Advent Day 34: The Bridegroom | Husband

Oil Study of Christ, Rose Datoc Dall. Oil on canvas. 10 in diameter. Used with permission of the artist.

“As the Bridegroom to His Chosen” from the album Be Thou My Vision, performed by the Cambridge Singers and the Orchestra City of London Sinfonia, Music by John Rutter, Lyrics by John Tauler.

“My Beloved” from the album Casa del Rey Chapel Sessions, performed and composed by Christin Howell.

Poetry:

“Wedding Poem”
by Ross Gay

for Keith and Jen

Friends I am here to modestly report
seeing in an orchard
in my town
a goldfinch kissing
a sunflower
again and again
dangling upside down
by its tiny claws
steadying itself by snapping open
like an old-timey fan
its wings
again and again,
until, swooning, it tumbled off
and swooped back to the very same perch,
where the sunflower curled its giant
swirling of seeds
around the bird and leaned back
to admire the soft wind
nudging the bird's plumage,
and friends I could see
the points on the flower's stately crown
soften and curl inward
as it almost indiscernibly lifted
the food of its body
to the bird's nuzzling mouth
whose fervor
I could hear from
oh 20 or 30 feet away
and see from the tiny hulls
that sailed from their
good racket,
which good racket, I have to say
was making me blush,
and rock up on my tippy-toes,
and just barely purse my lips
with what I realize now
was being, simply, glad,
which such love,
if we let it,
makes us feel.

The Bridegroom

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.
–– CS Lewis,The Four Loves

This vulnerability of love, so keenly observed by Lewis, is something that may pull and strain at the heart as we near the end of the Advent season and make the sometimes-melancholic journey away from the holidays. January 2nd may be a day we feel pangs of the heart as family departs, as the Christmas season fades, as we return to normalcy. The entanglements of loving and being loved leave us with a complex web of emotions. A related set of feelings is expressed in the imagery of Christ as the Bridegroom: joy, excitement, fulfillment, but also longing.

It is the poised expectancy of a bride who has already been betrothed, her heart oriented toward the arrival of her beloved. This divine romance is manifest in Isaiah’s tender assurance: “Your Maker is your husband.” From the beginning, God’s covenant with His people has been rooted in love: holy, steadfast, and deeply personal. He is not a distant deity but a faithful Bridegroom who has pledged Himself to His bride.

In Matthew’s Gospel, when Jesus calls Himself the Bridegroom, He reveals that the divine promise spoken through the prophets has taken on flesh and dwelt among us. His presence among the people meant joy—so much so that He told John’s disciples that mourning and fasting would not fit while the Bridegroom was with them. Yet even as He spoke, a shadow lingered: the day would come when the Bridegroom would be taken away. That absence points us back to our own longing in Advent—the ache of waiting for what we know to be true yet have not fully seen.

John the Baptist captured that longing perfectly. Standing in his role as the “friend of the Bridegroom,” he rejoiced not in himself but in hearing the Bridegroom’s voice. His joy was complete even as he stepped aside, saying, “He must increase, but I must decrease.” This humility mirrors the posture of Advent: the soul that prepares room for Christ by decreasing in self. The more we turn down the noise of distraction and self-importance, the more clearly, we can hear His steady, loving call.

The Church, too, stands like a waiting bride. Between the first coming of Christ and His promised return, she lives in the tension of yearning and assurance. Our worship, our fasting, our celebration—all are expressions of desire for reunion, and every Advent candle we light is a small flame of fidelity and hope. Like a lamp burning in the night, it declares our commitment: “We are ready when You come.”

In Rose Datoc Dall’s Oil Study of Christ, the circular canvas captures both movement and completeness—the sense that time and eternity meet in Him. The Bridegroom draws near not just in the grand consummation of history, but also in the quiet moments of devotion, mercy, and love that shape our days.

To wait for the Bridegroom, then, is not passive. It is active love—tending, listening, preparing, and allowing desire for Christ to become the thread that draws every part of life together in holiness. Advent invites us into that sacred anticipation, where longing itself becomes communion. And when the Bridegroom finally calls, we will rise not as strangers, but as the beloved, ready for the eternal feast prepared since the beginning.

Prayer
Beloved Bridegroom, awaken in us the holy longing of Your bride. Teach us to wait not with weariness, but with wonder. Quiet our restless hearts, that we may hear Your voice and answer with joy. Cleanse us of distraction and pride so that our lives may reflect the beauty of Your love. In every candle we light, let us see a sign of Your promise; in every act of mercy, let us feel Your nearness. As Advent nears its end, prepare our spirits to receive You anew, that when You come, You may find us ready—clothed in faith, adorned in hope, and radiant with love.
Amen.

Luke Aleckson, M.F.A.
Professor, Department of Art
Executive Director, Center for Christianity, Culture & the Arts
Biola University