The two great challenges posed by the Advent Season are: patience and a keen awareness. Advent is a time of waiting, we are asked to be patient in our wait and our search for God. We are asked to be alert. Paul sums this up in his Letter to the Romans: "Wake up now. Our salvation is nearer now than it was when we were first converted. The night is almost over. It will be daylight soon." We are now approaching the very dead of winter. Winter was a time of terror for our ancestors, who watched the heavens constantly for signs of favour, and of wrath. It is no coincidence that we Christians celebrate Christmas in the very dead of winter, when the sun is at its lowest and its weakest. At this time of year the ancient Romans celebrated their mid-winter festival, the festival of Sol Invictus, the Unconquored Sun, because from this time on, the darkness would be overcome, and the sun would soon begin to extend his Kingdom again. Our ancestors were groping for light. In many and varied ways, the Eternal One had revealed himself to them, to the Greeks, to the Romans, Egyptians, Chaldeans, Babylonians, Native Americans, Nordic peoples the Celt, peoples everywhere. The light had penetrated to them, fragmented, splintered perhaps, but still the light that conquers darkness and death.

Four thousand years ago, our Celtic ancestors built Newgrange, near Drogheda. It was "a house of eternity" for their royal dead. It is huge. And yet it is a theatre for a tiny drama that lasts only 17 minutes every year. On the deadest and shortest day of the year, 21 December, a shaft of sunlight travels the length of the passage, from a roof box above the door. The rays pan across the spirals on the boulder. For 17 minutes the chamber has light. Then, darkness for another 12 months. The church reclaimed the feast and created Christmas night. Not to squash the wisdom of the Celts but to fill out what they had vaguely believed. Not to mock Newgrange but to honour its suspicion that we do survive death. The Christians began to bury their dead in separate graves, not in huge mounds, to show that each life has a destiny. Over the graves they placed Celtic crosses. The perspective changed. The ancient burial mounds were flat and hugged the earth. The Celtic cross pierced the sky. In Newgrange the sun travelled a narrow passage to pass pale light over the boulder in the chamber. With the Celtic cross, the circle connecting the arms was there all day every day. The Celtic Cross retained the circular orb that is the sun at its centre. The pagan and the Christian could kneel down together before this stone symbol and worship the same God through different eyes, from different mind-sets. To the pagan, it was the life-sustaining sun; to the Christian, it was the Son of God whose light had come into the world. Half superstition, half Christian. Who knows which is which? Who cares? These days of Advent feed the soul and imagination.

In the Celtic Cross, we see two cultures coming together in a common quest for the eternal, the sun-worshipper and the Christian. We have reached a similar cultural intersection in our own day. Two different worlds, two different mind-sets are now living cheek-by-jowl. But we are drawn instinctively to focus on what divides. We must force ourselves to respect what is different.

We must first recognise and accept the fact that there is a vacuum now at the heart of life. Old values have faded and they have not been replaced. This vacuum finds expression in many ways. Perhaps the most devastating expression is to be found in the dramatic rise in suicide among young men in particular. When the storm comes, they reach for the steadying anchor, and there is none to be found.

But the gains far outweigh the losses. The younger generation have discarded much of the rubbish that masqueraded as religion. The neurotic fear and guilt that blighted the souls of many of their predecessors has disappeared. This is indeed a great blessing, a great liberation. Young people today too -and I can speak as one who has rubbed shoulders with them in UCG for the last 15 years- have a greater sense of their own value; some would say they have a greater self-confidence than previous generations. Consequently, they are far more honest, open, and they will not tolerate any sort of cover-up or foolish denial. But they are incredibly sensitive and are very easily hurt. Even facetious throw-away comments can be taken personally. The big bogey-man for them is hypocrisy. They expect a harmony between words and deeds. Now they will not live out that harmony in their own lives, but they do certainly expect it from adults. And when they do find in adults, they respect it greatly.

They are open in another sense too. There are very few atheists among them. As I said, I have been among them as a priest for 15 years, and not once have I heard a disparaging comment about priesthood or a hurtful remark directed at me personally. Contrary to what you may hear in some quarters, I have found them to be tremendously kind, and very caring of one another. They feel keenly the need for a guiding star, for some bright beacon to lead them through the confusing maze that life has become. Strange as it may seem to us, most of them will look upon Pope John Paul as a sound man and a wise teacher. Now they may not be too clear on what that teaching is, but they admire his fearless courage and obvious sincerity.

So in this new world, there is much to build on. At this time, we are celebrating the coming into the world of that light which scatters darkness and brings joy and peace and hope to all. And we keep before our eyes the potential of the vision of Isaiah we have inherited: "They will beat their swords into ploughshares, their spears into reaping hooks. Nation will not lift up sword against nation, there will be no more training for war."