"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.
Loving Father,
in this holy season of Advent,
teach us to listen for Your quiet voice
in the wildernesses of our world
and the wildernesses within our hearts.
Open our ears to the voices of the poor,
the forgotten,
the wounded,
and all who long for hope.
May the simple faith of the man who sang
"Jesus' blood never failed me yet"
remind us that Your mercy endures forever,
that Your love is stronger than our failures,
and that Your Son draws near to all who call upon Him.
Bless all who read these words,
and bless also those who never will.
Gather us—each in our own places of need—
into the shelter of Your compassion.
May we recognise Christ in the lowly,
serve Him in the suffering,
and await Him with joyful hearts
as we prepare the way of the Lord.
We ask this through Jesus Christ our Saviour,
whose Blood has never failed us yet
and never will.
Amen.
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A Year of Daily & Monthly Prayers
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.
Advent has always been a season of listening. Not rushing, not decorating, not organising—but listening.
Listening for hope.
Listening for mercy.
Listening for the God Who comes quietly.
And into that quiet, the Church places the figure of John the Baptist, whose entire mission was to be a voice—nothing more, nothing less:
"I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, 'Make straight the way of the Lord.'"
—John 1:23 (RSV-CE)
John's voice cut through the complacency of his age, speaking with clarity, repentance, and truth. He stood on the edges of society—far from the centres of comfort—and invited Israel to look again toward God's promise.
But what if the wilderness today looks different?
What if the voices God chooses are not always robed prophets but wounded strangers?
What if Christ still speaks through those the world overlooks?
The Accidental Anthem
In the early 1970s, British composer Gavin Bryars was working on a documentary about homelessness. During the filming, he captured a recording of an elderly homeless man singing a simple, trembling refrain:
"Jesus' blood never failed me yet, never failed me yet.
Jesus' blood never failed me yet.
This one thing I know, for He loves me so."
Bryars noticed something extraordinary:
the man was singing in tune—fragile, yes, but musical, sincere, unwavering. Something in that voice carried dignity rather than despair, hope rather than bitterness. It sounded not like someone who had been broken by the world, but someone who had clung to Christ despite everything.
Bryars looped the man's voice and gently added orchestral accompaniment. What emerged was a piece now recognised as one of the most haunting and spiritually charged works of modern composition.
Some listeners call it an anthem of faith.
Others call it a lament.
Many call it a prayer.
But almost everyone agrees: it is a voice crying in the wilderness.
A Modern John the Baptist?
That anonymous singer—cold, poor, ignored—reminds us of something Advent desperately wants us to see:
God speaks through the lowly.
This theme runs throughout Scripture.
Mary proclaims:
"He has exalted those of low degree."
—Luke 1:52 (RSV-CE)
St Paul insists that God chooses:
"what is weak in the world to shame the strong."
—1 Corinthians 1:27 (RSV-CE)
And Jesus Himself, identifying with the poorest, tells us:
"As you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me."
—Matthew 25:40 (RSV-CE)
What the world discards, Christ lifts up.
What the world ignores, Christ listens to.
What the world calls worthless, Christ calls blessed.
Is this not the wilderness to which Advent calls our attention?
Not sand and stones, but broken pavements.
Not reeds by the Jordan, but cardboard by shopfronts.
Not prophets in rough garments, but voices trembling with age and hunger.
And yet the message is the same:
Prepare the way of the Lord.
Hope is coming.
Christ is near.
Why This Song Touches the Soul
Many listeners have said that Jesus' Blood Never Failed Me Yet moves them more deeply than any sermon or theological treatise. Why?
Because the song is:
that Christ's love does not depend on our success, achievements, or respectability.
Christ comes precisely into the mess, the wounds, the failures—and redeems them with His blood.
And this is where the genius of Bryars' composition shines. He did not "fix" the man's voice. He wrapped it in music that honours it. The orchestra does not overpower the singer; it accompanies him—like Christ walking with the poor on dusty roads.
In doing so, Bryars gives us a modern parable:
The Church's mission is not to drown out the wounded, but to accompany them, dignify them, and listen to them until their voice becomes part of our own.
Advent: The Season of the Poor
The Church has always taught that Christ has a special love for the poor. Advent reveals why:
He Himself became poor.
He entered the world not in a palace but in a stable.
Not greeted by scholars but by shepherds.
Not in wealth but in vulnerability.
This is why Advent is so closely tied to compassion.
To listen to the homeless man singing "Jesus' blood never failed me yet" in the cold is to hear a faint echo of Bethlehem itself.
It is also to hear a warning:
that if we cannot recognise Christ in the poor, we are not prepared to recognise Him at all.
Jesus' Blood in Scripture: A Promise that Holds
The refrain "Jesus' blood never failed me yet" is simple, but it carries immense theological weight.
Scripture affirms again and again that the Blood of Christ is:
"In Him we have redemption through His blood."
—Ephesians 1:7 (RSV-CE)
The Letter to the Hebrews proclaims:
"The blood of Christ… will purify our conscience from dead works."
