For those who delight in honoring the beginning of the liturgical year and are connoisseurs of aesthetic excellence, Light upon Light will enchant and satisfy. Sarah Arthur has compiled some of the most seasonally-fitting literary excerpts from poets, novelists, and essayists. Each section - four for Advent, four for Christmas, and 10 for Epiphany - includes opening and closing prayers, scripture lessons, and a variety of readings for one''s own choosing. In a world that encourages us to rush through the Advent and Christmas seasons, Arthur urges us to slow down through the medium of poetry and symbolically-thick essays. Leaving an entire week to read through the essays and poems and Scripture passages, Arthur reminds us through the very set-up of the book that we must sit with the words and meditate on their meaning so that they can settle into our souls. Arthur writes "So the one time of year that we are given to pause and seek the One who seeks us becomes the one time of year that drives us nearly to self-extinction. And it is this season, of any, when we are least likely to pick up a book and read." But don''t make that mistake: the book must be picked up and read, sifted through and listened to.

And after the holidays when the bustling of the season has come to an end and we are left with the greyness of January days (especially if you reside in the Midwest), the literary selections and scripture passages will give us a glimmer of the light that we long for. The sections that help illuminate our lives will lead one through Epiphany. The light that you will find in the book will be delivered by poets such as Scott Cairns, Li-Young Lee, Enuma Okoro, and Gerard Manley Hopkins. And if poetry is an intimidating medium, there are plenty of essayists to keep you coming back to the book week after week, including Dostoevsky, Brian Doyle, Gary Schmidt (of Calvin College), and Frederick Buechner. The compilation of authors and poets and scripture leave one feeling that there are hidden gem after hidden gem in the words offered to us in Light upon Light. The interplay of texts inspires a variety of readings and meanings; one is left with a euphony of theological and aesthetic beauty. In the introduction, Arthur writes "Other themes emerge, there to be discovered. They may touch you on this reading; they may not.

Allow them, if you will, to give the gift of themselves." And it is absolutely true: the readings are gifts and they will give to you in abundance if you simply sit, read, and let the volume of the words touch you in the silence. --Kellan Day, editor of faith alive books From my earliest childhood years, I have known the celebration of Advent. Sitting at my great grandmother''s antique dining table--then owned by my mother, now owned by me--I would watch as my father''s devotional words sailed through the air and amongst the candles of our Advent wreath, causing flames to squirm with the ticklings of prophecy and hope, warm wax quivering, then spilling over continuously, until over time the candle became its own strange piece of modern art sculpture. I don''t remember much from the devotions my father read each night. What I do remember were the sugar cookies we made during the pink candle week; the shapes representing some of the names of Christ: a dawning sun for The Rising Son, a resting lamb for The Lamb of God, a shepherd''s hook for The Good Shepherd, a scepter and a crown for The King of Kings. Then there was the 9x11 inch casserole pan that my mother transformed into Bethlehem: filling the bottom with sand for us to place a wooden figurine in it each night, culminating with Baby Jesus being placed in the stable between his parents on Christmas Day. But as for the devotional words, they only sounded like a Sunday morning service: serious, solid, Lutheran and.

bl∧ a stoic marching towards the birth of Christ. These are the memories--the combination of warm light, wooden figurines and faithful marching--I hold every year on the eve of Advent. There is, on one hand, a beautiful yearning for and a comfort in revisiting the story through the tradition of a daily devotion. In the other hand, however, is a desire to journey and not to march. To discover the Savior afresh, not reread the theology of His birth. I want to approach the barn with the shepherds--in awe of this Babe that somehow is for me. And then I want to leave the scene changed, bathed in the Light. Light to pierce even my darkest nights of the coming year.

