December

December

All bright and clear, the starry vault
With golden lights and crisp, clean air,
Allures the soul to rise, nor halt
Till she shall float exultant there.

Earth folds her form in ermine cloak,
Whose glist’ning sheen reflects the stars;
Clear rings the skaters’ rhythmic stroke
From stream held fast in icy bars.

Uprears the sun at morning’s birth,
In glory bathes the wood and plain;
Day’s busy hum awakes the earth
To view the scene of Winter’s reign.

We love the smile of youthful Spring,
There’s gladness in the Summer’s glow,
And rich in Autumn’s harvesting,–
Yet, greater gifts can Winter show,–

Rare gifts, surpassing pearls and gold;
God’s Mother-Maid, Immaculate,
And Christ the King–these, Winter old
Brings down to bless man’s poor estate.

J.A.M.

Advent journey

This morning I was meditating on Joseph and Mary’s Advent journey to Bethlehem.  So often, I think, we would like our own Advents to be peaceful and calm and balk interiorly–if not exteriorly as well–at inconveniences and grouchy children (and husbands), at interruptions and long lines, etc.  And then there are those even more serious situations that we may be facing: the death of a loved one, possible foreclosure on our house, unemployment . . .  When we think about what the journey to Bethlehem realistically consisted of, we might do well to join ourselves spiritually to Mary and Joseph in their journey, begging God to give us those same graces.

Here is an excerpt from Come, Lord Jesus–Meditations on the Art of Waiting, by Mother Mary Francis, published posthumously:

We think about our Lady on the way to Bethlehem.  Do we really think deeply enough about what she suffered?  And about Saint Joseph’s suffering?  How do we think he felt to take her off in her condition of expectancy, riding the mule to Bethlehem?  Her heart must have been tempted to question, “Why is this?”  And surely his heart was tempted to question.  Neither was supine; these were real people.

There are struggles asked of us, as were asked of them.  And the answer is faith.  We will see later on, of course, in the Scriptures, that it says very plainly that she didn’t understand what Jesus said to them after those three days’ loss.  And she asked him, “Why did you do that?”  Those words, in a sense, sum up her whole relationship with the Son of God, who was the Son of her womb.  And he gives her an answer that she doesn’t understand at all.  He says to all of us, in a different place in the Scriptures, “What I am doing you cannot understand now, but later you will understand.”  That is a precious thought to hold in our hearts.  How many times we say, “I just don’t understand this”, and he says, “One day you will understand.”

In the inevitable struggles of life–and the struggles of these special days–we don’t need to understand.  We just need to respond, and then to hear him say, “One day you will understand.  One day I will explain everything to you–except when that day comes, you won’t need to ask.”  (pp. 103-104)

Revisiting past posts (#3)

I haven’t been feeling well this past week, so I’m behind in posting–as some of you may have noticed.

Today is the feast of St. Juan Diego, and Sunday is the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe (which is pre-empted this year by the Third Sunday of Advent), and I hate to see them “lost in the shuffle” so here’s a link to last year’s post: “Let it penetrate your heart”.

“Just wait a minute”

Well, I’m already having to “practice what I preached” last night.  I began last night with this quote from Fr. David May:

“We usually picture a stable around that manger, but in the Byzantine liturgy, they sing of a cave where the splendor of Jesus shines forth.
“’O little Child lying in a manger, by means of a star, heaven has called and led to you the Magi, the first-fruits of the Gentiles, who were astounded to behold, not scepters and thrones, but extreme poverty.  What, indeed is lower than a cave?  What is more humble than swaddling clothes?  And yet the splendor of your divinity shone forth in them resplendently.  O Lord, glory to you!’ (Prayer from the Divine Liturgy for Christmas).
“The Child teaches us not to be afraid of the barren winter of our wounded hearts, of our human emptiness.  For, by grace, these have become an Advent for us—a time of waiting for the Desired One.
“He encourages us during this season with a Child’s guileless smile.  He awaits us there where we are most in need and most afraid: in the dark cave of our poverty.”

The main point I was trying to make was about Christ’s desire to enter into the “dark cave of our poverty.”  That is where He decided–and still decides–to be born.  If the inn would have not been full, would He have been born there in the inn?  I think not.  He came–and still comes–to the lowliest and the poorest, to the smelly, messy stables.  That is Good News, isn’t it?  But we can, just like the innkeeper, say that there’s no room.  Or we can say: “Just wait a minute until I get everything fixed up first”–as though we could fix up anything in our souls without Him. We can make so many excuses for His not coming in–at least at this moment.

Anyway, this morning I found myself slipping again into the “Just wait a minute” mode and had to remind myself of what I was talking about last night: the most important thing we can do is be humble and open our hearts to the Christ Child at every moment, not just when we think everything is spic and span and perfect to receive Him.

Smelly Stable

Tonight is Witnesses to Hope.   I will be speaking on “The Smelly Stable.”  More information can be found at the “Witnesses to Hope” tab above.  Hope to see you all there.  If you can’t make it, you will be able to find  a recording of it here on this site in the next couple of days.

Advent Prayer

Advent Prayer

Like foolish folk of old I would not be,
Who had no room that night for Him and thee.
See, Mother Mary, here within my heart
I’ve made a little shrine for Him apart;
Swept it of sin, and cleansed it with all care;
Warmed it with love and scented it with prayer.
So, Mother, when the Christmas anthems start,
Please let me hold your baby–in my heart.

Sr. Maryanna, O.P.

Robert, Cyril. Mary Immaculate: God’s Mother and Mine. New York: Marist Press, 1946.

“And every voice a song”

Last year a few very gifted songwriters from our parish put new music to an old Advent song.  It’s become a favorite of mine.  The chorus goes: “Hark, the glad sound!  The Savior comes, the Savior promised long; let ev’ry heart prepare a throne, and every voice a song.”  I’ve been thinking a lot about that last phrase: “and every voice a song,” and asking myself: “What song am I preparing for the Savior’s coming?”  I would suggest that you ask yourself the same question.  Maybe it’s a simple, secret phrase that you sing silently in your heart: “I am Yours and You are mine.”  Or maybe it’s something you want to sing out loud with your whole heart: “I am Yours and You are mine.”  (Yes, I know I repeated myself.)  May the Holy Spirit open your ears to His still, small voice singing in your heart, that you may sing along with full voice–whether silently or full volume.