God Visits His People
In the bleak and dark days of winter, we rarely get unexpected visitors. When we do, the knock on the front door sends my dogs in a frenzy, barking their indignation that a stranger is on our doorstep. Our Australian shepherd darts around and won’t stop barking until I grab her collar, a tricky maneuver as she is slippery. Our golden retriever lopes around with a toy in his mouth hoping to meet a new friend.
A daunting memory from twenty years ago lurks in the back of my mind. Our golden retriever was sweet and calm, thank God. I had just put my twins down for a morning nap and the house was a mess. Not a little mess that people understand. It was “the upside down” of Stranger Things kind of mess. I drank my coffee in my pink fuzzy bathrobe and, behold, I heard a knock at my back door. The family of five was getting drenched in the pouring rain as they smiled and waved at me. They were in from out of town and my husband, who was at work, forgot to tell me they were coming by for a visit. I’m pretty certain that the blood drained from my face and panic set in. I had no choice but to let them in. Come in, I thought to myself, to this disaster that I call home as I look for a rock to crawl under. They gracefully acted as if nothing was amiss.
Why, do you ask, am I telling this story on Christmas Eve? God visited his people, Isaiah tells us. Except now, it’s not so unexpected. Or is it? In the darkness of winter and whatever mess we find ourselves in, it’s an amazing time to ponder the birth of Jesus.
“All the ends of the earth can see the salvation of our God,” proclaims Isaiah (52:10). And so we gaze upon the creche in wonder and awe at this vulnerable Savior of the world. The Antiphon exhorts, “Arise, my beloved, my beautiful one, come!” And I look around and wonder at the invitation that arises from deep within.
I keep a safe distance, even at Christmas, from the baby born in a manger, all human and completely divine. Am I worthy to approach and touch the Lord? (think clean, pure, freshly swept - not my home that morning.) I ponder my own weaknesses, my imperfections, my sin. Am I good enough to walk toward this God of love who invites me to sit close? Deep down, I fear the exposure as I get closer. My flaws and poor choices revealed in the light. So I sit apart, wrestling with the contradictions I carry.
Fr. Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest and contemplative, wrote about these contradictions within ourselves:
We must first be willing to admit the contradictions inside us, and still let God love us in that partial state. Once we agree to see our own shadow side, our own foolishness, our own sin and still know that God has not abandoned us, we become a living paradox that reveals the goodness of God….Once we know that God lives inside our contradictions, and God’s love is not dependent on our perfection, then other peoples’ contradictions don’t scandalize us or surprise us anymore. Henceforward we can be much more patient and compassionate with others because we have allowed God to do the same with us!...
I am a mass of contradictions and yet I am also a saint. I am a very good person, and I am also a sinful person. I get it and yet I oppose it too. Are both of those true? Yes, both are always and forever true, and for some wonderful reason that is what God loves. Faith is to personally surrender to such a mystery – not on a theoretical level, but right inside ourselves on a daily level.
…We all “know the mystery of salvation by the forgiveness of sin,” as St. Luke said (1:77), because forgiveness is not something God does, it is who God is. There is probably no other way to understand God’s nature except to daily stand under the waterfall of divine mercy and then become conduits of the same flow. (Preparing for Christmas: Daily Meditations for Advent, pp 51-53)
Knowing that God loves my contradictions helps me. I don’t need to wait for some miracle of transformation before I draw closer to Jesus, fuzzy robe and all. I can trust in this flow of divine mercy that touches even me. Whatever it is, God wants me near. I will remember that, when the next visitor comes to my door.
