the creator of the universe comes to us in smallness...

The late Henri Nouwen, wounded healer and spiritual friend to all who stumble

and try again, began one of his Advent reflections like this:

A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom. The spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him. Isaiah 11:1-2

These words from last night's liturgy have stayed with me during the day. Our salvation comes from something small, tender, and vulnerable, something hardly noticeable. God, who is the Creator of the Universe, comes to us in smallness, weakness, and hiddenness. I find this a hopeful message. Somehow, I keep expecting loud and impressive events to convince me and others of God's saving power; but over and over again I am reminded that spectacles, power plays, and big events are the ways of the world. Our temptation is to be distracted by them and made blind to the "shoot that shall sprout from the stump." When I have no eyes for the small signs of God's presence - the smile of a baby, the carefree play of children, the words of encouragement and gestures of love offered by friends - I will always remain tempted to despair.

I like when Nouwen is clear - and small. He helps me most when he doesn't try too hard. I under-stand the desire/need to sound smart. Or wise. Or at the very least helpful. Those of us who know shame and failure often over compensate in public. It rarely makes things better. There`s a place for highbrow talk and if it is your cup of tea and station in life, go for it. Most of the time, however, simple is better. Or, as I sometimes sing: small is holy. (I get this wrong AT LEAST as much as I get it right, too!) 

This week I want to take another small step into centering prayer and silence. I am aware that I am my own worst enemy when it comes to being still. I can find a thousand tasks - or distractions - on any given day to keep me from resting into God`s quiet grace. And the vast majority of those diversions will be worthwhile, too. Cynthia Bourgeault tells the story of Fr. Thomas Keating who was steadfast and demanding concerning nourishing the contemplative spirit. "Even if the Blessed Virgin Mary should come to you with an urgent insight while you are in prayer," he used to tell his students, "simply tell her, 'Not now, sweetie, I have to get in my 20 minutes. See you soon.'" I have been creeping up on going deeper for the past three weeks of our Celtic Advent pilgrimage. Now, like Pere Henri, "the small child of Bethlehem,"

... the unknown young man of Nazareth, the rejected preacher, the naked man on the cross asks for my full attention. The work of our salvation takes place in the midst of a world that continues to shout, scream, and overwhelm us with its claims and promises. But the promise is hidden in the shoot that sprouts from the stump, a shoot that hardly anyone notices.

And so we return and... begin again. Here is a link to my live-streaming reflection from this morning. https://fb.watch/23QIMKYRo3/