Time and space are peculiar during the Advent season. The emphasis on repeated family traditions resurrects memories of the past amidst present celebrations, transporting us to a different year and place. One such tradition for me began in my childhood in Michigan—singing Silent Night with my parents and siblings after decorating the Christmas tree. This year, I am celebrating Christmas with my wife and children in Northern Norway, a different place with different people in a different year. Yet, when we sang together after trimming the tree, my memories were flooded of this same activity in years gone by. Simultaneously though, these traditions also highlight the time and place we are in now—I realized how very far away I am from where I usually spend Christmas, and who is not here this year. Advent both subverts and strengthens our sense of time and place.
This also seems to be the case theologically. Advent provides the opportunity to participate in the messianic longing of those waiting on the Savior in the Old Testament, even as we are on the other side of the incarnation. Likewise, this season welcomes reflection on Christ’s second adventus, his coming again in glory. In this, we are invited to marvel at the future event in which “the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed” (1 Corinthians 15:51). Yet, in all of this, we are in the here and now—in the “already not yet” of Christ’s kingly reign.
Of course, this is not an original notion. Christians throughout history have reflected on these themes in 
connection to Christ’s first and second comings in robust and moving ways. But amidst the preparations for the Advent devotional that Lynneth Miller Renberg and I co-wrote, Candles in the Darkness: Experiencing Advent with the Early and Medieval Church (forthcoming with IVP Academic in July 2026), we were surprised and edified by robust historical meditations on something often glossed over in contemporary discussions: Christ’s ‘middle’ coming, his presence in the here and now. While we look backwards and forwards in Advent, we also look at the work of Christ in Word and Sacrament in this time and place. One figure who I found particularly edifying on this theme was a renowned sixth century hymnographer and liturgist, Romanos the Melodist.
The Melodist
While we don’t have many details of his life, we can discern that Romanos was born around 490 in Syria but moved to Berytus (Beirut) in the early 500s to be ordained as a deacon. Eventually Romanos was transferred to Constantinople, the capital of the Byzantine empire. Interestingly, he never seems to have sought a higher ecclesiastical position nor to join a monastery but rather focused his time and energy on composing liturgical poems and singing in services. According to legend, he was not a particularly talented musician but a man of great humility. Around 518, he had a vision of the Virgin Mary during an all-night vigil for Christ’s nativity…
that he had fallen asleep in! “One Christmas eve, the Blessed Virgin appeared to him in a dream and instructed him to consume a piece of paper which she had handed to him. After swallowing this scroll he awakened, then mounted the pulpit and began to sing most melodiously…” the Kontakion of the Nativity (From Synaxarium of Sirmond; text found in de Grosdidier, Romanos le Mélode: et les origins, trans. by Schork, Sacred Song from the Byzantine Pulpit).
Romanos went on to produce over 1,000 hymns, many of which were meant to aid spiritual reflection in different liturgical seasons. He is even credited by Germanus I of Constantinople with the creation of the Kontakion, a type of poetical homily prevalent in the Eastern Orthodox Church (For discussion, see: Wellesz, A History of Byzantine Music and Hymnography, 182). Unfortunately, only 60-80 of his hymns survive, but they display a profound mastery of poetic Greek meter, rich theology, and striking imagery in the vein of Ephrem the Syrian (his Hymns of Repentance are a good example of this). He died around 560.
Advent, Time, and the Middle Coming of Christ
Romanos the Melodist wrote about Christ’s advent in a number of his works including the Kontakion of the Nativity and On the Holy Theophany, which can be found in a collection of his works: On the Life of Christ. In a particularly rich passage from the latter, Romanos invites us reflect on the unapproachable Light (1 Timothy 6:16), presenting a cosmic vision of Christ’s work which paradoxically affirms and transcends time and place:
Today you have appeared to the inhabited world,
and your light, O Lord, has been signed upon us,
who, with knowledge, sing your praise, you have come, you have appeared,
“the unapproachable Light” (1 Tim 6:16).
In Galilee of the nations, in the country of Zavulon and the land of Naphthalim
As the prophet said, a great light has shone–Christ.
