"A voice cries out in the wilderness: Prepare the way of the Lord…" (Isaiah 40:3, RSV-CE).
We recognise this voice in John the Baptist, calling Israel to repentance.
And yet, every year, a strange question returns: Where is that voice now?
Could it still be crying out—quietly, humbly—through unexpected people and unexpected places?
This Advent, that ancient question took on new meaning for me as I listened again to Gavin Bryars' remarkable composition Jesus' Blood Never Failed Me Yet.
Could it still be crying out—quietly, humbly—through unexpected people and unexpected places?
This Advent, that ancient question took on new meaning for me as I listened again to Gavin Bryars' remarkable composition Jesus' Blood Never Failed Me Yet.
What began as a stray audio fragment from a homeless man on the streets of London has become, for many, a modern echo of John the Baptist: a fragile, truth-bearing voice rising from society's margins, pointing us back to Christ.
And so, in this season of longing, repentance, and hope, perhaps the wilderness is not geographical at all. Perhaps it lies wherever someone forgotten dares to sing a simple truth: Jesus' blood has never failed us yet—and never will.
And so, in this season of longing, repentance, and hope, perhaps the wilderness is not geographical at all. Perhaps it lies wherever someone forgotten dares to sing a simple truth: Jesus' blood has never failed us yet—and never will.







