Making Room (revised 12/10/24)
This creche looks very similar to the one I had in my childhood home except the paint was chipped in places.
“The Lord is coming, always coming. When you have ears to hear and eyes to see, you will recognize him at any moment of your life. Life is Advent; life is recognizing the coming of the Lord.” — Henri Nouwen
The seasons of Advent and Christmas create a space in our lives for wonder and mystery that leads to anticipation and joy. They do this in light of the Gospels that describe both the Incarnation of God in Jesus and Mary’s willingness to bear the Son of God. How comfortable or welcoming we are to this mystery and wonder depends on our willingness to ponder the unknown.
The Incarnation of God in Jesus is the unearned gift in our world and in our hearts. I say “unearned” because God’s abundant love gave us Jesus. There was nothing the world did or does now to make God do anything. Constantly creating and re-creating this world, God remains in our midst.
Wonder and Mystery
When I was very young, I easily experienced this wonder and mystery. As a way of entering into Advent, my family waited one or two weeks before Christmas prior to picking out a tree and decorating. While I sometimes blamed procrastination, I now think that we observed Advent as a true waiting, a longing for the wonder of Christmas morning. My mother would set up the crèche earlier, though, much to my delight. I gazed at this chipped and colorful set of figurines, especially in the evening when a small, single light illuminated the scene. Mary and Joseph (Jesus was carefully hidden) remained inside the wooden shelter while the donkey, sheep and three wise men stood apart. Straw and snow (cotton balls) were spread everywhere. I’m not quite sure why our crèche had snow, but I liked the idea that the holy family had found shelter on a cold, winter’s night.
I entered into the scene, moving the figurines at different times on a whim, considering the interplay of all the pieces. I’d place the donkey facing to the right or left, then move the sheep closer to Mary and Joseph. As the days of Advent went by, the wise men “walked” closer to where Jesus would appear. And it was easier and less complicated then to create a space for Jesus’ birth in my heart and mind. Seeing became beholding for me. It was a sacred space. Through this type of creative play, I’ve come to believe that children make room for the Incarnation without hesitation.
Anticipation
Wonder and mystery open doors to an awakening and anticipation for what is to come, inspiring me to reflect on Christmas mornings in my childhood home. My brothers and I woke early. We stepped over our older siblings who were asleep, in order to sit in front of the presents that magically appeared overnight. We looked for our names among the colorful packages. Each of us would have one or two gifts under the tree, one of which was usually handmade by my mother. The tree lights illuminated the room and a sense of awe came over us. Even baby Jesus appeared in the crèche. Eventually, my siblings would stir and my mom would wake up and sit with all of us while the Carpenters Christmas album played in the background. Christmas mornings were one of the most peaceful and joyous times and I reveled in the feeling of belonging and the sense that all was well in the world. I’d pass out my drawings for everyone, rolled up with a ribbon. We took our time opening gifts, and my mom would smile and laugh in the midst of her children. Usually, a game of Parcheesi or Monopoly would break out. Time truly stood still.
Recapturing Wonder & Mystery
In the weeks leading up to Christmas these days, I find myself caught in a frenzy of to do lists and a time crunch. Searching for the perfect gift can easily take over my attention and focus on Jesus. I constantly pass the crèche in my home but rarely stop to enjoy its reminder of God’s abiding love for our world. Even though I know that material things do not ultimately bring fulfillment or happiness, it is easy for me to momentarily set aside the gift of Jesus in my life.
As I get older, I make certain decisions that sometimes close the door on the Incarnation. I start to wander. I have found that Advent reminds me to slow down and look at my current journey. I ask myself in what direction I am headed. I rest, reassess and remember who it is that created me. By what love was I born and to whom do I belong? To what end do I live? Do my desires now draw me toward Christ or have I settled, grown complacent, wandered away? Can I behold the sacred in my everyday life? So many questions yet I can take time during Advent (truly, any time) to consider one or two ways I can change my trajectory, pulled toward the mystery of Jesus’ birth and what it means for my life and for the world.
