Lean into the Yearning: A Reflection for the Fourth Week in Advent

The following reflection refers to the Mass readings found here.

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The Bible can be a heartbreaking book. It’s about people, after all. Every story, every narrative, every parable—they may surprise and puzzle us, they may challenge us, but they always speak to something deep within us. We know these stories. We live them every day.

Today’s readings tell the stories of two couples who yearned so hard for something they did not have. They had no child. The painful word used to describe this situation is “barren.” We all know what barren means. It means lifeless, desolate, empty, dry. It means hopeless. It means heartbreak.

The yearning of the wife of Manoah, of Elizabeth and Zechariah, we feel it deep in our gut. We have all yearned this hard and come up barren. We have all felt dry and desolate. Barrenness is not only about the presence or absence of children. It is about being human. It is about yearning.

The sacred answer that emerges from this barrenness is the promise of divine faithfulness. And whether the promise is for children or salvation, it always leads to new life. This story of longing and fulfillment, of desiring and promising, of palpable need and abundant gift, is the story of the Bible from creation to gospel—from the barren earth, void and lifeless, to the incarnation, God-literally-with-us.

As Advent leans toward Christmas, we lean even harder into this yearning. And just there—on the horizon, where the days begin to lengthen—we can see it: a child is born, the fulfillment of all our yearning.

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Amy Ekeh, “Lean into the Yearning” from the December 2022 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2022). Used with permission.

A sun dog on a wintry day in central Minnesota. Photo by Hans Christoffersen.

This Is Christmas: A Reflection for the Season

Years ago as my family arrived at Mass on Christmas Eve, I told my son Julian to go find Jesus. “He’s up there,” I told him, pointing to the life-sized crèche at the front of the church. He shuffled up to the crèche, but he didn’t exactly linger. Determined that Julian and Jesus should have a prayerful moment, I sent him back. “Tell him happy birthday,” I said. Julian dutifully returned to the crèche. This time he stood before the manger for some time. I was pleased. Surely something special was happening.

But when Julian came back to the pew, he was pretty disappointed. “I told him,” he said sadly, “but . . . he wouldn’t even look at me.” I glanced up at the plaster statue at the front of the church. Julian was right. Baby Jesus was staring straight up, his glassy eyes fixed on the ceiling of the church.

Of course Julian and I both knew this was just a statue. It wasn’t Jesus. And yet I guess we both hoped for a connection, for something special, for the way we feel when loved ones look at each other. It’s only natural to yearn for that gaze.

Scripture is full of the language of looking—of humans looking for God (Ps 121:1), of God looking at us (Ps 33:13), of the intense glance of a lover toward the beloved (Song 4:9). It is this gaze that thrills us when God draws near. This is incarnation, this is Christmas—the uninterrupted gaze between ourselves and the divine—“what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands” (1 John 1:1). This is no glassy-eyed, upward-gazing disconnect. This is the burning-without-hurting, the fullness-while-yearning that is God-with-us. This is Incarnation. This is Emmanuel. This is Christmas.

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Merry Christmas, everyone!

Written for Little Rock Scripture Study 2021

An outdoor creche at Christ the Redeemer Church, Milford, CT

Open Hands

You open your hand and satisfy
the desire of every living thing.
—Psalm 145:16

To describe or even think about God, we rely on our own words and experiences. This means we are limited of course, and yet, what beautiful images we have! And what depth of experiences to draw upon.

The simple image from the psalm verse above—the image of God with open hands, providing for everything that lives and breathes, giving boundlessly to everything that desires—is such an image. I have experienced these outstretched hands. So have you. We’ve seen and touched them. We’ve received the gifts flowing from them, the generosity of God’s open hands.

And we’ve held our own hands open, in imitation of the God we love. We’ve outstretched them to our children, our students, our parishioners, and our coworkers, to friends, family, strangers, and spouses. We’ve kept them open longer than we ever thought we could. We’ve learned from covenants and crosses and stories of prodigal children to give more than was expected, to extend our hands deep into whatever inner stores we’ve kept and share whatever good we can find there. We’ve given till it hurts, and still we’ve kept our hands open.