For the darkened, a shining beam has appeared, blazing out of Bethlehem,
or rather, out of Mary – the Lord, the sun of justice,
Has made his rays dawn on the whole inhabited world.
Therefore let us all, Adam’s naked children,
put him on that we may be kept warm;
for as a covering for the naked and a light for the darkened
you have come, you have appeared,
“the unapproachable Light.”
God did not despise the one who was robbed by trickery in Paradise
and lost the garment woven by God,
For he came towards him calling to the disobedient once again with his holy voice,
“Adam, where are you?” (Gen 3:9) From now on, do not hide from me; I want to see you.
Though you are naked, though you are poor, do not be ashamed, for I have become like you.
Though you desired it you did not become a god,
But now, by my own will, I have become flesh.
Draw near me then and recognize me, that you may say,
You have come, you have appeared,
“the unapproachable Light.”
In my mercy, I was overcome by my compassion and came to my creature,
Stretching out my hands to embrace you.
So do not be ashamed in front of me; for your sake, naked as you are, I am stripped naked and baptized.
Already the Jordan opens for me, and John prepares my ways in the waters and in minds.
The Saviour spoke thus to humankind,
not in words but in deeds, and came, as he said,
Drawing near to the river on foot,
But to the Forerunner as
“the unapproachable Light.” (On the Holy Theophany, pg. 38-9)
Romanos begins this poem by noting how the unapproachable light, that is Christ, becomes approachable, shining on us in the here and now—we sing his praise, as ‘you have come, you have appeared.’ But Christ simultaneously appears in a place far removed from us, which Romanos emphasizes by specifying 5 locations which all relate to the nativity—Galilee, Zavulon, Naphthalim, Bethlehem, and Mary (!). He then brings us to another time and place, to the Garden of Eden. Christ’s light brings warmth to those who are naked and ashamed, who disobeyed and hid from God. But Romanos is not describing Adam and Eve alone, but us: we are Adam’s naked children, present in sin and needing to ‘put him on that we may be kept warm.’ Because we wanted to be like God (Genesis 3:5-7), we fell. But God became human so that we might be drawn near to him. ‘Though you are naked, though you are poor, do not be ashamed, for I have become like you.’ Finally, Romanos describes an additional time and place, one connected to our own nakedness: Christ’s baptism. ‘So do not be ashamed in front of me; for your sake, naked as you are, I am stripped naked and baptized.’ If we follow his striking imagery, it seems that we are then encouraged to consider our own baptism. Christ’s nakedness in baptism models our own, allowing us to stand before God with boldness, even as we are living in between his first and second coming.
Embracing the Paradox
Romanos encourages us to not only reflect on the peculiarity of time and space in Advent, but to embrace it. As we affirm the historical particularities of Christ’s coming in a manger 2,000 years ago, we might also participate in the cosmic story of the unapproachable Light, being transported to Eden, Bethlehem, the River Jordan. Even then, this encourages to affirm and celebrate his work in our own story—the sacrament of baptism is a marker of Christ’s present work in the lives of his believers.
The famous account of the Nativity from Luke 2:1-21 can sometimes be read as a story that is removed from our own lives and faith. After all, it begins with “In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree”—a time and place very different from our own. But, if we follow Romanos, we might also affirm that we to are “in those days”, as Christ’s advent is a universal story which we encouraged to participate in. After all, because of this, Christ to is present “in these days” in his Scriptures and the life of the Church.
Further Resources:
Lynneth and I have written quite a bit on the Anxious Bench on Advent and using Church History devotionally. If you want to read any of those posts this Advent season, here is a complete list.
Lynneth’s Posts:
Candles in the Darkness: Advent, Hope, and Church History, December 2025
Mary Did Know: Advent Reflections on Hrosvitha’s “The Maria”, December 2024
Living in Light of Christmas: Thoughts for the New Year, January 2024
Joy in the Waiting: Medieval Plays and Advent Reflections, December 2023
Adam’s posts:
Learning Patience: On Art and Liturgical Seasons, November 2025
Christ as Mother and Child: Advent Reflections with Ephrem, December 2024
Spending Advent with Our (Church) Fathers and Mothers, December 2023
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