Beloved, it’s very nearly time. All the candles on the wreath are lit. The tree is trimmed, the halls are decked. This sweet little liturgical season is almost wrapping up. It never seems quite long enough, Advent. I’d like more time to prepare. I always start off thinking I’d be doing more in this season. More prayer, fasting, almsgiving. More feast day celebrating. More quiet contemplation, more daily devotion, more time-cherishing, tradition-establishing, memory-making. But the days are too short, and the O Antiphons are upon us. The manger in the creche won’t be empty much longer, whether we’re ready or not.
In the letter of St. Paul to the Hebrews, from which our second reading for today is drawn, Paul quotes Jesus saying of the Father “Sacrifice and offering you did not desire, but a body you prepared for me; in holocausts and sin offerings you took no delight.” Here I am, clamoring for more and more and more out of Advent. More sacrifice! More offering! Perhaps, maybe, I’ve missed the point.
A body You prepared for me… Behold, I have come to do Your will, O God.
The body the Father lovingly prepared for His Son to enter the world as Word made flesh has been growing in the womb of Our Blessed Mother, being tenderly cradled, protected, nurtured by her, and it’s very nearly time for it to come fully into the world. That tiny body, in the womb of Mary, caused John the Baptist to leap for joy in Elizabeth’s womb, as we hear in the Gospel today. That tiny body, echoing tiny Bethlehem, from whom one would come forth “who is to be ruler in Israel,” so small, so tender, contains within it the hope of all mankind.
Once again, I think I haven’t quite learned the lesson of Advent, just yet. I’ve made the mistake of focusing too much on the importance my “sacrifices and offerings,” as if God commanded me directly to incorporate 30 minutes of spiritual reading daily, teach my preschooler 6 different Advent traditions, and bake cookies for my friends and meals for the poor, as if the fate of the world somehow rested in all of that, as if I will my own salvation, as if my hands work for my own contentment rather than His glory. And I do all that instead of looking to the place where the fate of the world does rest, in that body Jesus spoke about, His body, whose day of birth is quickly drawing near.
Perhaps your “sacrifices and offerings” for the holidays aren’t quite done yet. Perhaps you are watching the days tick by and wondering how it’s all going to get done. Perhaps you are feeling overwhelmed, regretting not choosing silence more, wondering when you’re going to have time to really enter in.
(Perhaps I’m projecting, and you’ve had a delightful Advent season full of contemplation and fruitfulness, but the following advice can still apply.)
Put all that aside this week, as much as you can, and focus your efforts instead on meditating upon the body of Jesus. Contemplate unborn Jesus, nestled in the womb of Mary, making John the Baptist leap for joy at His presence. Infant Jesus, human body wrapped in swaddling clothes in the arms of Mary, compelling the angels to sing of His glory. Toddler Jesus, returning from Egypt after Herod’s persecution, asking questions in simple sentences and pointing out new sights with chubby fingers. Child Jesus, head full of knowledge but voice still reaching maturity, teaching at the temple before dutifully returning to His earthly parents (after giving them what I’m sure was an epic heart attack, at first). Adult Jesus speaking with a voice that travels, walking with feet that are sore after a long day, touching with hands that heal, and then eventually, when it’s very nearly time once again, taking that beloved body, prepared for Him by the Father, and surrendering it back to Him on the cross. Crucified Jesus, feeling real pain from real nails, dripping real blood, entering into real death to claim victory over it. And resurrected Jesus, letting Thomas feel the solidness of flesh and bone and muscle again, eating real food with Peter, telling them and us about the life, death and resurrection of our bodies, this is what it is to be made new.
This fourth Sunday of Advent, let us contemplate the Incarnation with grateful hearts. No matter how we’ve spent our Advent season thus far, there’s still time to ready ourselves for His coming. But let’s do it not just by “sacrifice and offering,” but by pondering what it is that He is here to do, and by making room for Him to do just that.