The gift we already have...

The last of the "O" antiphons is, O come Emmanuel!

This novena asks every single day for the messiah to come. That is because the "O" antiphons are all about desire and longing. And yet, the last O antiphon actually tells us that God is already here, as that is the meaning of Emmanuel!

Revelation reaffirms that thought. Rev. 21:3 says I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Behold, God's dwelling is with the human race. God will dwell with them and they will be God's people and God will always be with them as their God.

Perhaps our Christmas gift is light, so that we understand that we have something precious already. Maybe our cry should be, help us see that gift. Help us realize our bounty.

For is it not true that when we ask for something we tend to forget what we already have?

So much of our Christmas in the United States revolves around gift giving. Not that that is bad. It just sets us in the mind that we need more, that we should be getting.

It would be wonderful if we could understand that Christmas is all about receiving, that the real and lasting gift is the gift of grace, of peace, of God already within.

Let us come before the Infant Jesus this year and pray, not that he comes, but that we open and realize that he is already here, in our hearts!

Giving a true gift

The following is a true story shared with me:

"I was frustrated. I had spent the day shopping for friends who were rich and famous and had it all. I didn't know what to get them. I went from store to store hoping that something would jump out at me, but nothing did. I went home feeling I had wasted a whole day.

The next day, I stopped by the local store to buy some supplies for myself for Christmas. When I got to the checkout counter, I waited patiently as a young mother in front of me emptied her very full cart. Most of it was groceries, but she had gotten a couple of toys as well. When it came time for her to pay, she handed the cashier a card. "This isn't enough," the cashier informed her. The young woman pulled out another card and swiped it. I wasn't sure what was happening, but I noticed she kept swiping the same card. "Debit?" asked the cashier. "Yes," she said and swiped it again.

I looked away, but soon noticed she was rummaging through her purse. I heard her say, "My paycheck must not have come through yet," and saw her searching for money. Her hands were visibly shaking. I listened now, as the woman found a couple twenties and handed them over. It was not enough to pay the balance. "Twenty-one forty eight," the cashier said. The mother put her purse down and looked at her cart. Then she began pulling toys out of her cart and putting them on the conveyer belt.

Realizing what was up, I whipped out my wallet and pulled out twenty-two dollars. I handed it to the cashier, who looked at me with surprise. As I nodded towards the mother, she took my money. "Honey," she said to the mother, "she's got the rest and she's paying for you." The mother stopped and slowly turned. She looked at me with surprise and gratitude. "You don't have to do this," she said quietly.  "I know," I replied. "I'm doing it because I want to. Merry Christmas." She turned away to put the toys back in her cart.

The cashier punched a button and the drawer opened. As she handed me my change, I noticed that the young mother was wiping tears from her cheeks. The cashier noticed too, and tears formed in her eyes. "You don't often see this," she said to the shopper behind me. "I've been a recipient of kindness," I replied. "Now it's my chance to pass it on."  The mother turned and thanked me again. Then she pushed her cart forward and disappeared.

When I left, I felt that I was the one who had been given the gift. I had spent a whole day shopping for people who needed nothing. God let me find the person who really needed a gift. When I gave that gift to the mother who ran out of money, I felt that it was rather I who was gifted."

God gives us opportunities to give true gifts. We need just be open and ready.

Come to those who sit in darkness

I love the O Antiphon for today, which calls upon the Savior to come and enlighten "those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death."

It focuses on those "who sit in darkness". I think that is because darkness is part and parcel of life. All of us share this journey. Sitting in darkness perhaps signifies the soul who can wait in faith without having to have answers, the soul patient and content to seek without knowing it now. Sitting in darkness may be the soul in meditation, one that allows the light to come slowly, as dawn that breaks slowly to begin a new day.

Dawn breaks the darkness of night. Jesus breaks the darkness of soul.

Sitting in darkness may be recognizing our state, and looking forward to the light of dawn.

O Dayspring, brightness of eternal Light and Sun of Justice; come and enlighten those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death. (Traditional "O" Antiphon)

He did not presume to know

Have you ever met someone whose very demeanor spoke of self-importance?  Someone who acted like a "know it all"? Someone who repelled you because that person talked but did not seem to care about anyone else?


I think that is the contradiction of Jesus. He did not want to be seen as an important figure in the gospels, but as a common man with uncommon love. He came as a child, and was born in a stable so that no one might think him above the rest of human kind. He did not presume to know what it was like to be us, to be poor, or cold, or hungry, or betrayed or suffering or any other human emotion. He came to be us. In effect, he came to be humble.

I think an important part of life is not to presume to know. Even if I have suffered some injury or endured some grief, I do not know what it is like to be someone else going through a hard time. I think one of the messages Jesus wants to give us is to be one with another experience by being silent. Do not presume to know. Let that person share and explain and tell you.

