“Where is the newborn king of the Jews?”
How do I seek out the Lord? What is the best way for me to draw closer to Him?
Jesus, show me the paths that lead me to you. 
 
“We saw his star at its rising and have come to do him homage.”
What beacons of light and hope shine in my life?  Am I actually looking for them? Who are the people that lead me to Christ?
Lord, thank you for the people you put in my life—family, friends, spiritual leaders, and fellow pilgrims.  Help us to find ways to strengthen each other in our journey toward you.
 
“And you, Bethlehem, land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; since from you shall come a ruler, who is to shepherd my people Israel.”
Whom do I say Jesus is?  What does his birth mean to me?  In all the noise and clutter of this world, am I taking enough time to reflect on life’s most important questions?
Jesus, in your mercy and love, continue to guide me toward my life’s purpose.  Give me the courage to do Your will.
 
“And behold, the star that they had seen at its rising preceded them, until it came and stopped over the place where the child was.”
Whom do I follow?  What things or ideas do I pay most attention to?  What are the signs that point me to you?
God, help me to recognize you in all things.  Teach me how to stay focused on what is holy and good.  Remind me to look for your light when faced with difficult situations or decisions.  Guide my thoughts and actions.
 
“They were overjoyed at seeing the star, and on entering the house they saw the child with Mary, his mother.”
In what ways can I model the Holy Family?
Jesus, help me to choose happiness.  Let me be content with the person I am; the person you created. Help me to accept the circumstances of my life with joy. 
 
“Then they opened their treasures and offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.”
What are the things I value most?  Do I take those “treasures” for granted?  How can I show gratitude for my life?
Lord, thank you for loving me.  Help me follow you faithfully.  Continue to show me ways in which I can be a gift for others.  You are my treasure.  Amen.
 
Sally Meyer
 
 
 

Not long ago, I sat in my New Testament Greek class listening to my teacher discuss parousia. In a few concise, but loaded words, parousia, the Greek version of the Latin advent, means “coming,” “arrival” and also “presence.”  How strange that this word can simultaneously refer to something that has happened, is yet to happen and now is. Jesus is, has come. Jesus is coming. Jesus is always here.
 
This thought also led me to another thought … that of babies. I have had three of them. As each baby grew inside, I could feel its flutters and turnings under a hand on my belly, the shallow depth of stretched muscle, membrane and skin. There was a thin veil of separation between us, a bit of human flesh. But a baby was on its way. This child I’d never met was right there within me and not yet arrived.
 
Every parent knows the thrill of first seeing a long awaited child. It is pure amazement, even if the baby bears striking resemblance to mother or father. There is familiarity, but in a previously unknown and unique package … a fresh and unexpected revelation. In the months and years to come, we see more of this one who is always present to us, but whose depth and complexity grows ever more richly apparent.
 
Recently, I heard a priest talking about a part of the Mass (epiclesis) where he invokes Christ’s presence upon the Communion elements and bells ring to signify the moment. He said that when he was a little boy sitting in the pew, his mother would tell him, “When you hear the bells, Jesus is coming.” A day or two after I heard this, it dawned on me that epiclesis is a two-part Greek word. Epi, means “upon” or “on’. It indicates personal touching. Clesis is from ka-lei-o meaning “to call.” During the epiclesis, the priest calls for the real presence of Christ to come upon the bread and the wine … to touch it. The epiclesis happens in every Mass a million places around the world. It has been happening over and over for 2,000 years. Christ has come to us, but he is always still coming.
 
Like a baby whose arrival we await, Christ is in our midst and yet always about to arrive. “At present, we see indistinctly, as in a mirror …” (1 Corinthians 13:12). The veil of our human flesh prevents us from discerning the full revelation of him. And in his kindness, his own human flesh has veiled us from the burning brightness of His Majesty. Yet, as we call upon him in prayer, receive him in Communion, encounter him in Scripture, live in his Body, the Church, and are enlivened by the breath of his Spirit, we know him more … little by little. Christ is always coming to us until the day of his final coming when we will know him fully.

by Lisa D.

“When you are in deep darkness, even the smallest light seems bright.”
I look for light
I’m sure it’s there
Soft strands in people
In lives being lived
In brief moments
A crack of Light breaks through
And is magnified
Through people’s love
And kindness
Hope holds firm
In melodies
And words of songs
Christ is present in loving concern
In offerings of heart and self
In a hug
Christ is in the Light
Christ IS the Light
Find it, see it
Capture it, keep it
O Gentle Light
Guide my eyes to see
Help me find strength
In just a sliver
Shine in me, Christ Child
Through me, around me
Over me
Surround me, envelop me
Hold me, rest in me
Oh Desire of the Nations
Love me.
 
“God is Light; in Him there is no darkness.”
​

O God, I want to step into the light.  Take my hand, and draw me in.

Show me how to be confident in the ways I can love. 
Increase my desire to live out the potential that is hidden within my heart.

 You know these parts of me well.  Show me how to magnify your beauty.

In the light, I want to be able to stand with joy and gratitude that I am your creation, and you love every part of me.

O God, as I take that step out of darkness into the light, reveal what I need to see in myself.  Although I am vulnerable in this place, help me search for your mercy and love with confidence and trust.

With outstretched hands, I offer myself to you.  As my weaknesses are exposed in this gentle light, transform what is fragile into a blessing of courage and hope for others.

I surrender my will, asking you, O God, to help me embrace my true self.  Help me to see what you see.  Help me to love what you love.

In this Sacred Light, shining around me and through me, unite your heart and will with mine.  Amen.

By Sally Meyer

When we lose someone we love, questions seem to surface, Why did this have to happen to such a good person? Can I envision living my life differently with this new empty place? Do I really know God’s purpose for my life? Does what I do really matter?

I watched the rays of the sun reflect off the surface of the lake. As I sat at the edge of the water, I felt a deep sense of sadness and loss. I had just left the funeral of my close friend, Annie, and I wanted some time to be alone with my own thoughts. She loved nature, and I was taking the opportunity to reflect on how grateful I was to have known her.

Without focusing on anything in particular, I picked up a small pebble and threw it into the lake. I immediately noticed how the ripples formed a perfect circle and moved outward. I repeated the process several times. Each time I threw a rock (regardless of size), I was amazed at how large the circles of waves became and how long they lasted before they disappeared. It also occurred to me that when the ripples formed, they stayed in proportion to each other. As the waves moved in a steady rhythm on their journey outward, one ripple didn’t become misshapen or disconnected from the others.

My thoughts returned to Annie. Her life impacted so many people more than I will ever know. Just like the ripples of the waves spreading out, so does Annie’s beautiful example of love and faith. Her influence will always be felt by those who knew her and loved her.

Those moments sitting by the lake also reminded me of God’s providential care. Our lives are impacted by many things, good and bad. But just like the waves of circles in the water, God holds us steady and somehow keeps us connected with one another according to His will. While I may not always recognize and feel this, or understand fully, I believe it. Even in my sadness and grief, I know that I am included in an unending rhythm of God’s love and care. I am grateful that there is a merciful God who holds each human heart close to Himself, His Son, and His Spirit, all laboring to create harmony with what is and what is yet to be. In a mysterious, yet beautiful way, watching those waves helped me affirm my worth and purpose in this life and feel secure about Annie’s in the next.

I have lost a special friend. But by the grace of God, I am more at peace knowing that Annie and I remain connected in a beautiful circle that will be forever.

…Sally