Christmas as Pilgrimage
The Christian tradition of Advent transforms the days leading up to Christmas into a journey, a pilgrimage of sorts filled with sacred encounters. A quietness, like the snow muffling sound, settles into our souls.
Many of us begin early in December with confession, a cleaning out and purging of our souls. For me, this is a painful process of combing through the events of the previous year, acknowledging the times my actions caused distance between myself and others, between myself and God. With these fresh in my mind I enter the church with a hundred others for the Sacrament of Reconciliation. We wait in line silently together, waiting for our turn with the priest, our moment of humility and truth. For this sliver of time, we stop bullshitting ourselves. We look into the mirror and wash a year’s worth of grime from our faces. All of us, even the swaggering teenagers, leave changed: radiant and childlike.
The preparation of our homes is, ideally, an outward expression of our inner preparation. Our newly clean souls are ready for the coming of the Christ-child, ready for the comforting touches that welcome him. We light a fire in the hearth of our hearts, warming and lighting the space within. We hang a few greens to brighten and freshen the space. The Advent candles remind us to prioritize a particular virtue each week: hope, love, joy, and peace. We remember what we aspire to, even in our weakness.
Our gift giving is an expression of love for those dear to us, small tokens of the affection that so often get buried in the bustle of daily life. Not a transaction, but an offering of sorts – peace offerings meant to smooth the jagged edges of life or bridge a divide.
We end this pilgrimage a little better, a little softer, a little more awake. Howard Thurman, African-American educator, theologian, and civil rights leader writes, “Now the work of Christmas begins…” May I suggest that the work of Christmas is to see Christ shining out of every pair of eyes. Every pair. As Joan Osborne sang, “What if God were one of us? Just a slob like one of us? Just a stranger on the bus, trying to make his way home.”
Not safely sterilized and ensconced in gold on an altar, but in everyone: the children in Gaza, the migrants, the houseless folks on the sidewalk. We couldn’t possibly bomb them or shun them or ignore them. My God, everything would change.