In Sarah Arthur''s most recent compilation, Light Upon Light, I have found myself--quite unexpectedly--on this very journey, this Advent, Christmas, Epiphany journey. I am sitting across from Mary at the Annunciation. I am with Joseph in the barn looking upon the Child who is--but isn''t--his. I am one of the shepherds, shell-shocked and raw with personal implication, and all this from reading poetry and excerpts of well-written stories. As Arthur explains in her introduction, we often can point to that time when one moment we are living in the mundane--opening mail or pouring cereal--and the next moment we are transported by some words on a page--a poem or story--into the Light. And by those words, we are changed. It is the great mystery and gift of beautiful literature. (9) With this understanding Arthur has carefully selected and compiled a rich array of writings that, knitted together, create opportunity after opportunity for that time to present itself.

Arthur does not force the reckoning, however. Her invitation into this literary way of approaching and praying through the season is quiet and unassuming. She reminds us of the natural quietness of wintertime-- the opportunity for silence and meditation all around us. "And yet, crashing into the midwinter quiet comes the most frantic event of the cultural year.so the one time of year that we are given to pause and seek the One who seeks us becomes the one time of year that drives us nearly to self-extinction." (10) All this in celebration of a night that was--for the most part--silent, when the only words spoken were those of the Word. And it is through beautiful words passed from generation to generation that the darkness continues to be pierced by the light. But as our culture deepens itself into commercialization and the cheapening of our words into sentimentalities fit only for stanzas of holiday carols and greeting cards, we risk losing the eternal power of this piercing light.

Unlike the hyper-brightness with which our culture tends to treat the Christmas season, Arthur invites us first into the darkness. We enter into Advent, a time of preparation and making way for the Light. But Advent itself begins in darkness, solitude, the cellar of our souls; only one candle being lit at a time: "On any other calendar there''s nothing particularly notable about [the first Sunday of Advent]. It doesn''t mark the solstice or some special phase of the moon. Rather, the Christian New Year begins on an obscure Sunday in early winter when we rise in the dark, bathe in the dark, dress and eat in the gloom of a gray dawn. It comes at a time when the Northern Hemisphere braces itself for a descent into the unlit, low-ceilinged root cellar of the year. We light a candle, peer into the hushed and cobwebbed darkness, step over the dusty detritus of old harvests. It will only get darker from here.

" (12) So Light upon Light begins its journey dimly lit. Each week acts much like the advent wreath, one candle at a time bringing greater illumination. Week One is titled aptly: Begin with a Change. Through six poetry selections and an excerpt from Frederick Buechner''s novel Godric, we prayerfully meditate on the promise that brings hope, the Word becoming flesh--how can it be? There is the hope of light, but our beginning is mostly darkened; only a small glimmer from our candle. Because Light Upon Light is a unique sort of guide to prayer in that it evokes poetry and story, Arthur offers lectio divina (divine reading), the ancient meditative practice for praying and meditating upon Scripture, as a method for engaging the selections prayerfully. There are four steps to the process: lectio--reading the passa≥ meditatio--meditating, or reading it several more times slowly; oratio-- allowing the text to speak personally through its images, words, and ideas; and contemplatio-- shifting focus to God and resting in His presence. Arthur is quick to recognize that the excerpts are not Scripture. But, she notes, the same principles can be well applied to poetry and novel, since Scripture is great literature as well.

(15-16) Week after week we put aflame another candle, meditating and praying on literary substance. Arthur does not snub one age of poetry for another. Paul Willis and Christina Rossetti ask us to "begin with a change." Alfred, Lord Tennyson and Tania Runyan invite us into Christmas Eve and its sacred space "between darkness and light." Throughout the book, contemporaries and ancients alike share in the work of preparing our hearts for the Christ Child. What I appreciate as much as the richness of the selections is the order and the themes in which Arthur presents them. She does not minimize the times of darkness nor make chintzy the moments of light. After the slow illumination of the Advent season we are brought into the warm glow of Christ''s birth and the brief dawn of that first Christmas morn--each day given its own weeks'' worth of readings: Between Darkness and Light, and This Brief Dawn.

But this is not our final destination. We cannot live forever at the scene of the nativity. There is the time between Christmas and Epiphany--Saints and Sinners, and Stunned Back to Belief--both themes forcing us to reckon with all we have just witnessed at the manger. Then Epiphany begins. Through poetry selections by Elizabeth Ro.