Ruth Greenaway-Robbins

“Come and redeem us with an outstretched arm”

O Adonai, and leader of the House of Israel,
who appeared to Moses in the fire of the burning bush
and gave him the law on Sinai:
Come and redeem us with an outstretched arm.

Adonai is not a word we use lightly. Hence, my translation might appear clumsy as “O Lord”.

In the Hebrew scriptures it is the reverent substitute for the unutterable name of God – I AM. A name so holy it is not spoken aloud. To cry O Adonai is not to use a title casually, but to address the Holy One with awe, trembling, and trust. It is to stand, barefoot, on holy ground. How absolutely incredible, and beautiful, I love that language can have such power and inspire such awe in us.

This antiphon draws us back into the foundational story of liberation. Moses, tending sheep, notices a bush that burns but is not consumed. God speaks not from a palace or temple, but from fire in the wilderness – calling Moses by name, revealing divine compassion, and sending him back into danger for the sake of enslaved people. This is not a distant God, but one who hears the cry of the oppressed and acts. This is so much a God who reveals themselves in the power of – I AM.

And yet this God is also lawgiver. Adonai appears again on Sinai, amidst thunder and cloud, giving the law, not as a burden, but as a gift. The law is given after liberation, not before. And I think that is so important – Laws that are given not to burden but to aid our Liberation. Israel is freed first, then taught how to live as a people shaped by freedom. This matters. God’s commands are not about control, but about forming a community that reflects justice, mercy, and care for the vulnerable.

When we pray O Adonai, we are calling on a God who is both tender and demanding. A God who rescues – and then asks something of us. A God who says: I have set you free; now learn how to live freely.

The final line of the antiphon is bold and expressed in an embodied way: “Come and redeem us with an outstretched arm.” This is the language used in Exodus to describe God’s decisive, public action – visible, forceful, unmistakable. Not a quiet spiritual rescue, but a real one, involving bodies, borders, and broken systems.

Advent invites us to ask uncomfortable questions here and I ask these as someone who finds the answers from within myself deeply uncomfortable, but I believe they are important.

What do we still need redeeming from – personally, communally, and structurally?
Where do we long not just for comfort, but for liberation?
What chains have become so familiar that we hardly notice them anymore?

To pray this antiphon honestly is to risk being changed. Because if God redeems with an outstretched arm, that arm may stretch through human action too. Moses did not part the sea alone. He showed up, spoke up, stood his ground. Redemption, in scripture, is always both divine and participatory.

But what is faith without risk? We pray these antiphons around the words of Mother Mary, who risks everything in her “yes” to God. The Magnificat everyday invites us to embrace the work of God that liberates and redeems, redeems us all. It is no accident that these O Antiphons are prayed alongside the Magnificat.

And this is where Advent sharpens our vision. The Church waits for Christ not as a gentle idea, but as the embodiment of Adonai – the Holy One made flesh. Jesus stands in continuity with the burning bush and Sinai, yet reframes them. In him, the fire does not consume. In him, the law is fulfilled in love. In him, God’s outstretched arm becomes a crucified body – exposed, vulnerable, and utterly committed to human freedom.

O Adonai reminds us that the child we await is also Lord. Not a cosy symbol, but the God who disrupts unjust systems and calls us into courageous faithfulness.

As we pray this antiphon today, perhaps we do so with open hands – ready not only to be redeemed, but to be sent.

The music expression of the O Adonai I have chosen is from one of my favourite composers Arvo Part. The text has been translated into German. The music has such depth and mysterious wonder. The drone that underpins it steadies and secures the music – much like God who steadies and secures all that we are. The music is intense and mysterious, reflecting that sense of redemption rooted in our liberation.

O Adonai,
Holy One who hears the cry of your people,
draw near to us in the fire and the cloud.
Free us from what binds us,
teach us the way of justice and compassion,
and stretch out your arm again in our world.
We wait for you, Lord of liberation.
Amen.