by Fr. John Sullivan, SJ
Growing up, the four weeks of Advent felt so long. With a child’s excitement for Christmas growing each day, the four candles stood as sentries to the long wait. My experience now, however, is the opposite. Advent does not drag on, rather it seems to race by. Advent began with good intentions. One may have hoped that this year “I really want to prepare. Maybe more prayer or at least a more consistent prayer.” Another may have intended to relish more the waiting, deepening one’s thirst for God: “As the deer longs for running streams, so God does my heart long for you” (Ps 42). The plan was that Christmas will not “just happen” this year. I thought to myself that I will be fully prepared to receive Jesus’ return in glory and majesty; fully grateful to receive the gift of his first coming at Bethlehem; and fully free to accept his coming in my daily life. As usual, my plans did not work out exactly (meaning not at all) as I had hoped.
Entering the third week of Advent, I still feel unprepared to welcome him as I should. My faith and life remain imperfect and messy. In some ways, my inclination is to ask the Lord to come back later, to give me more time to get things ready, that is, to get myself ready. But then there is the growing awareness that no matter how long I delay, I will never be fully prepared to receive him as the Father’s gift. What then are we to do?
I remember once praying Saint Ignatius’ “Contemplation on the Nativity” in the Spiritual Exercises. Ignatius gives the retreatant the following instruction: “I will make myself a poor, little, and unworthy slave, gazing at them, contemplating them and serving them in their needs, just as if I were there, with all possible respect and reverence.” And so, I imagined myself to have been someone without a home whom Mary and Joseph had welcomed into their family. At the scene of the Nativity, I looked around and saw the different animals. I could hear their typical sounds and smell their accompanying odors.
After his birth, Mary, as a new mother, held the baby Jesus in her arms. Always looking at him, always loving him. Mary then gave the baby to Joseph and he did the same. Joseph returned the Lord to his mother and then she looked at me and extended her arms, offering the child to me. One may think I would have been moved to great consolation by Mary’s offer, but the truth was that I wanted to runaway at that instant. I thought to myself, “There is no way I will hold my Lord and God in my arms. I know the thoughts I’ve had, the words I’ve spoken and the things I’ve done. It would be wrong, disrespectful and irreverent for me to hold him.” But Mary would not be denied. She insisted I take him. I probably held the Lord awkwardly, not having too much familiarity with infants. Not wanting to “break” this little and fragile thing, I held him most tentatively. And then I looked at his face and eyes. I saw something I did not expect. I saw joy and delight. I saw love. I saw something completely incomprehensible — God was where he wanted to be, in my arms. I realized that God could have been anywhere, but the one place in all creation he wanted to be was to be held by me (and you).
I wasn’t prepared to hold him. My life was and is still messy. But God has made his perfect choice. In his eternal love, he has chosen me and you. The remaining days of Advent may be racing by, but we can still prepare. We can, with all our imperfections, faults and failings, and all the things we wish were different about us, choose him because he has already chosen us. We can hold him because he already holds us. And it is what he wants and desires.
