our nourishment, our only hope.  He surpasses our expectations by sending us his Son.  The second address is to the earth, which the prophet calls on to be opened, beginning at the same note where the descent left us, rising with greater deliberation, and returning, suitably enough, to the depths, where the germination of a Savior is evocatively rendered.  If God is our rain, then we, the earth of his making, must become soil suitable to receive him, welcome him into our warm depths, nurture his growth, and bring forth fruits of repentance.  He draws us beyond our possibilities by making us capable of bearing our own Savior.

The theme of height and depth is echoed in our first reading, also from Isaiah:
“The LORD spoke to Ahaz, saying:
Ask for a sign from the LORD, your God;
let it be deep as the netherworld, or high as the sky!” (Is 7:10-11)
We may wonder what could be meant by such an extravagant offer.  It is no great surprise that Ahaz finds this a little too much to handle, preferring not to ask, for fear of tempting the Lord, or perhaps, of being overwhelmed.  Our littleness before God makes us afraid of getting hurt when he draws near.  While our Introit only hints at the extent of what God has in mind, our Communion song makes the sign patently clear:
“Behold, the virgin shall conceive, and bear a son,
and shall name him Emmanuel.” (Cf. Is 7:14)
St. Bernard’s response to this is memorable:
“Do not run away, Adam, for God is with us!  Do not be afraid, O human being, do not take fright at the sound of God’s name, for God is with us!  He is with us in the likeness of flesh, with us for our welfare.  He has come for our sake, as one of us, like us, subject to suffering.” (St. Bernard of Clairvaux, Second Sermon for Advent)

Though Isaiah did not know it, we now recognize that virgin as Mary, humanity’s good soil, on which heaven dropped down dew, and through whom God chose to become one of us.  The medievals called today’s liturgy the missa aurea beatae Mariae, or the Golden Mass of Blessed Mary, and truly she is everywhere.  In the second reading from Paul’s letter to the Romans, we hear an echo of Mary in his self-designation as “a slave of Christ” (Rom 1:1).  Mary, too, chose this title as she gave her consent, saying: “Behold, the handmaid of the Lord” (Lk 1:38) – the Greek word doulos/doula is used in each case.  Knowing herself to be little, she made herself available to the Almighty, and he did great things for her, and for all of us.  The gospel reading shows us Mary through the eyes of Joseph.  This righteous man, hearing that the child is conceived of the Holy Spirit as a savior of his people in fulfillment of the prophecy, is able to make the leap that Ahaz could not.  Despite being completely out of his depth, he makes a home for the woman in whom God has made his home.

What is the message for us on this final Sunday of Advent?  We cry with the prophet for our God to come down to us like dew from above, our Just One as rain upon the earth.  And yet, inviting God into our life without restriction feels risky.  As the famous saying from Aesop’s fables goes: “Be careful what you wish for; it might come true!”  We may fear what will happen to us if he responds, if in his coming he surpasses our expectations, our capacity.  So, we hear the prophetic word that our earth is to prepare itself, like the good soil which Mary was, for the budding forth of a Savior.  Humble though she was, Mary made room.  Overwhelmed though he was, Joseph made room.  May we, too, take courage to prepare a place for the Lord, who comes to us not by force, but in littleness, for our sake, as one of us, like us, subject to suffering.

I can think of no better way to conclude than to complete the quotation from Bl. Christophe Lebreton given at the beginning of Advent:
“I live at risk of you.
It is the Woman
who is drawing me
to the game.”
(Bl. Christophe Lebreton, OCSO)

Source: Commentary by Fulvio Rampi