—Hebrews 9:14 (RSV-CE)
And St John assures us:
"The blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from all sin."
—1 John 1:7 (RSV-CE)
This is why the homeless man's faith is astonishing.
He may have lost safety, home, health, and companions—
but he had not lost Christ.
And Christ, in turn, had not lost him.
A Sacramental Echo
Those who have lived close to the Eucharist understand why this piece pierces the heart.
Every Mass proclaims the same truth:
"This is My blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many."
—Mark 14:24 (RSV-CE)
When we receive the Precious Blood, we silently join the homeless man in saying:
Jesus' blood has never failed me yet.
This one thing I know:
He loves me so.
An Advent Examination of Heart
Listening to this fragile voice raises painful but necessary questions:
Whom do we overlook?
Whom do we dismiss as unimportant?
Whose voice have we muted because it makes us uncomfortable?
Do we recognise Christ's presence in those who have nothing to offer us in return?
If John the Baptist were alive today, would he be calling out from a pulpit—or from a street corner?
Would we listen?
The Church's Call: To Be an Accompaniment, Not a Performance
Gavin Bryars did not centre himself in the composition.
He centred the voice.
He let the poor man lead.
This is a profound lesson for the Church today.
Our mission is not to impress the world, but to accompany those who are suffering.
Not to outperform the humble, but to lift up their voices.
Not to drown out the weak, but to stand beside them until Christ restores their dignity.
This is Advent:
waiting with the wounded,
walking with the weary,
listening with tenderness,
and preparing a place for Christ among the poor.
Because He always comes to them first.
A Modern Psalm of Hope
The old man's refrain becomes, in the end, a kind of modern psalm:
A psalm for those who sleep in doorways.
A psalm for the addicts, the lonely, the forgotten.
A psalm for those who enter Advent with grief rather than excitement.
A psalm for anyone who has tasted failure and wondered if God had abandoned them.
And the answer, repeated again and again, is gentle but firm:
He has not.
He will not.
He cannot.
For the blood of Christ is not just a theological concept.
It is the beating heart of divine mercy.
A Voice Calling Us Back to Christ
John the Baptist prepared the way for Jesus.
This anonymous singer does something similar:
he strips the Gospel down to its core.
Not complicated doctrines.
Not intricate arguments.
Just this:
Jesus loves me.
Jesus has been faithful.
Jesus has never failed me yet.
And in a world drowning in noise, distraction, and fear, that may be the most important voice we hear all Advent.
Listening for hope.
Listening for mercy.
Listening for the God Who comes quietly.
And into that quiet, the Church places the figure of John the Baptist, whose entire mission was to be a voice—nothing more, nothing less:
"I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, 'Make straight the way of the Lord.'"
—John 1:23 (RSV-CE)
John's voice cut through the complacency of his age, speaking with clarity, repentance, and truth. He stood on the edges of society—far from the centres of comfort—and invited Israel to look again toward God's promise.
But what if the wilderness today looks different?
What if the voices God chooses are not always robed prophets but wounded strangers?
What if Christ still speaks through those the world overlooks?
The Accidental Anthem
In the early 1970s, British composer Gavin Bryars was working on a documentary about homelessness. During the filming, he captured a recording of an elderly homeless man singing a simple, trembling refrain:
"Jesus' blood never failed me yet, never failed me yet.
Jesus' blood never failed me yet.
This one thing I know, for He loves me so."
Bryars noticed something extraordinary:
the man was singing in tune—fragile, yes, but musical, sincere, unwavering. Something in that voice carried dignity rather than despair, hope rather than bitterness. It sounded not like someone who had been broken by the world, but someone who had clung to Christ despite everything.
Bryars looped the man's voice and gently added orchestral accompaniment. What emerged was a piece now recognised as one of the most haunting and spiritually charged works of modern composition.
Some listeners call it an anthem of faith.
Others call it a lament.
Many call it a prayer.
But almost everyone agrees: it is a voice crying in the wilderness.
A Modern John the Baptist?
That anonymous singer—cold, poor, ignored—reminds us of something Advent desperately wants us to see:
God speaks through the lowly.
This theme runs throughout Scripture.
Mary proclaims:
"He has exalted those of low degree."
—Luke 1:52 (RSV-CE)
St Paul insists that God chooses:
"what is weak in the world to shame the strong."
—1 Corinthians 1:27 (RSV-CE)
And Jesus Himself, identifying with the poorest, tells us:
"As you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me."
—Matthew 25:40 (RSV-CE)
What the world discards, Christ lifts up.
What the world ignores, Christ listens to.
What the world calls worthless, Christ calls blessed.
Is this not the wilderness to which Advent calls our attention?
Not sand and stones, but broken pavements.
Not reeds by the Jordan, but cardboard by shopfronts.
Not prophets in rough garments, but voices trembling with age and hunger.
And yet the message is the same:
Prepare the way of the Lord.
Hope is coming.
Christ is near.
Why This Song Touches the Soul
Many listeners have said that Jesus' Blood Never Failed Me Yet moves them more deeply than any sermon or theological treatise. Why?