This is the image I choose this Thanksgiving and Christmas, as these times stretch us and the challenges of the season await us. This is the image I choose—of a God with open hands, endlessly open, boundlessly open. Of me, remembering the times I’ve opened my hands and imitated the God I love. This is the image I choose—to stretch myself, to keep my hands open when I’m tired or disappointed, when what was supposed to be perfect isn’t, when there doesn’t seem to be enough. This is the image I choose—to keep my hands open, to imitate the God I love.

A Short Litany of Open Hands

God of open hands,
You care for the needs of every living thing.
Open my hands to imitate your love.

When there are needs to be met, open my hands.
When there is emptiness to fill, open my hands.
When there is work to be done, open my hands.

When I don’t think I can, open my hands.
When I’m willing but weak, open my hands.
When I’ve given my all, open my hands.

For the love of creation, open my hands.
For the joy of salvation, open my hands.
Without hesitation, open my hands.

God of open hands,
You care for the needs of every living thing.
Open my hands to join in your love.
Amen.

A drawing of open hands by Siobhan Ekeh.

5 Bible Facts for Advent....and other news

Hello, my long lost friends! And blessed Advent to you! I pray that you all are well in this season of hope and light, even in the midst of winter’s dark and cold days. Please enjoy the article below, “Five Bible Facts for Advent,” which was originally published in Catholic Digest. Below the article are some announcements and tidbits.

Advent is the perfect time to learn more about the Gospel stories of Jesus’ conception, birth, and infancy. We call these stories the “infancy narratives.” We are already quite familiar with these stories, but you may find something new or surprising in this month’s list of five!

1. Only the Gospels of Matthew and Luke tell us about Jesus’ birth. While all four Gospels tell us about the death of Jesus, only two of them tell us about his birth. Mark’s Gospel launches very quickly into the ministry of Jesus with no mention of his birth or origins. John’s Gospel describes the preexistence of Jesus with God, and he does say that “the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us” (1:14), but John does not provide any details about the circumstances of Jesus’ birth. Interestingly, only the first two chapters of Matthew and Luke are devoted to the stories surrounding the conception, birth, and infancy of Christ.

2. Matthew’s infancy narratives tell us more about Joseph, while Luke’s tell us more about Mary. Although Matthew and Luke both tell stories about the birth of Jesus, they tell these stories in very different ways. For example, in Matthew the Annunciation is made by an angel to Joseph, while in Luke the Annunciation is made by an angel to Mary. In Matthew’s Gospel, we are told that Joseph has dreams that reveal God’s will and allow him to keep Jesus safe from those who wish him harm. In Luke’s Gospel, we are told a great deal about Mary: She visits her cousin Elizabeth, sings a canticle of praise, receives foreboding words from a prophet, and “[keeps] all these things in her heart” (2:51). Joseph’s name peppers Matthew’s account, while Mary’s name is mentioned 12 times in Luke’s account!

3. Matthew’s account of the birth of Jesus is dark in tone, already foreshadowing the cross. Another way Matthew’s infancy narratives differ from Luke’s is that they are very different in tone. In Matthew’s account, the cross—an event which we do not typically associate with the birth of Jesus—already looms over his infancy. A decidedly dark note is sounded in the jealousy of King Herod, who wants to “destroy” Jesus when he hears of the “newborn king of the Jews” (2:2; see 2:13). In a horrifying and violent scene, Herod orders the massacre of all boys in Bethlehem age two and under. The jealousy, deception, and death of innocents highlighted in Matthew’s account all foreshadow the cross of Jesus. Of course the Resurrection is also foreshadowed: The infant Jesus is saved from destruction by the plan of God and lives on to become the savior of his people. As usual God has the last word, and it is a victorious one.

