by John Predmore, SJ
During Advent, it is easy to see ourselves as pilgrims on a journey to Bethlehem. We vicariously walk with Joseph and Mary as they take part in their civic duty. Instinctively, we have an impulse to slow down and to keep life simple while a frenetic world swirls around us. We yearn for silence and stillness in subdued moments so we can raise our awareness of the deeper story that unfolds in our faith.
Once we are Bethlehem-bound, we cannot let ourselves engage in the world’s turbulent pace. We know we must look up at the stars and ponder the Advent mysteries. We want to follow the star that leads to our Savior’s nativity. We are impelled to kneel at times to acknowledge the hardships of that first perilous journey of a young pregnant woman and her husband to the City of David. We seek to connect with the God who makes all things possible.
Advent is a season of connections. Joseph connects with his tribe in Bethlehem, Elizabeth greets Mary; the wise sages travel to see this soon-to-be born king; and John the Baptist leaps for joy. We, too, experience the expectation that Advent brings. Christmas comes every time we see God in other persons. We know that the human and the divine meet in Bethlehem, but also with the greetings of baristas in the coffee shops, the chance encounters with friends in the department store, and in the smiles from the stranger who wishes us goodwill.
We also seek profound connections in the retelling of stories of conversion and metanoia, a transformative change of heart. This is the season of Ebenezer Scrooge really seeing Tiny Tim Cratchit as a person of dignity for the first time, and the green Grinch learning from the poor, but wise, Cindy-Lou Who. We, too, know people who need their hearts softened and enlarged. We know others who cannot even see the poor and the suffering. And we know still others who, unhappy in their lives, cannot see a path forward, people who are miserable and need hope, redemption, and reformed worldviews. In this season of heart-softening tenderness, we prepare to hold the infant in our arms anew.
As much as it is a time of solemn joy, many do not share this. Yet Christmas is determined to come. It comes in the face of hatred, war, and violence. It comes despite prejudice and discrimination. It comes amid hurt, betrayal, and rejection. We know that there is no disaster that is shocking enough, shattering enough to stop Christmas from arriving. No, Herod cannot stop Christmas. No malice or ill-will, nor any force on earth, can halt the progress of this saving event.
There will always be a Tiny Tim, a Cindy-Lou Who, a little drummer boy who can look up and see the guiding star. Someone will hear the angels’ voices and will believe. A young man may let go of a grudge and come to know peace and goodwill. A little boy may sense a mystery during a spell-binding train ride, while a young woman may sit silently in grateful tears as she realizes that somehow, in ways she cannot explain, Christ knows her and cares for her. God will come for us. Christ will be born.
Advent opens for us a night of promise, a night of welcome, gathering us into a circle of love in which we welcome an infant, held in a mother’s embrace and guarded by a father’s protection. This boy gives us a gift: ourselves. He gives us ourselves to enjoy, with pride and honor, and calls on us to generously share who we are with others. He gives us a community where our hearts can soften enough to hold joy — even leap for joy.
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