This season is my favorite time of
year. The colorful lights I have scattered around my apartment, the scent of a
newly chopped pine tree, cheesy Christmas music, and
filling my calendar with Christmas parties with friends and family all fill my
heart with a sense of happiness that no other time of year does. Having an excuse to be with loved ones and
recreating traditions from when I was a child is comforting and peaceful. Memories
from previous years remind me of where I’ve come from and the person I’ve grown
into since then. When I was younger we
would spend an afternoon decorating the house for Christmas and my brother and
I would insist that my mom turn on the only two Christmas albums we owned
(Johnny Mathis and Dolly Parton, of course). We would excitedly put up the
lights and ornaments on the tree and fill every other corner of the house with
Christmas decorations. My brother and I always fought over who got to hang
certain favorite ornaments (we still do…) and yet every year my mom was the one
decorating after my brother and I got bored after an hour or two. Mom and I made candy, chatting as we baked and
cooked late into the evening. These memories and others from this time of year
remind me of the deep gratitude I have for my family, my friends, and for the
many ways in which my life has been blessed. But I would be remiss to end my reflections on
this season with these somewhat idealized memories.
Perhaps it is because I’m growing
up and into myself, perhaps because I am a woman, or perhaps because I am
beginning to recognize the frailty and vulnerability of life that I find myself
challenged by and invited into reflecting on the young pregnant woman who is
just weeks away from giving birth to a child. I wonder what must have been
running through Mary’s mind as the baby inside her grew, as she felt him move
and kick, as she neared the end of the intimate time of her pregnancy. I
imagine the tenderness Joseph must have showed her; the patience each of them
must have had in a time when so much many things seemed uncertain. I imagine
the quiet, still nights and the way Mary must have felt, knowing that the Son
of God was a tiny, growing, human being inside of her womb. Through the courage
and strength of this one young woman, our God enters the world as human being
in the most humble, frail, and vulnerable way.
The mystery of the incarnation, of
God becoming a human child, stirs in me a deep sense not only of the gift it
was 2000 years ago, but the many ways in which each of us are also “pregnant”
with God in our own lives. Like Mary, we too are invited to say “yes” to God
who is constantly growing and working in us. And just as it takes nine months
for a child to be born, we must be patient with ourselves and with God’s work
in us. God dwells with us in our own vulnerability and cares for us as with the
gentleness and tenderness of a loving parent.
Our God dwells within us and among us in all those we meet; the
gatherings we attend and the relationships we have can be a sign of God’s love
for us in the most incarnate way. Our memories remind us of the joy of our past
and show us the many ways in which we have grown over the months and years. The
smells and sounds that accompany this season and make it so joyful prompt us to
be aware of the importance of God becoming embodied. Our God, Jesus,
experienced the embrace of a friend, the smell of homemade cooking, and the
sound of joyful music being played.
And so in this season of preparing and patience,
how do you sense God growing and moving in you? How are you called to give life
to the world and become Christ’s incarnate hands and feet? How are you
responding to the invitation into stillness and reflection on this great gift
of the incarnation? What are the sights and smells and sounds that draw you
into Christ’s joyful presence this season? Say “yes” to allowing our incarnate
God to come alive in you and to become Emmanuel, “God with us”, to our world.Jen Petruso is the Campus Minister in Marguerite and Pruellage Halls.
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