An art reflection by Liv Booth on the hymn "The King Shall Come When Morning Dawns" (LSB 348). This is one installment of a series providing reflections on works of art and music from a Lutheran perspective.
The King Shall Come When Morning Dawns
(LSB 348; the hymnal references Matt. 25:31; Rev. 22:20; Dan. 7:13–14)
The King shall come when morning dawns And light triumphant breaks, When beauty gilds the eastern hills And life to joy awakes. Not as of old a little child, To bear and fight and die, But crowned with glory like the sun That lights the morning sky. Oh, brighter than the rising morn When Christ, victorious, rose And left the lonesome place of death Despite the rage of foes. Oh, brighter than that glorious morn Shall dawn upon our race The day when Christ in splendor comes And we shall see His face. The King shall come when morning dawns And light and beauty brings. Hail, Christ the Lord! Your people pray: Come, quickly, King of kings!
Thank you for clicking on this blog post! Since you’re here anyway, would you try something? Stop reading for 10 seconds. Look up from your screen; straighten your back; take a deep breath; let go of your jaw and shoulders, and rest your eyes. I’ll be here when you come back.
Welcome back!
Advent is our 10 seconds, a deep breath, a moment to rest our eyes, and to open them to a reality we always feel but don’t often acknowledge: that we live on the threshold of another world, but we’re not there yet, and it hurts to wait. Although Jesus, our King, defeated the enemy, set up His kingdom, and adopted us as children of that kingdom, we can’t quite see it yet. We shout “hosanna,” but with tears in our eyes, because we haven’t passed through that triumphal arch — the veil between here and there so thin we can almost see through it, but not quite.
The world is hurting. My heart is aching. How long, O Lord? It’s the cry of the prophets in our Advent readings. It’s the cry of the martyrs in John’s vision. It’s my cry. Is it yours, too? (Num. 14:17; Psalm 130:6 ; Rev. 6:10)
Soon I’ll pass through into my rest, my joy, my home, but right now it looks so dark, so lonely, so long. We live in the “now and not yet.” Advent invites me to stretch out my hand toward that veil. In the Sacraments, Christ reaches through to comfort me: my Baptism feels like the spray of the waves on that Other Coast. I kneel at the threshold, and His true body and blood are given and shed for me, actually touching my lips. The veil is so thin — my rest, my hope, my joy so close I can taste it (Matt. 18:19–20).
I feel a little as Mary might have, pregnant with our Lord. The promise is coming, but not visible yet. The Infant King was coming, just on the other side of the veil. Her hand on her stomach so close to touching His sweet hand. He was Immanuel — God with her now, but not yet. “How long?” she must have cried. Just as we do (Rom 8:19–23).
Spend a moment with me, reflecting on this beautiful poem. And know that He has come, is coming, and will come — for you! (John 14:1–4)
Blessed Advent.
Stanza 1
This is the dark before dawn. But not a dark of despair. We are His tired but victorious troops. He has won the war and claimed His crown. And in the morning? He’s coming for us. When time is complete, and the sunlight, almost as bright as He is, breaks over our camp, He’ll ride in with a cry of triumph.
For as lightning that comes from the east is visible even in the west, so will be the coming of the Son of Man (Matt. 24:27).
Stanza 2
We didn’t understand what was happening when He was born. He grew up vulnerable, like us. He struggled. He bore the same pains of teething, illness, injury, even temptation. But He was under deep cover, allowing Himself to be despised, to be tortured and to die. Why? It was a plot the whole time to overthrow sin, death and the devil.
Our Champion did battle to reverse death! Now He is the glorious authority! He is our new Adam, starting over and making all things new.
“If, by the trespass of [Adam], death reigned through that one man, how much more will those who receive God’s abundant provision of grace and of the gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man, Jesus Christ” (Rom. 5:17)
Stanza 3
Our Captain is dazzling. His return will outshine even Easter Morning. How angry Satan is that Jesus kicked down the doors of hell. But Jesus laughs and leaves death behind. And if Christ rose, we too shall rise! (1 Thess. 4:14)We’ll rise up from the loneliness of living shackled by mortality; we’ll rise up from the rage of the world around us that wants to put out all the lights and crush all the laughter. But look! “The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).
Stanza 4
And what about us? What happens when he appears? “Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when He appears we shall be like Him, because we shall see Him as He is” (1 John 3:2). These eyes will see Him. As I can see my hands in front of me now. I’ll look my loving, brave, patient, joyful Savior in the eyes, and that vision will change me. And Jesus, who fought this battle for me, will dance for joy because His suffering was worth … me! (Heb. 12:2; Zeph. 3:17)
Stanza 5
Morning is coming, dear ones. We can’t begin to imagine what that means. The best words we have for it are “light” and “beauty.” St. John saw the throne room and could only explain it with impossible comparisons to giant jewels and earthly storms. What kind of King is enthroned on diamonds and thunder? The kind who gave it all up and became an embryo, and was born to Mary who (finally!) got to hold Him in her arms for whom she had been waiting, along with all the prophets, along with us (Rev. 4:1–6; Phil. 2:7).
The membrane burst, and He slid into this world so that at His death He could tear the veil and bear us to the next.
Come quickly, King of Kings!
Cover image: “Sunrise, Northport Harbor,” Arthur Dove, 1929. Public domain.
