Teresa of Avila’s theology offers an elevated, enticing vision of the human capacity for God. At the outset of The Interior Castle, she wrote: “It is a shame and unfortunate that through our own fault we don’t understand ourselves or know who we are—that is loved by God.” Spiritual self-knowledge includes both positive and negative qualities. It does not mean simply gathering information about ourselves, but seeing ourselves truly in the light of God which brings about humility, repentance, and joy.
Without a forgiveness great enough to embrace even the obscure side of things, we are burdened (and I do mean burdened) with our own need to explain and to judge everything. Who is right now? Who was wrong there? These are eventual and important moral questions, but we cannot, we dare not, lead with them. If we do, we make love and compassion impossible. This is the centrality, and yet unbelievability, of Jesus’ words, “Do not judge” (Matthew 7:1).
Groups of penitents existed before the Franciscans, and from the beginning, Francis and his brothers identified themselves as penitents from Assisi. Many individuals in these penitent groups desired to be associated with Francis and the brothers, and from this emerged what might be called the Franciscan penitential movement and eventually the Third Order. In a spontaneous response to Francis’ teaching about conversion, members of every social class were moved to a change of heart, to renounce sin and turn away from worldly concerns to serve the Lord in all states of life: cleric, religious, and lay. As Francis and the brothers reached out to them with admonitions and instructions on how to live the Gospel, groups of devout souls began to gravitate to the churches where the friars were located, turning to them for counsel, seeking a deeper understanding of the spiritual life.
The preaching and example of St. Francis exercised such a powerful attraction for people throughout Italy that many of the laity began to desire a deeper experience of God. Because they were bound by family responsibilities, Francis encouraged them to begin leading a Gospel-rooted life in their own homes or places of work, thus inspiring a new “third order” for the universal salvation of all people. Francis admonished them to live simply within the bonds of marriage, or singly, and to love and serve the Lord by serving their neighbor and participating more fully in the life of the Church.
Francis believed that without God we are nothing, and his rejection of wealth and power was a statement of his total dependence on God, the giver of all gifts, whose overflowing love is beyond our comprehension and who, as a Provident Father, is lavish in bestowing gifts on his children. Francis identified with the poor because he understood his own poverty, and he knew that without God he was utterly empty and could do nothing without God’s help. In renouncing his father’s wealth and his own patrimony he was free to be truly dependent on God. This was the source of his profound peace and joy. For Franciscans today, material poverty is not the greatest concern but rather an acknowledgment that their “poverty of being” is essential. Poverty exists first in the heart, or it doesn’t exist at all.
Mary knew who she was to the very depth of her being. She said yes to God and because of that, the world was turned upside down, or perhaps was finally righted. Mary’s is her testimony to the way God intended the world to be from the beginning. Because she said yes, a new creation would be revealed to the world. This woman at the heart of the Advent season is a remarkable role model for us. We might not realize it, but we, too, are filled with God’s grace, even if that grace is clouded and obscured by sin. Mary may have been born knowing who she was, but we are given many opportunities to learn the marvelous truth that we are sons and daughters of God. At times, we mistake humility for inferiority, but in truth humility means knowing who we are, with all our strengths and weaknesses, gifts and gaps. Our job is to clear away those things that keep us from saying yes to God. If we focus only on what’s missing, we miss the beauty that’s already there. As we become more and more clear, we better reflect and magnify the Lord who has given us all that we have, made us all that we are (and can be). And here, too, we can learn from Mary. Again and again, the Gospels tell us that she treasured everything in her heart, pondering the meaning of the angel’s words—and later those of her precocious child. She must have spent long days and even sleepless nights wondering where his adult path would lead him. But through all of ponderings, she knew in her heart that she could trust the God to whom she had said yes. How do you show forth the glory of God to those around you? Pray these words with Mary: My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior. (Luke 1:46–47) We’ll never be asked to do what Mary did. Her role in salvation history was unique. But God asks us to have her openness to those things that we are called to do. Take some time even in this hectic week to reflect on your life—past, present, and future—and listen for how God is asking you to make things right in your little corner of the world.
On this day, the Church focuses especially on the newborn Child, God become human, who embodies for us all the hope and peace we seek. We need no other special saint today to lead us to Christ in the manger, although his mother Mary and Joseph, caring for his foster-son, help round out the scene.
But if we were to select a patron for today, perhaps it might be appropriate for us to imagine an anonymous shepherd, summoned to the birthplace by a wondrous and even disturbing vision in the night, a summons from an angelic choir, promising peace and goodwill. A shepherd willing to seek out something that might just be too unbelievable to chase after, and yet compelling enough to leave behind the flocks in the field and search for a mystery.
On the day of the Lord’s birth, let’s let an unnamed, “non-celebrity” at the edge of the crowd model for us the way to discover Christ in our own hearts—somewhere between skepticism and wonder, between mystery and faith. And like Mary and the shepherds, let’s treasure that discovery in our hearts.
Reflection
The precise dating in the Scripture readings for today sounds like a textbook on creationism. If we focus on the time frame, however, we miss the point. It lays out the story of a love affair: creation, the deliverance of the Hebrews from slavery in Egypt, the rise of Israel under David. It climaxes with the birth of Jesus. Some scholars insist that from the beginning God intended to enter the world as one of us, the beloved people. Praise God!
Zechariah and Elizabeth prayed throughout their married lives for the Lord to bless them with children. To have those prayers answered when it seemed far too late for them to be fulfilled must have seemed at first like a cruel joke, a message that was too little and too late. We can understand Zechariah’s doubting the angel’s word. Even if Elizabeth bore a child at such an advanced age, he couldn’t imagine seeing that child grow up and fulfill the destiny promised by the angel. In spite of the face that he had been a holy priest all his life, serving daily in the Temple, this promise seemed too far beyond his ability to believe. It may have been a relief for Zechariah and Elizabeth to withdraw from the busyness of Temple life for a time, he in his imposed silence, she in the wonder of the new life growing in her womb. In the face of great mystery, silence might be the only authentic response. And too often the chatter of outsiders and the gossip of those who only half understand what’s going on can be wearing and stressful. We live in a world where the most intimate sides of people’s lives can be broadcast to the world, with or without their consent. We forget that everyone has a right to privacy and personal time away from prying eyes and babbling gossip. This isn’t a new phenomenon, but technology has vastly enlarged the concept of the village gossip. The pain of infertility is something that many people struggle with, often privately and silently. We need to guard against making assumptions (even judgments) about couples with no children. Allow people to share the intimate details of their lives if and when they choose. There are many good and personal reasons for choosing to raise children, just as there here are many other ways to be fruitful and life-giving. Sometimes silence is indeed golden. Read the story of the announcement of the birth of John the Baptist (Luke 1:5–25) and reflect on the many emotions the characters must have experienced. What memories from your own life does this story awaken?