The Prophet Isaiah asked God, “Why do you let us wander? O Lord, from your ways, and harden our hearts so that we fear you not?” (63:16-17) The gift of free will allows me to choose the direction I will go. And I can freely choose to return to God. Often, though, I find myself entangled in the anxieties and worries of the world, unaware of the direction I am headed. When I think about what I make room for in my daily life, I can discover that it’s usually the things for which I have no control. Worry over my dad aging and the grief he causes at his assisted living community only increases my sleeplessness. Replaying an uncomfortable conversation I had with a sibling over and over in my mind seldom helps me let it go and move on. Allowing the realities of polarization in our country and world to offset my hope in humanity and dwell on the worst possible outcomes only increases my fear that reason, truth and justice won’t matter in the end. Instead, I can trust that the light of truth will never fade or disappear. Darkness will never overcome it (see John 1:5). This hope helps me return to God and a sense of wonder and mystery.
An Expansion of the Heart
If I go to Mass in order to go through the motions and share in the rituals, does that help me to know Jesus? Liturgy and ritual certainly have a place in my expression of faith, but am I being shaped by God over time? God is the potter and I am the clay (see Isaiah 63:19) Am I clay that is malleable, shaped by God’s hands, or maybe I’ve allowed myself to be “fired” in the oven, settling for what is easy. When I solely rely on others to interpret God’s word or to pray, I’m not sure that my heart is expanding at all. Even the Grinch had to see for himself this love that the Who’s of Whoville welcomed into their hearts, even when it seemed like Christmas was ruined. They were able to sing and express joy because they knew that love didn’t come in a box. It was already in their hearts. And so the Grinch’s heart expanded ten times, exploding with a love that transformed him.
And isn’t my transformation at the core of God’s desire for me? So, while going to Mass is good and offers me sacred moments, I am also called to read scripture and pray outside of church. This can help my heart expand, to recognize wonder and mystery in my daily life. Reading scripture and sitting in silence allows a way for me to open myself to God’s Spirit. It’s called “Prayer of the Heart,” “Contemplative Prayer” or “Centering Prayer.” I choose a mantra or word that I gently repeat in my mind, such as “Come, Lord Jesus” or “Welcome Jesus,” breathing slowly and letting my thoughts drift by. I am literally making room for God’s Spirit to enter. It is a prayer that has been in our tradition since the 4th century.
St. Theresa of Avila, 16th-century Carmelite nun and Spanish mystic, wrote this concerning prayer: “Clearly, an expansion of the soul takes place, as if the water rising up from the fountain doesn’t just overflow and move on. Instead, the more water that comes up, the larger the basin grows to receive it. That’s what this kind of prayer does to the soul. And God works many other wonders in her, shaping and preparing her to contain abundant grace…” (p 109, The Interior Castle, translation by Mirabai Starr)
St. Theresa describes this contemplative prayer that can shape us, expanding our souls so that God’s grace can abide there. It is the only way that I have found that the anxieties and worries of the world do not overcome me. In this type of prayer, I realize over time that my one “job” is to open myself to God’s Spirit so I can be shaped and healed in order to learn to love as God loves. What I am responsible for is to recognize and welcome God’s truth and light in order that I can spread it through the darkness. This prayer of the heart helps me to behold the light of Christ, to allow it to change me, and to spread it to others.
What do I make room for in my life? In youth and when I am with the young, I tend to enter into the wonder and mystery of Jesus’ coming more easily, with childlike intention. I receive, allow, surrender to the moment. What if I decided to do this as an adult, through praying, gazing on the crèche, lighting the Advent candles, sitting in silence and soaking in the wonder and awe of creation, reading God’s word and allowing it to enter my mind and heart? Taking the time. Every day. Yes, every day. Make room. Early morning works for me. What’s best for you? With my kids, my spouse, faith community and even alone. Together, let us pray: “Come, Lord Jesus.”