Because the song is:
- Repetitive, but never tiring
- Simple, but never shallow
- Hopeful, but never naïve
- Fragile, yet profoundly strong
that Christ's love does not depend on our success, achievements, or respectability.
Christ comes precisely into the mess, the wounds, the failures—and redeems them with His blood.
And this is where the genius of Bryars' composition shines. He did not "fix" the man's voice. He wrapped it in music that honours it. The orchestra does not overpower the singer; it accompanies him—like Christ walking with the poor on dusty roads.
In doing so, Bryars gives us a modern parable:
The Church's mission is not to drown out the wounded, but to accompany them, dignify them, and listen to them until their voice becomes part of our own.
Advent: The Season of the Poor
The Church has always taught that Christ has a special love for the poor. Advent reveals why:
He Himself became poor.
He entered the world not in a palace but in a stable.
Not greeted by scholars but by shepherds.
Not in wealth but in vulnerability.
This is why Advent is so closely tied to compassion.
To listen to the homeless man singing "Jesus' blood never failed me yet" in the cold is to hear a faint echo of Bethlehem itself.
It is also to hear a warning:
that if we cannot recognise Christ in the poor, we are not prepared to recognise Him at all.
Jesus' Blood in Scripture: A Promise that Holds
The refrain "Jesus' blood never failed me yet" is simple, but it carries immense theological weight.
Scripture affirms again and again that the Blood of Christ is:
- redeeming
- cleansing
- saving
- life-giving
"In Him we have redemption through His blood."
—Ephesians 1:7 (RSV-CE)
The Letter to the Hebrews proclaims:
"The blood of Christ… will purify our conscience from dead works."
—Hebrews 9:14 (RSV-CE)
And St John assures us:
"The blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from all sin."
—1 John 1:7 (RSV-CE)
This is why the homeless man's faith is astonishing.
He may have lost safety, home, health, and companions—
but he had not lost Christ.
And Christ, in turn, had not lost him.
A Sacramental Echo
Those who have lived close to the Eucharist understand why this piece pierces the heart.
Every Mass proclaims the same truth:
"This is My blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many."
—Mark 14:24 (RSV-CE)
When we receive the Precious Blood, we silently join the homeless man in saying:
Jesus' blood has never failed me yet.
This one thing I know:
He loves me so.
An Advent Examination of Heart
Listening to this fragile voice raises painful but necessary questions:
Whom do we overlook?
Whom do we dismiss as unimportant?
Whose voice have we muted because it makes us uncomfortable?
Do we recognise Christ's presence in those who have nothing to offer us in return?
If John the Baptist were alive today, would he be calling out from a pulpit—or from a street corner?
Would we listen?
The Church's Call: To Be an Accompaniment, Not a Performance
Gavin Bryars did not centre himself in the composition.
He centred the voice.
He let the poor man lead.
This is a profound lesson for the Church today.
Our mission is not to impress the world, but to accompany those who are suffering.
Not to outperform the humble, but to lift up their voices.
Not to drown out the weak, but to stand beside them until Christ restores their dignity.
This is Advent:
waiting with the wounded,
walking with the weary,
listening with tenderness,
and preparing a place for Christ among the poor.
Because He always comes to them first.
A Modern Psalm of Hope
The old man's refrain becomes, in the end, a kind of modern psalm:
A psalm for those who sleep in doorways.
A psalm for the addicts, the lonely, the forgotten.
A psalm for those who enter Advent with grief rather than excitement.
A psalm for anyone who has tasted failure and wondered if God had abandoned them.
And the answer, repeated again and again, is gentle but firm:
He has not.
He will not.
He cannot.
For the blood of Christ is not just a theological concept.
It is the beating heart of divine mercy.
A Voice Calling Us Back to Christ
John the Baptist prepared the way for Jesus.
This anonymous singer does something similar:
he strips the Gospel down to its core.
Not complicated doctrines.
Not intricate arguments.
Just this:
Jesus loves me.
Jesus has been faithful.
Jesus has never failed me yet.
And in a world drowning in noise, distraction, and fear, that may be the most important voice we hear all Advent.
A Prayer for All Who Read This Blog Post and for All Who Never Will
Loving Father,
in this holy season of Advent,
teach us to listen for Your quiet voice
in the wildernesses of our world
and the wildernesses within our hearts.
Open our ears to the voices of the poor,
the forgotten,
the wounded,
and all who long for hope.
May the simple faith of the man who sang
"Jesus' blood never failed me yet"
remind us that Your mercy endures forever,
that Your love is stronger than our failures,
and that Your Son draws near to all who call upon Him.
Bless all who read these words,
and bless also those who never will.
Gather us—each in our own places of need—
into the shelter of Your compassion.
May we recognise Christ in the lowly,
serve Him in the suffering,
and await Him with joyful hearts
as we prepare the way of the Lord.
We ask this through Jesus Christ our Saviour,
whose Blood has never failed us yet
and never will.
Amen.
************
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