Making Room

 You may have noticed this blog doesn't really track well with the liturgical calendar. I miss feast days all the time, and my knowledge of ecclesiology is limited, so I tend to just stick to what I know and write about that. I figured there is no shortage of Advent reflections, etc, at the Register and other more mainstream Catholic sites. 

Unfortunately this Advent we've had a number of timed gut punches, from the answers to the TC dubia last week, to our entire family coming down with Covid, my father getting hit by a car, and various other distractions and emergent issues. Despite all that, we're trying to look on the bright side of things--we are all together, we have enough groceries for now, and we seem to be on the upswing. Since we have chosen to quarantine, we will not be able to attend Christmas Mass, which is a real bummer, since I don't know if we've ever missed it. 

We don't get sick very often. Yesterday I was on the couch all day in and out of a sweatful sleep, and recalled St. Ignatius's story. From the Fr. Hardon archives:

He was a soldier by profession and, as later on he would at such length explain to his followers, God would do the most unexpected and unpleasant things in order to bring a soul to Himself. In Ignatius’ case, he was fighting a war against the French. During a battle at Pamplona he was badly wounded; one of his legs was quite shattered. Incidentally the Spaniards, once Ignatius was wounded, fled. (He was their leader). This led into months of convalescence; his convalescence converted him. You might say the Society of Jesus was born on a sick bed. He was a great reader of the romances of those days. Now that, by the way, is really something because he was wounded on May 20th (everybody remembers the date), 1521. Print was discovered in the late fifteenth century and yet, already, by 1521 there were, of all things, all kinds of novels in print. There is no doubt that the manner of his conversion, not just the fact but the manner, decided the nature of the order that he would found and the kind of spirituality that he would teach.

He wanted novels, but they just didn’t have them; it was a poorly stocked library. All they had was a Life of Christ and a book on the lives of the saints. The Life of Christ changed Ignatius’ life, and for the rest of his days his spirituality was, in the deepest sense, Christocentric. Unlike so many other great spiritual masters, for Ignatius the spiritual life is identified with a Person. He was no theologian; his vocabulary was very limited; his figures of speech were sometimes infantile, but he fell in love with Christ, and that made Ignatius and Ignatian spirituality. 

There is something about convalescence that strips you down and makes room for, well, just "being". St. Alphonsus quotes St. John of the Cross on this matter. "

"St. John of Avila once wrote to a sick priest: “My dear friend, -- Do not weary yourself planning what you would do if you were well, but be content to be sick for as long as God wishes. If you are seeking to carry out God’s will, what difference should it make to you whether you are sick or well[66]?’’ The saint was perfectly right, for God is glorified not by our works, but by our resignation to, and by our union with, his holy will. In this respect St. Francis de Sales used to say we serve God better by our sufferings than by our actions."

Thank God. Last year was such a busy year on a lot of fronts that I made a resolution this year to strip out as much as I could that wasn't necessary so we had more bandwidth for family, service, and just the 'white space' of availability. 

In many ways, as we lead up to Christmas, the traveling Mary and Joseph found a place that had "no room for them." (Lk 2:7). Although we don't want to be sick any longer than God wills, it's probably a gift in disguise, this "gift of room" where we can't do much but, well, exist. 

The birthplace of our Lord was an unexpected one, that fit into the Divine plan perfectly but on the surface seemed accidental, offensive and unduly human--straw, animal dung, a stable, a manger outside the inn. None of this kept the Lord God from accomplishing His work of salvation in history. Nothing happens apart from His will. In the manger moments, all you can do is sit in speechless adoration. Even the gentile Zoroastrians knew there was something special happening here in Bethlehem and worshipped. 

Thank you Lord for health. Thank you for sickness. Thank you for giving, thank you for taking. Thank you for loving us, for subjecting yourself to our level. Thank you for saving us by your grace, your Son, our Savior and our salvation. Amen.