A Word of Explanation: This blog became inactive with the appointment of a new oblate director three years ago as she chose to use another means of communication. On being reappointed oblate director, Sister Genevieve Glen, OSB, has chosen to reactivate this blog now, in December 2018.
Come, Lord Jesus!
When? Are we sitting in the cozy comfort of the present
tense, our favorite reading light shining on our Bible, a cup of coffee or tea
beside us? Are we reading the comforting texts of the Advent prophets who
promised long ago that all broken hearts will be mended, all enmities resolved,
all hungers satisfied? Do we take
another satisfying sip of our hot drink, expecting to finish the cup undisturbed?
The trouble with this peaceful picture of a coming long ago
or later on is that Christ always comes right now. In fact, he is always right here. As he says in Revelation 3:20, “I stand at
the door and knock.” All we have to do
is get up and open our heart’s door and let him in.
Unfortunately, that’s not always as simple as it sounds, is
it? There may be a lot of acreage
between our prayer nook and the door. The
landscape may include the mountains and valleys the prophet Baruch (Bar 5:1-9)
and Luke, quoting Isaiah, point to (Luke 3:1-6). Ours are often the mountains we’ve made out
of molehills: a small slight turned into a major resentment; a minor failure
turned into a dismal preoccupation with all that’s wrong with us—because, of
course, God won’t really judge us with love and mercy; a little anxiety grown
into paralyzing worry—because, of course, we have to take care of the matter
ourselves, since God isn’t really around.
The valleys can be the pits of despair we’ve dug for ourselves because
we’re too small to live as we’re called to, and we don’t really quite believe
all those words we hear about mercy, forgiveness, and grace. And sometimes the
landscape is overgrown with thorn bushes, those concerns about possessions and
money named in Matthew 13, for example—Christmas is expensive! Gotta live up to expectations! And there are those wide expanses of
spiritual desert, where God seems to have left the scene and is probably going
to leave us to starve to death or die of thirst. These inner landscapes, and other like them,
may seem impassible when we think about getting up and going to open the door
to Christ, who is there knocking right this minute. We seem to have given up on
the possibility of Benedictine conversatio
morum, perhaps because we’ve been tricked into believing that it’s our job
alone.
Take heart, the Advent readings tell us. We can sit right there, stuck in our chairs,
and just cry out to Christ to come on in, please. Then the divine landscaper can take over and
flatten those mountains, fill in those valleys, and uproot those thorn bushes. As happened for those frightened, angry,
doubtful Israelites in the desert, the waters of God’s Spirit will well up
within our deepest hearts, and Christ will set a nourishing meal before us—and,
he says in Revelation 3:20, sit down and share it with us.
Over and over, Advent by Advent, day by day, we can cry out,
“Come, Lord Jesus”—and the answer will always be, “I’m here at the door—just let
me come in and be with you.”
Copyright 2018 Abbey of St. Walburga