4. Your manger scene at home is likely a combination of details from Matthew and Luke, as well as some traditions that are not in the Bible. If you’re looking for an interesting Advent activity, read the infancy narratives (Matthew 1–2 and Luke 1–2) and compare what you read with what you see in your manger scene. Which Gospel mentions a stable? Which one mentions the Magi? What about shepherds, camels, angels, a star, and a manger? You’ll find that many of these things are found in one Gospel but not both. You may even find that a few items in your manger scene are not mentioned at all; for example, your Magi may be wearing crowns, but there is no mention of “three kings”! This can be a fun and informative activity for families. It helps us distinguish between the two different accounts of the birth of Jesus and enhances our awareness and appreciation of the diversity found within Scripture.

5. Jesus was born into a family. We may take this fact for granted, but it is worth some reflection this Advent season. Jesus did not appear on earth out of nowhere. He wasn’t like Superman, landing in a pod sent from another world. Rather, the Son of God was born of a human mother, emerging from her womb and into her arms just like every other child, just like each of us. He felt cold and hunger; he cried for his mama just like we did. Jesus is one of us. As St. Paul wrote, “For you know the gracious act of our Lord Jesus Christ, that for your sake he became poor although he was rich, so that by his poverty you might become rich” (2 Corinthians 8:9). It is this reality—God with us—that is at the heart of the Advent season. 

(This article, which was originally published in Catholic Digest’s Bible in 5 column, is reproduced with the permission of Bayard, Inc. Reproduction of this material, in any form, requires the written permission of Bayard, Inc.)

Announcements:

• As many of you know, I’m taking a year off from speaking engagements, but I will be giving an Advent Evening of Reflection (with music by Brian Rucci) at St. Robert Bellarmine Church (52 S Elm St, Windsor Locks, CT) on Wed., Dec. 11, from 6:30-7:45 p.m. All are welcome! There is no cost and no need to RSVP.

• Sr. Lany Jo Smith, ASCJ, will be offering an Advent Afternoon of Reflection entitled “Mary: The Heart of Advent” with the Saint Ann Choir at Saint Ann Church (501 Naugatuck Ave, Milford CT) on Sun., Dec. 8, from 5:00-6:00 p.m. She’s a beautiful soul, and they’re a beautiful choir. You can’t go wrong here.

• Speaking of beautiful souls, if you’re looking for a nice Christmas gift for yourself or someone else, consider Benedictine Sister Macrina Wiederkehr’s new book The Flowing Grace of Now: Encountering Wisdom through the Weeks of the Year. If you’re familiar with Macrina’s work, you know she’s a fine teacher, a clear writer, and a mystical, prophetic voice. This is Macrina’s first book in a decade, and there’s no better time to start reading it than at the start of a new year. Sr. Macrina selects “52 Teachers”—one for every week of the year—to guide you to recognize and live the “flowing grace of now.” The teachers are biblical and creative—like blindness, simplicity, and silence. Weekly prayers and inspiring spiritual quotes finish out this beautiful little book. Find it here, and learn more about Sr. Macrina Wiederkehr here.

• And my Advent book is available on the Little Rock Scripture Study site with free shipping through Dec. 13 and bulk rates on 6+ books! Here it is.

• From my home to yours, may your Advent season be one of peace. May every light, and every gift, and every quiet moment, remind you of Christ.

The Last Gift of Christmas

This year, the last gift of Christmas was a Starburst.

Even more impractical than gold, frankincense, and myrrh was this gigantic chunk of sugar and food coloring left for a baby with no teeth.

Some years, Lego figures visit our manger. One year a tiny skateboard waited in the stable, in case Jesus wanted to ride it later. Barbie probably would have gone in too if she wasn’t so tall. But this year, just when I thought no one was paying any attention to the manger, the last gift of Christmas was left for the baby.

Not the yellow Starburst that no one wants. The red Starburst, the prize.

May the last gift of Christmas always be for the child in the manger. If it hurts a little to give it, then we know it came from deep within, from a place that wants more than what this world can give. And whatever we give him, may it come back to us in good measure—packed together, shaken down, overflowing, poured into our laps (Lk 6:38)!

About a week after Christmas, Eli retrieved the candy from the manger and began to unwrap it. “He said I could have it,” Eli told me.