Friday, December 13, 2013

Racing to Christmas

One of the things I love about the season of Advent is the rich imagery and beautiful language found in the propers for Mass. For instance, in the Collect for the First Sunday of Advent, which opens the entire liturgical season, we ask for “the resolve to run forth to meet…Christ with righteous deeds at his coming.” It’s a bold request that makes me think of a world-class marathoner sprinting victoriously to the finish line.
But what if my own journey through Advent more closely resembles my painfully slow crawl through miles 11 and 12 of my first half marathon earlier this year?  What if, at some point along this course leading to Christmas, I end up “hitting the wall” and experiencing the spiritual equivalent of “the bonk”? Is a truly meaningful observance of Advent tied to performing fantastic feats of penance and prayer? Does it demand the religious athleticism of a desert-dwelling monk? I don’t think so.
Instead, I believe that the key to preparing for the coming of Christ at Christmas is in becoming what He became for us in the Incarnation—a small, humble child. We become childlike when we acknowledge our own beauty and frailty, and offer everything to God, knowing that any authentic gift of ourselves will never fail to delight God. When we humbly recognize the aching emptiness present in our lives and refuse to clutter the void with disordered attachments, our hearts become a welcoming home for the Christ Child, who found no room in the inns of Bethlehem two thousand years ago.
As I meditate once more upon the prayer that began our liturgical journey to Christmas, I find my image of a world-class marathoner gliding to victory replaced with the image of a small child racing to meet a loved one—joyfully, enthusiastically and yes, quite clumsily. I see myself in that child this Advent, so often tripping over her own feet. But no matter how gracefully or unsteadily we run to kneel at the manger this Christmas, we will surely find a humble Child welcoming us, and asking us to welcome Him to our hearts in return.

Rachel Kondro is the campus minister in Reinert Hall. 

Monday, December 9, 2013

Bringing Jesus to birth in our own lives

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.