Just the title of this post evokes images of windblown heather and weathered wooden buildings, cloudy skies and faces red from the cold. It's finally getting chilly in Southern California, and the familiar nostalgia is creeping in along with the cold. Advent is just beginning, the season of the liturgical year in which we prepare our hearts for the birth of Christ which we will celebrate on December 25th.
Many of us will recall stories of the Christ-Child being born into the world on a cold winter night, in a stable surrounded by simple animals and laid in a manger filled with straw. Ironic, that a God who is everything and has need of nothing, rich and complete in Himself, would suffer to descend from perfection to our humbled human state, and furthermore to be born into a poor family. His Love for us is so great that He comes to us as a tiny, vulnerable little baby, in poverty and humility. If this were not enough, he later sacrifices His Life for us on the Cross, and rises from the Dead to secure our salvation. What wondrous love is this, o my soul!
I recently watched a film in which a woman's journey with a terminal illness was documented, and I was amazed by her courage and perseverance in the face of such a debilitating disease. She walked, gardened, cooked, and spent hours with her family despite her pain, instead of throwing in the proverbial towel, lying down and waiting to die. Seeing her cheerfulness amid such intense pain, and her determination to do as much as possible, while being honest with her loved ones about her limits, I feel inspired to live in the same spirit. In the past month, I have seen many wonderful examples of living, even as we are dying, for this world is not forever. There is life beyond the grave, and if we welcome Jesus, our infant King, into our hearts, we can spend it with Him.
This Advent, I am planning on spending more time with God in prayer, and I feel inspired to do more good works, especially since I will not have the obligation of schoolwork in two weeks' time. The usual caroling at nursing homes is always an option, one that I will have the joy of sharing with my choir this year. I also enjoy delivering food to families in the neighborhood who might not be able to afford a Christmas dinner.
However, I feel like doing more this year - when I see advertisements for warm clothing, I think of those who are dressed in rags; those who have no shoes, or shoes too thin to keep out the cold. When I think of what I might like to buy for myself because it would be helpful, I ask myself if I really need it, or if I can give something out of what I already have and buy that item to give to someone who has nothing. Even if I only have a couple hundred dollars in the bank, I have a place to sleep, clothes to wear and food to eat. Some people do not have these basic luxuries, to say nothing of a loving family. I want to give until it hurts.
Wait a minute, where does it say in the rules of life that I should take care of all my own needs before helping another? You know, I don't think there is such a requirement. Even in my relative poverty, there are incredible numbers of people with far less than I have. I feel that I should share with them, in the spirit of poverty. Our Lord said,"Whatever you do for the least of these brothers of mine, you do it for Me."
So this Christmas, I am going to give baby Jesus a special present. Not something shiny and generic that I bought in a store, but something that I can give, from my heart. First and foremost, that means honoring Him in my life by worship and practice of virtue/avoidance of sin, and next that means loving the poorest of the poor, those who feel unwanted, unloved and alone. The world may scorn our simple actions, and there may be social norms regarding giving to charities and other public practices of giving "to the less fortunate," but I propose that we be more like a "secret Santa" this Christmas and do something quietly to help someone else, with no reward (not even a tax deduction!) and no strings attached . This will be my Advent mission.
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