Today is the first day of Advent, a time of penitential purple, fasting, stripping-down, detaching, preparing for the coming of the Lord. Traditionally, the Church speaks of two comings: at Christmas, His Incarnation as the baby Jesus, and the second coming at the end of time, as the King Jesus.
But I think there is a third coming, in between the first and second: His coming into each of us, individually. And this coming, though it has a beginning, the first moment of conversion, the first moment of faith, or, for a baby, the first moment of baptism, never ceases, is something meant to always grow. Why? Because Jesus is God. And God is infinite, His life an outpouring of divine love that gives rise to the Trinity and pours out to us through Jesus on the Cross - the reason why He came, was born, so He could die for us, pour out the life of God to us - and into us in the sacraments, especially the Eucharist. Jesus Incarnated in Mary, so He could Incarnate in us, through the Eucharist.
And He is the infinite God, so there is no end to His Incarnation in us. His presence begins in us, but never ends, should never cease to grow, if we are really giving ourselves and opening up ourselves, surrendering ourselves, to Him.
When I was growing up, my parents went to church, not a Catholic church because we weren't Catholic, but an Episcopalian church from which they eventually resigned, because of the even-then downward spiral of Episcopalianism. Maybe that is why the faith never "took" with me, why I never had a conversion experience when young: the EC even then was watered down, heartless, soulless, a mere husk of what Christianity is meant to be.
And Christmas for us was focused, not on the creation-altering Incarnation of God in Jesus, the interruption of normal time by the intrusion of the eternity of God in a mere babe, but on presents, material presents. Things. Dolls and dollhouses, bicycles, model car kits, modeling clay, all the things which feed a child's immediacy and fantasy. How our anticipation grew as the pile of presents under the tree grew, how the magicalness of the season flavored everything, the porcelain Christmas angels perched around our living room and the music box playing, the Santa Claus mugs on the table, the scent of pine.
And how we woke up early on Christmas morning, dragged a groggy mom and dad out of bed, and tore into our presents. Such thrill, such joy, as we shrieked "I got it! I got it!" when some coveted gift was discovered.
But what I remember most: after the presents were opened, explored, and played with. After everything was discovered and handled. After what had seemed like limitless treasures had turned into what was, after all, a very small pile of things whose limits were easily exhausted after the first hour of excitement. Afterward, there came the afternoon: the afternoon of Christmas day.
The afternoon of Christmas day, after the excitement had died down and there were no more presents to open, no more discoveries to be made. The candies had all been tasted, the wrapping paper all thrown away. And in its place: emptiness. Ennui.
Ennui is exactly the word: a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom. We had been satiated, and we found that our gifts, so exciting on Christmas morning, were just a small heap of meaningless things on Christmas afternoon - and did not satisfy, but left us bored, empty, irritable, longing for something else, something more.
It was not until a very long time later that I discovered that something more that we longed for, the thing that never wears out, never comes to end, only grows larger and deeper and more satisfying and unending the more you explore it - Him. And how our culture tries to cheat us of it - Him - with its suppression of public expressions of Christmas, and focus on the season as the Christmas shopping season. How we cheat and deprive ourselves of what the season actually is: the season of preparation for the coming of our Lord, the infinite God who has no end, as a babe in the commemoration of His birth, and in the anticipation of His second coming - and, for me, increasingly, my readiness for Him to enter me personally, more and more without end, as He does each day that I live and breathe on this earth since the day I came to faith in Him.
Presents are fine. I love giving gifts to those I love, and love receiving gifts. But material gifts are not what make us happy, and in the end leave us bored - because we are not made for finite things, but for the infinite, for God, Whom alone is Infinite, Whom alone can make us truly, lastingly, unendingly happy, because we never run out of Him to know, love, explore, imbibe, take in.
So as much as the "season" shrieks at us with premature light displays and shopping ads and sales, remember: this is not the Christmas season. This is the season of Advent, of preparation. And before you are tempted to throw your Christmas tree into the gutter on Christmas afternoon, please know: Only on Christmas Day does the season of Christmas begin. And when we know Him, it truly is a beginning, of a celebration of company with Him, and His presence growing in us, as we receive Him as a babe and again in the Eucharist, and pray for and await His final coming as King of all creation, prepared for as He enters and Incarnates and grows in us, much as He did in Mary but now in the Eucharist, soul by soul until the end of time and He finally comes in His fullness to fill all of creation for eternity.
Tonight, as I tasted His Body on my tongue and His Blood purpled my lips, I felt His presence enter me again, and grow even more, as it always should from our first moment of faith. And I knew, as I did not know as a child, but am so grateful to know now, why it is we celebrate Advent, and then the Christmas season. Christ is coming, has come, will continue to come, until finally He has come in all His fullness, all His humanity and Divinity has come, and filled every single bit of creation, every nook and cranny of our bodies and souls, with Himself, His presence and life and love. And then creation itself will be renewed, lifted up, into God.
And He is coming now, and we celebrate year by year by preparing, and then celebrating, the great Gift that God has made, is making, will always make without end or exhaustion or limit or boredom, of Himself to us in and through Jesus, as a babe, in the Eucharist, and as the coming King of all creation.
That is the meaning of Advent, and of Christmas, why we wait, why we prepare, and why, when He has come, we rejoice. There is no emptiness in Him, no limit or boundary or end, for He is the infinite God, and we will never run out of Him to explore, and taste, and learn about, and experience and express, from our first moment of faith through our daily Eucharist to His second coming and into all eternity.
Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus!
PS: This piece was inspired by this piece by Joseph Bottum of First Things, a worthy read.