Songs be in every moth

We were faced with a sudden decision last Sunday as we sang that great Advent hymn Hills of the North, Rejoice. Was this a simple misprint that had evaded the spell-checker, or a bold and radical reinterpretation of creation theology?

Reading the words from the screen, we reached the climactic final verse:

Shout, as you journey home,

songs be in every moth.

Every moth.

I should confess at once: I hate moths — common clothes moths, that is, tineola bisselliella.

This autumn I launched a full-scale assault on this particular genus, and I think with some success. They had already eaten alarming chunks out of my lambswool jumper and were beginning to explore the hidden reaches of our bedroom carpet.

This meant war. Decisive action was required. All woollen clothing had to be either removed from the battlefield or shrink-wrapped inside sealed cupboards. I embarked on a relentless campaign of aggressive hoovering, accompanied by unsparing steam-cleaning.

And yet, as I reflected on that hymn line, I was reminded of Jesus’ own warning:

“Sell your possessions and give to the poor…for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.No thief can get to it, and no moth can destroy it.”(Luke 12:33)

But could this actually be a prophetic reworking of a familiar hymn? My Hebraist daughter certainly thought so — her WhatsApp verdict: “Totally theologically correct.”

Some two years ago I lived, breathed and slept the Old Testament book of Joel as I wrote a seven day commentary for BRF’s New Daylight.

Normally no one bothers with Joel, just three chapters buried towards the end of the Old Testament and yet for his sermon at Pentecost the apostle Peter quotes Joel, just Joel and at length, some five verses.  Clearly this had been an important part of the teaching given by the risen Jesus to his disciples.

But what’s so special about Joel?   There is one verse which sets him apart from the entire Hebrew scriptures:  “And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit on all flesh.” (Joel 2:28)  Note, all flesh.  Some translations weaken this by saying all people. 

But when Joel says all flesh, that’s what he means – every living creature. Just like Psalm 150’s famous crescendo:  “Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.”  Or as the Message translation puts it: “Let every living, breathing creature praise God!|

Clearly the prophet Joel had a breath-taking message – that God’s purpose is to fill every single living creature with his Holy Spirit, such is the breadth and depth of his promise.  Certainly a major prophecy from a minor prophet.

And this includes moths – as well as all of God’s creatures who would harm or hurt us,  So centuries earlier Isaiah foresees this time when

“The wolf will live with the lamb,

    the leopard will lie down with the goat,

the calf and the lion and the yearling together;

    and a little child will lead them.” (Isaiah 11:6).

He even envisages an event which normally would alarm us, far exceeding any damage that the moth would do.

“The infant will play near the cobra’s den,

    and the young child will put its hand into the viper’s nest.” (verse 8)

Gosh.

The point which the apostle Peter is making is that with the gift of the Holy Spirit  to his people, even to all disciples of Jesus, God has started this process and having started,  in the words of Magnus Magnusson, he will finish. 

And that, surely, is the deep comfort of Advent. We live in the in-between time: the process has begun, but it is far from complete. Wolves still stalk lambs, children are rightly warned away from vipers, and moths continue to make short work of good wool. Creation still groans, as Paul reminds us, longing for the freedom that is yet to come.

Yet the decisive act has already taken place. God will pour out his Spirit — not sparingly, not selectively, but generously — on all flesh. Pentecost was not the end of the story but the beginning of its fulfilment. What Isaiah imagines, Joel proclaims, and Peter announces is now underway, quietly and often unnoticed, like yeast working through dough.

So Advent trains us to look differently at the world as it is. It invites us to glimpse what the world shall be. Even those parts of creation that irritate us, frighten us, or threaten our comfort are not excluded from God’s redemptive purpose. Nothing is written off. Nothing is finally disposable. Not even moths.

And so we sing as we journey home. Not because the journey is easy, nor because the world is yet healed, but because the promise has been spoken and God has poured out his Holy Spirit. Advent assures us that God has begun what he has promised — and, having begun it, he will indeed finish the work.

Songs, then, even in every moth.

Cheers

Ross