The days are growing very short now, as
we get closer to Christmas. The day that Christians celebrate the
birth of our Savior is nearly the shortest day of the year for those
of us in the Northern Hemisphere. We choose the darkest day to
remember how the True Light came into the world to liberate us from
slavery and death.
Yet, I do not personally experience
December as a time of liberation and joy. As daylight hours diminish,
I am burdened by the gloom of the darkened days and the cold winds that
discourage me from venturing outside. And I know that this is only
the beginning. I can expect months more of darkness and cold. If
anything, the Christmas season is an introduction to the darkness,
not the end of it.
The winter, with its lack of
light, warmth and energy, is a time of purgation for me. During
these days - starting around Christmastime - I am stripped down. All
my ambitions are laid bare and I am forced to look at the naked truth
of my life. Gone is the self-forgetfulness of summer. Winter is a
time when I feel compelled to gaze unsentimentally at my life,
and the wool I pull over my own eyes. Like the leafless trees, I am
laid bare.
Perhaps this is the experience of
Advent after all. The reality of Christ's coming, of his arrival into
our everyday world, is startling. Jesus' light turns everything
upside down. He reveals that many of the things we considered
important are, at best, distractions; and he uncovers the hidden,
neglected parts of our lives that are precious beyond all
expectation.
Christ's coming can be painful. For me,
his advent in my life has often been fearsome. The light of Christ
can soothe and comfort when received by those who are gentle and
humble of heart. But I am not always gentle, and I am often proud.
When Christ's light dawns in my heart, I often experience it more as
a consuming fire than as a gentle comforter.
As I receive Christ into my life this
dark December, I feel a kinship with Mary, who carried our Savior in
her womb. There is new life inside me, too; and my old body cannot
contain it. Jesus is stretching me, changing me, kicking inside me as
I am prepared to deliver him into the world. Like Mary, I am called
to bear my Savior, and this delivery will require nothing less than
total transformation on my part.
I could try to resist God in this
process. I could refuse to cooperate with this new life growing
within. I could decide to stay the same, to ignore the hard truth
that Christ reveals. But there is a better way, this winter and
always. With God's help, I will embrace the searing light of Christ. I will seek to be transformed into a
worthy vessel for Christ's coming.
3 comments:
When I think of Mary, I recall the words of a song by Marilyn von Waldner.
Father, make us like Mary
Father, fill us with grace
Make us open and empty
to receive your Word each day
to give birth to your Son
to give Him to everyone
Amen
This is one of my favorite posts of yours, M.
Curious if this happens to you every year?
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