An Apology and an Offering of Reparation
Technology has not been my friend this week. I haven’t been much of a friend to myself either. My computer crashed and died this weekend, taking my unsaved essay for this newsletter with it. The essay was nearly 3,000 words, and how I managed to write that much without making sure it was backed up to the Cloud can only be explained by the craziness of Thanksgiving Prep and still having some brain fog from our bout of Covid this month. It’s not a good excuse, but it’s all I’ve got. There is no way I can replicate it or write another 3,000 word essay before the end of the month. I am so, so very sorry.
To try to make it up to you, though, over the next four Sundays, I will share, just for paying subscribers, a mini Advent retreat I put together a couple years ago. It’s as simple of a retreat as you could ask for, just a short reflection, with accompanying reflection questions.These reflections have been previously published, but most of you won’t have seen them, so hopefully, they will be of some help to you as we journey through the next four weeks. I’ll also do the full December newsletter, with links and recipes, as planned. Once my new computer arrives.
Here is the first week’s reflection
Week 1: Darkness
“The night is far gone, the day is near.” (Rom 13:12)
Once, long ago, the world was black as night. The sun still shone above, but inside the hearts of men, all was dark.
That darkness was the darkness of a soul with no hope for heaven. The gates to Paradise had long since been closed. Death, sorrow, and loss were everywhere. Sin was everywhere. And there was no way out.
Unlike now, there was no Baptism to restore God’s life to the soul, no Confession to wipe the soul’s slate clean, no Eucharist to strengthen men in goodness and grace. Nor were there any images of God, dying on a cross for love of us, to comfort and console.
In that dark night, atonement was impossible; on their own, men could do nothing to repair the damage done by sin, both to the world and to their own hearts. Redemption seemed more impossible; no matter how people tried, they couldn’t make themselves whole; they couldn’t stop breaking themselves and the world over and over and over again. Because of that, despair was the lot of mankind.
Of all the peoples of the earth, however, one hoped for something more: Israel. Israel knew God had promised a redeemer. The Lord had made a covenant with His people, and they trusted He would keep word.
He did. A babe was born. And dark became light.
Every Advent, the Church calls us to look back on the world’s dark night, and to remember both the people who walked in that darkness—their grief, their confusion, their desperation—and the people who hoped in the midst of that darkness. She calls us to contemplate just how black and bleak the world must have seemed and ponder how even a shred of hope helped people endure that night.
She also calls us to remember our own dark nights—the moments when sin or grief or fear surrounded us. To stare, even for a moment, into the blackness of the past—the world’s and our own—is to realize just how beautifully blinding the light of Christ is.
But darkness doesn’t just belong to the past. For each of us, somewhere in our hearts or lives, it lingers. There’s always a door we’ve slammed shut against Christ, a space in our heart we won’t let Him enter. And the darkness that abides within that space robs us of the fullness of joy the babe in Bethlehem came to bring.
Don’t let it linger any longer.
This Advent, look at the darkness you can’t shake: the secret sin or deep-seeded fear, the persistent anxiety or reoccurring doubt, the toxic relationship or the deadly habit, the grudging resentment or the unfounded guilt, the all-consuming anger or the persistent bitterness. Whatever it is, look at the darkness straight on. Acknowledge it. Name it. Confess it. Then, invite Christ into it. Whisper or shout or cry “Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus!” Ask Him to light up the darkness in your life with His mercy and illuminate the shadowy corners of your soul with His love.
Jesus didn’t come to bring light to a generic world. He came to bring light to your world. He came to bring light to you. Open the door.
Questions for Reflection
1. What has been the darkest time in your life?
2. Did you have hope in the midst of that darkness?
3. How has having hope in times of darkness changed your experience of the darkness?
4. When you look into the darkest part of your heart now, what do you see there?
5. What is holding you back from letting Christ into that darkness? What, if anything, do you fear losing?
6. How does that lingering darkness affect the way you love others and serve Christ.