Procrastination is an age-old problem that has been the focus of many new year’s resolutions.  After discovering how truly impractical it is to constantly put things off till tomorrow, we begin scheduling our days with great enthusiasm, but after some time, our focus wanes and we eventually settle back into our old procrastinating ways.  What we need is a motivating mechanism that keeps our minds engaged and brings purpose to our planning.  What if we actually believed that Christ wants to be close to us?  What if he is the unexpected guest who longs to enter our homes?  What if all we had to do is make room for him?  Let’s therefore get excited about the laundry, the grocery list, the lawn and our taxes in this new year.  Christ will indeed arrive in the form of an impromptu coffee date, the lovely landscapes of the scenic route home, emotional availability in a time of crisis, and the midnight yearnings that draw us to prayer.  We shall be free to receive our guest, and our hearts will rejoice.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Prayer is not a technique.  It is an encounter, a relationship, a mystery, and a risk.  Perhaps we were trained to stand and sit and kneel while reciting religious words.  That’s a great start, but that’s not prayer!  To pray is not something we do, but something that we want, and something that we are willing to give up everything else for, and something that happens to us.  During this final week of Advent, between the last minute shopping and baking, let’s find a quiet place to spend a few moments paying attention to our desires.  We shall discover that what we really want for Christmas is a heart that prays and a connection with others that lasts.  Come, Lord Jesus, be born into the manger of my heart so that others may, in turn, come to me and be nourished by our hidden communion.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica. 

It’s Saturday evening, still and dark, in the heart of the winter, and my life is a vigil Mass.  Pondering whether this is the end of one week or the beginning of another leads to my awareness that Christ dwells here: always on the verge, always at the edge, always rooted in what has been, always open to what will be.  As the pastor preaches, and as we sit and kneel and stand together, and as the bells toll and the collection baskets are passed, Christ speaks:  Come to me, all who are weary, I am the way, no one comes to the Father except through me.  Christ dwells in and through all things.  May we thus resist the urge to fill our Saturday evenings, and other quiet moments, with events and tasks that drown out his tender voice.  Our fear will be met with love, our anxiety will be transformed into gratitude, our lives will become vigil Masses, and Christ will truly be born.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“As Kingfishers Catch Fire” by Gerard Manley Hopkins

The word Advent literally means “coming to.”  As a human species we consistently find ways to isolate ourselves and hide behind the walls of our collective self-containment, yet the Lord keeps choosing to draw near and “come to” us.  This act of humility is pure vulnerability, rejection at its most existential level, unrequited love to the extreme!  How long can we hold out?  How long can we entertain the delusion of control?  How long can we go on living this way?  How long can we play this game?  During this season of Advent, let’s take a risk on the one who patiently and gently “comes to” us.  Let’s pray for the grace to let our guards down low enough, long enough to feel what it’s like to actually be connected to a reality beyond ourselves.  In this way, we will “come to” our senses and “come to” know the truth of our human lives.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“Have you not heard his silent steps” by Rabindranath Tagore