Holy Darkness

Annunciation

There was

Is

Has been

And will be

An everywhere

Fixed

And transfixed

Within

That point in time

Wherein

One single

Simple

Open soul

Received

The potency

Of the creative whole.

Elizabeth B. Rooney


I sit in the waning sunlight on an unusually clear and warm December afternoon. My bones gratefully soak up the last of the sun’s radiance. I’ve come to an Advent retreat in the foothills of Auburn for a day to ponder anew this holy season of the liturgical Church year. Advent is a season of waiting with hopeful expectation and preparing for the One who is to come. (Sort of antithetical to the rushing around our culture promotes this time of year with hardly a breath between Halloween and Christmas)  I’ve come in need of something—a pause. Some silent stillness. A retreat from the many demands within and without.

“Prepare the way.” “Prepare your hearts.” The familiar Advent words roll over me.

But I am unprepared. Coming here was a last -minute decision. My house is a mess. The to-do lists are scattered throughout my cluttered mind and house.

I hear the words again, “Prepare the way. Prepare your heart. Make room for the One who is to come.”

“If I had stayed home,” I tell myself, “I could be preparing and getting things done.”  But instead, I have come into this day to wait, to open, to clear space. A seemingly useless waste of time.  

And I wonder, is this preparation something I do, or something to which I say “yes”?  What is required of me? As I sit under the brilliant blue sky, in the imposed and intentional silence, I see my restlessness exposed. I see my tendency to fill my days with doing and accomplishing. And I ask myself, “How open am I to the darkness of waiting, of uncertainty and not knowing?” “How do I prepare?”

The answer is simple, “Make room. Empty out. Be filled by the Christ who is Love and Light eternal. There is nothing to do, but simply say, like the virgin Mary, ‘Yes. Let it be unto me according to thy word.’”

Like the oddity of Advent, these words of Mary are also antithetical to our culture. Her words of surrender and trust do not come easily to most of us. And yet, her simple “yes” –her gesture of faith, despite the uncertainty, the darkness of the unknown- brought us the Messiah.  In the darkness of her womb, holiness was gestating.  Jesus Christ, born of the darkness of Mary’s womb, brings light and life to a world wearied by the darkness of sin, shame, guilt and death. Jesus Christ is the Light of the world. He came, He comes and will come again.

So, I invite you, in these waning days of Advent to ponder anew the mystery of the One who is to come.

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

Love and Always Mercy,

Pamela

via Always Mercy https://ift.tt/2BoOlnf


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