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In our heart of hearts, we find that we are all seeking - seeking peace, seeking purpose, a place of belonging, a meaning and sense of worth beyond what our own lives and world provide us. We yearn for more.
We look for a star to guide us, or an angel to lead us, or family and friends to embrace us. We desire authentic lives lived with real connection to others and to ourselves, a desire that is one of ongoing tension and ongoing struggle. We search high and low, often finding that the comfort we thought would fulfill us was only fleeting.
Our seeking is only heightened today, as we witness so many different aspects of our lives and relationships changed, or robbed, or shifted because of the ongoing pandemic.
If there is a remedy to our common struggle, if there is an answer to our questions of yearning, where can it be found?
Many of us know the birth story well – how the whole of Bethlehem was clogged by travel, folks occupying the beds and rooms across every inn and home in town. Not a single space remained, apart from an old shed out back filled animals. It was this place where Mary and Joseph found themselves, with a small feeding trough to lay their child.
This is where we tend to leave the story: two loving parents leaning over a child, surrounded by warm animals, and bathed in heavenly light. But at some point, the heavens had to close up, the angels returning back to heaven, the warm animals burrowing themselves into sleep. The night grew cold and the reality of the world began to set in for the new parents – fear, anxiety, darkness, a place to belong instead of competing with sheep for a place to sleep.
Here, in this reality, is the place the child was born, the baby in that lie nestled in the trough. The child was named Emmanuel, which did not so simply mean God, but God With Us. The God who came to the world in the midst of real life, not fairy tale. The God who came to a world filled with anxieties and fears, with struggles and strife.
When we celebrate Christmas each year, we are afforded the opportunity to remember. We remember the story of the two parents and the little town of Bethlehem. We remember the God who became flesh. And here, we haul our hopes and fears of all the years, and place them at the feet of the child.
With all our pain and all our joy, with all our loneliness and all our hope, with all the suffering throughout the world, we remember each Christmas that God desired to be there, right in the middle of it all. To be right here, in the midst of our own homes and lives. To accompany and to love. To be in relationship and to bring meaning.
Far off, in some distant field, sat a group of shepherds tending to their sheep. And as the night grew old, there appeared to them an angel. “Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all people,” the angel announced. “Today, in the city of David, a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord.”
And away up the hill, from the direction of town, came the sound of a newborn baby’s cry.
How else could God gain the trust of creation? How else could I be persuaded that God knew my life inside and out, that God earnestly and completely cares, unless God lived a life like mine? God risked it all to get close to us, in hopes that we might learn to love, and be loved, once again.
Wishing you all the peace of God as you enter into Finals Week. And as you return home, or wherever it is you find yourself this Christmas, remember that God has decided that the best place for him to be, the greatest of all places to build his home, is right in your arms.
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On a recent ordinary night of driving my kids around to their activities, a soulful rendition of “Oh Come, Oh Come Emmanuel” came on the radio. I wasn’t prepared for my first Christmas song of the year! My heart instantly filled with the joy of the season, and tears came to my eyes - I didn’t plan on that wonderful spiritual experience.
Generally speaking though, Advent is a season of planning. We prepare gifts, special events, service projects, cards, and thoughtful gestures. We do everything we can to make sure the holidays will live up to our expectations.
When Mary and Joseph were busy preparing for the first Christmas – things didn’t go their way. In spite of their obedience to God, Joseph couldn’t prevent Mary from having to flee on a donkey, be rejected at the inn and give birth in a manger surrounded by animals. Yet in spite of adversity, they were able to experience the joyful arrival of Christ's presence in the world - can you imagine how wonderful that must have been?
As hard as we try to prepare for Christmas, things don’t always go our way either! The extra busy-ness can feel overwhelming, and personal struggles can feel more pronounced during this season that makes us long for the very best of life.
Through the holiday rush, final exams and whatever else you’re going through, I pray you can experience the wonder of Christ’s presence in ordinary moments and at the gatherings you work so hard to prepare for. I pray the true Spirit of the season is born in the manger of your heart and fills you with a deep sense of awe in who Jesus was, is and always will be. I pray you receive the gift of deep and lasting inner peace.
Isaiah 9:6: For a child will be born to us, a son will be given to us; and the government will rest on His shoulders; and His name will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace.
Have a question about a program or event going on in Campus Ministry? Got an idea for something you'd like to see happen? EMAIL US at ministry@sau.edu.
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Each month, Pope Francis chooses one specific intention, which he asks the Church to remember in prayer. Throughout 2021, Francis has chosen a variety of intentions including violence against women, environmental sustainability, social friendships and the fundamental rights of all human beings.
This month, Francis has asked that the Church keep in the heart of our prayer those who live and move through life experiencing depression and burn-out. It comes at such an appropriate time, I think - when the beautiful colors of fall give way to the blustery, dark days of the winter transition.
For many of us, these days leading up to Thanksgiving and, soon, Christmas break, are cause for excitement and the warm embrace of family and friends - but that is not the reality for all of us.
For good or ill, every transition into winter functions like a kind of time machine, taking us back to every other winter we have spent on this earth. For some, it is a reminder of the way life used to be, back when we lived with our families, and cinnamon rolls, roasted turkey and warm cider filled our senses.
For others, this time of year is a reminder of the way life should have been but never really was - those who have looked all their lives through other people’s windows and at other people’s families, always peering in but never an insider.
Mix this time of year with the reality of those who live and move through life with depression, whether that be seasonal or always, and this time of year can be difficult, sad and lonely. So it is good that we, as a St. Ambrose community, are called to hold in our hearts and in our prayers the people we know and the people we do not, who are affected by depression.
“Sadness, apathy, and spiritual tiredness can end up dominating people’s lives,” Pope Francis shared at the beginning of this month referring to “people who are overloaded due to the rhythm of life today.” As we spend time offering our prayers for our brothers and sisters who find themselves in this reality, might we also be encouraged to reach out and offer our own hearts and our own love. “Often,” Francis added, “we should just simply listen in silence because we cannot go and tell someone, ‘No, life’s not like that. Listen to me, I’ll give you the solution.’”
In the midst of our shared human experience, we can offer a simple, quiet reminder that no one is alone, that there is room at our tables for everyone.
If it is you, who finds yourself in the midst of depression or burn-out or loneliness, please know you have a community of people here at Saint Ambrose that hold you so closely to our hearts. And however far from home you are this time of year, however less than ideal your circumstances might seem right now, you are not alone. You are not. You are seen. You are heard. You are loved. And we will hold the astonishing light of your own being for you when you cannot.
