I just sent this poem by Margaret Smith to one of my godchildren who is expecting her first child in January:
Advent
Shepherds, donkeys, comets, kings . . .
This year I ponder private things:
How Mary, innocent and poor,
Felt carrying a baby prince
Inside, until she bore
Him whimpering. I wonder, since
This Christmas I am filled
With my firstborn to carry . . .
And when the wind is stilled
At night I think of Mary.~Margaret D. Smith
Today’s post is a reflection on today’s first reading from the book of Judges. It is the story of Manoah and his wife who was barren. By the message of an angel and the grace of God, they became the parents of Samson. This story is obviously a foreshadowing of the Gospel story that follows of Zechariah and Elizabeth. Listen to what Kathleen Norris has to say:
Today our readings ask us to reflect on a mystery: when our lives are most barren, when possibilities are cruelly limited, and despair takes hold, when we feel most keenly the emptiness of life–it is then that God comes close to us. This is a day for those who are grieving or suffering loss during Advent, lamenting that just as we are suffering, and need to weep, the world force-feeds us merriment and cheer. But we are not without hope, for it is because we are so empty, having used the last scrap of our own resources, that God can move in. To work on us, and even to play. Even our bitter emptiness gives God room to play, as at the Creation, placing whales in the sea and humans on dry land, then bringing all the animals to Adam to see what in the world he will call them. This is not a scene of imposed merriment, but of genuine delight and joy. (from God With Us, Rediscovering the Meaning of Christmas, p. 105)
It’s easy to feel very lonely, to feel very alone, when you are grieving during such a joyous season. It gives me hope to know that God is drawn to those who are empty and lonely and alone. He was born in an “empty” stable. So let’s come to God with our barrenness and our grieving. It is there that He will come close to us.
There is a little known Advent tradition–at least little known to me–of using an Advent log, instead of an wreath. “It contains a candle hole for each day of Advent, plus one for the Christmas holy day itself.” Here is a poem I came across that refers to this lovely tradition:
Prayer at the Advent log
The small lights steady
against the dark,
Your flame is touching ours.
Today is the fifth day.
It is a safe fire,
the candles still tall
above the brittle wood
of the birch, the air
damp and chill.
But the days will draw us
inexorably toward
Your celebration,
and again we’ll stand
in the crackling air,
the first days’ flames
licking the log
with their shortened lives,
the length of it
threatened by Your fire,
Your love dazzling our eyes,
and, O Christ,
Your love searing
our nakedness.
(Jean Janzen)
One of the things I love about the Advent season (and Christmas, for that matter) are all the candles and lights. They are a sign of hope for me–the candles in the windows bringing a light into the darkness of this time of year–like the wise virgins keeping their lamps burning bright for the coming of the Bridegroom.
I love this reading from Amy Carmichael. It’s the reading for today, December 17, which also happens to be my birthday. I share this only because its occurrence on this day reminds me that the Lord, from all time, knew today would be my birthday and that I would be reading this. It also has significance for me because the passage she refers to from Lk 7.23 is one of those passages that have shaped my spiritual life–a word spoken by Jesus to John the Baptist when he was in prison: “Blessed is he (she) who takes no offense at me.” But that’s a sharing for another time . . .
“She hath neither rusted out, nor burned out. She is burning still.” I read that in an Australian magazine and I prayed that it might be true of each one of us. We want most earnestly not to rust out, we would gladly be burned out, but till that day comes, the Lord keep us “burning still.”
Perhaps some of us are sorely tempted to think that just now there is not much that is “burning” about our lives. Some are ill, some have duties of a very simple sort–where does the burning come in? Where did it come in when John the Baptist was shut up in prison? He could not do anything but just endure, and not be offended, and not doubt his Lord’s love. But when our Lord Jesus spoke of him, He said he was burning and shining–“a burning and a shining light”. [John 5.35]
It is not the place where we are, or the work that we can or cannot do, that matters, it is something else. It is the fire within that burns and shines, whatever our circumstances. (Edges of His Ways, pp. 182-3)
Till that day comes, the Lord keep us all “burning still”.
Something I wrote a couple of years ago, and still so true–and I am writing this foremost for myself!
Christmas! Who doesn’t love this time of year? Many people say to me of Advent and Christmas, “This is my favorite season!” I’m sure we can all easily think of our reasons for that: lighting Advent wreaths, Christmas lights and caroling, Midnight Mass, etc. And yet I know there are many of us who are only too aware of how little prepared we actually are for His coming, of how our weaknesses and faults, anxieties and busyness, seem to keep us from any kind of adequate preparation for this Feast. The Prayer from the Divine Liturgy for Christmas in the Eastern Church gives hope: “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 our your divinity shone forth in them resplendently. O Lord, glory to you!” Take heart! We need not be afraid of the “stable” of our lives–as Fr. David May form Madonna House says: “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. . . . He awaits us there where we are most in need and most afraid: in the dark cave of our poverty.” Yes, take heart. At a mere opening of the door of your “stable,” Christ can shine resplendently therein!
I just didn’t have any inspiration this morning for a post, so instead–and hopefully this is an inspiration–I’ll share a picture by James Tissot, Saint Joseph seeks a Lodging in Bethlehem. (A picture is worth a thousand words, right?)
Another Advent gem from Restoration, this one by Fr. David May. Click here.
We all live in a “little town”, and we all have to do ordinary things–yet that is exactly where the Christ Child wants to be born. Today’s poem for Sunday is all about that:
Housekeeper
This is my little town,
My Bethlehem,
And here, if anywhere,
My Christ Child
Will be born.I must begin
To go about my day–
Sweep out the inn,
Get fresh hay for the manger
And be sure
To leave my heart ajar
In case there may be travelers
From afar.~Elizabeth Rooney
And as Cardinal Schonborn says in his commentary on today’s Gospel: “Doing the simple things is not always simple, but it is certainly the best way to prepare for Christmas.”
On this great gift of the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, I can’t help but post Mary’s beautiful words to Juan Diego, words that she speaks to each one of us:
“Listen, and let it penetrate your heart, my dear little son; do not be troubled or weighted down with grief. Do not fear any illness or vexation, anxiety or pain. Am I not here who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not your fountain of life? Are you not in the folds of my mantle? In the crossing of my arms? Is there anything else you need?”
“Let it penetrate your heart.”
I am musing here. . . .
As you have probably noticed, I am attempting to keep Christmas out of Advent in my posts this month. That’s not really the best way to put it, I guess, because Advent is all about Christmas, the wonder of God incarnate–but I think you know what I mean. I, and my house, are trying to focus on Advent now–and then celebrate Christmas for forty days after Christmas (rather than before). (Yes, forty days after–until February 2.) But is it really: Advent and Christmas, and never the twain shall meet? As I said, Advent is all about Christmas, so sometimes I find myself humming to myself “For unto us a child is born . . . ” (and I don’t feel one bit guilty). If I knew Christ was coming again on Christmas day, this year, what would I be singing today? How would it affect my waiting? Would I be not only humming, but singing loudly the Hallelujah chorus everywhere I went?
So let’s try to remember as we go about our everyday business, as we live through this season of waiting (the longer season of waiting for His return), that He is Emmanuel, God-with-us right now. It’s the “now and not yet” theme that runs through all of Catholic tradition. Our waiting must look different than anyone else’s–for He is already with us and His coming again is sure. We cannot but wait with joyful expectation . . . and that can’t help but break out into humming a song of Christmas now and then. 🙂
Witnesses to Hope 