And so I would say, part of the Christmas message is not just peace and joy and hope. I think part of the Christmas message is silence. And I believe the greatest gift I can give to another is to tell myself, I don't  know. For the right kind of silence says, I want to listen, I want to hear you, I want to learn.

An extraordinary gift

I was newly moved to a bigger monastery. I felt lost, lonely, and isolated. I said a little prayer, one that I did not really expect to be answered. I asked if I could just see a kitty, just hear one meow. A couple days later, the workman came to see me and said, "Look what I found!" and pulled a scrawny little kitten about 4 weeks old out of his coat pocket. "We found it in the leaves," he said. I could not believe my eyes. I was even more shocked when I was allowed to keep the little guy. I named him Buttons.

When it became clear that I needed to leave the monastery and the monastic way of life, I asked if I could keep Buttons. The answer was an overwhelming yes. I moved to live with my brother in Texas. Buttons was with me. When I moved back to Massachusetts, Buttons came too. He moved with me every time I found it necessary to relocate. I could not imagine life without him. He was always there when I came home, greeting me at the front door. I used to wonder how he knew when I had arrived. Then I just got used to having him there at the door when I unlocked it. He was better than a dog!

Buttons hated riding in the car, but I took him with me whenever I went away for several months. He would adjust to the temporary home, always coming out at night to sleep on my feet. I got so use to him being there, it became part of going to sleep at night.

And Buttons was a smart cat. I tried endlessly to outsmart him, with very little success. He won 99% of the time. I accepted this, as this is what it means to be an owner of a cat. You have to accept their superiority!

On Monday Dec. 10, Buttons had come to the end of his road. I had to let him go...

When I got up this morning,  I looked for Buttons, but he was not there. And then I remembered. I will continue to expect him to greet me at the door after a long day away...to come out to see what I'm doing when I am working in the living room, to keep my feet warm when I got to bed. I will continue to deal with this loss, which is very deep for me.  And I will continue to thank God for answering my prayer...

For it was when I was lost and lonely that God gave me the gift of a forlorn ferral kitten. We were rigth for each other. And for 14 years, we made the greatest pair.

Buttons, I will miss you always....

A gift fit for everyone

Ever take stock of what guides your judgment of others? Is it actions? Or can I look past actions and remember that each person carries a heart....a heart that is often wounded.

I wonder if that is why Isaiah calls the Messiah the wounded healer, one who not only suffered, but kept his wounds visible for the disciples to see even after his resurrection. And Isaiah says, by his wounds we are healed (53:5). Healed from what? Perhaps we are healed from our judgments and our near sighted view of the human condition. Perhaps we are healed from looking at others in superficial ways instead of from the depth of one's own woundedness and compassion.

If I remember my own struggle, I will look upon someone else from that place, I will bring a lot more compassion into our world. Many people suffer silent, hidden wounds. They carry these wounds as burdens upon their heart. And when that burden becomes too heavy, they may lash out or cut me off. If I can look past that conduct to see a wounded heart, I could offer empathy and compassion. Perhaps I can not lift that person's burden. But at least I can refrain from adding to it.

In this Advent Season, we like to think of the joyful aspects of our faith. But let us never forget, we are all wounded, all vulnerable, all in need of compassion. The very reason the Savior came as an Infant and not as a full grown King was to draw out that compassion from our hearts. An Infant is very decidedly vulnerable.

Let that be the gift we offer this Christmas Season. Let our preparation be mindful of our own woundedness, and let that memory overflow into compassionate acts that bring some of that peace to others.

Finding solace in the desert

The first Sunday of Advent. Advent is a time for yearning. It is also a time for cleansing. We are told that Isaiah prophesied that a voice would cry out in the wilderness asking us to make straight the path to our God (Is. 40:9). I have always thought of Advent as a desert time, a time of personal preparation: clean out the unkind thoughts and grudges, make ready the heart to welcome Divinity in with greater fullness.

But there is another type of desert I am called to. That is to walk with another. For we each have a desert sometime in our life, times when our efforts seem to produce little fruit, when life seems dry and barren, and success and happiness are little more than a mirage. Perhaps the Baptist's call to go into the desert is a cry for me to care for a fellow sojourner whose life has become difficult.

I can fill in the valleys and make every mountain and hill low when I help to balance that person's hope. I can help diminish some of that fear and build up some of that confidence. In short, I can give encouragement and understanding. If I do this, the sojourn in the desert may be shortened, and that person will come out a whole person, not one broken and defeated.

Who of us would not profit by a bit of understanding? Yes, I may act out my fears and anxiety. But if only one person sits by me, holds my hand and hears my story, I find heart and courage. In that courage I may even find healing and wholeness.

Isn't that what the Christmas story is all about? Is it not a story of hope in the midst of a very unfair world? So let me look for that sojourner in the desert, the one who feels weighed down right now and can use a caring heart. Let me reach out not with answers, but with a sympathetic ear that listens to their story. Who knows. That may be the one thing that individual needs at this time.