We start Advent with a heavenly command: we ought to read the heavens, and as a follow-up, we should read the aches and pains of our souls and hearts.
Scary signs unrelated to the world’s end will appear in the sun, moon, and stars. They display your values, idols, health, and expectations when they fail.
Luke takes us by the hand, leading us out the front door to look up, to perceive the cosmos pulsating around us, immense life that pangs and squirms like a woman in labor (Is 13:8) because life is coming.
With every dramatic description, there follows a breaking point, a hairpin turn that opens the horizon, a redirection through hope, and everything changes: “But you rise up and lift your heads; liberation is near.”
We find comfort in “the same old things,” including our shortcomings and addictions, becoming numb to the newness God has for us on our path. Wake up and look upward again.
Even in history’s chaos and my personal storms, the wind of God is thrusting my sailing ship. I will only evolve and grow through the pangs of experiencing my celestial bodies going dark, which signals that I need to stand before Jesus for a profound renewal.
Mary became the Mother of God by embracing change and responding to God’s call. She said, “I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be done according to your word.”
Mary’s Advent welcomed Jesus; grace will flow abundantly if we follow her example.