Tempus Adventus

 Advent is upon us:  a threshold recalling us to Bethlehem, hard to fathom as parties, shopping and benevolence dominate. Nevertheless, it offers us the opportunity to renew our faith, which involves rethinking our traditions, especially our Christmas crib, increasingly replaced by decorations that ignore this season’s worthiness, which intends to awaken us to a hope rooted in faith.

 This hope underlined by the enactment of the Christmas crib at Greccio, which was not a romanticised version of Bethlehem: it offered those present an opportunity to understand the manger as preparatory to comprehending the cross, itself fundamental to being childlike. We are, therefore, invited to grasp the significance of Paul’s affirmation: “In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus, who being in the very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men” (Philippians 2, 5-7). 

Attitude, underlined by experience, witnesses the truthfulness or the falsehood of any claim to a maturing childlikeness. If self-centred, it is foolish to claim it because being childish does not mean I am childlike: some do not distinguish between the two! Childlikeness reveals discipleship: a lived-out self-emptying (Kenosis) witnessing the intention to take up the cross and follow in the Magister’s footsteps (Matthew 18,24-26), which helps us to realise what our life is about by permitting us to enjoy the Shalom – the restfulness – of encountering the Magister when mirroring His presence. Discipleship is for adults: “When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things” (1Corinthians 13,11), which entails integrating the beatitudes by living them (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2012-2015). 

A benchmark of adulthood, even if not readily emphasised, concerns the ability to embrace others with tolerance, indicative of a maturing faith that isn’t threatened by those who are different or by those who disclaim it. This ability entails confronting ingrained prejudices: only when these are resolved can we share our Magister’s intimacy with those who seek it in us. The example set by the Magister concerning the woman who loved much demands it (Luke 7,36-50). Contrarily, enslaved by fear, discipleship degenerates into a spiritual neurosis. If this is the case, then discipleship proves but a pier: a disappointed bridge that leads nowhere. Of course, we can convince ourselves otherwise, but as Dostoyevsky points out, “lying to ourselves is more deeply ingrained than lying to others” (Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment).

Tolerance is expressive of ‘Kenosis’ (Self-Emptying) as a means to practice ‘Agape’ (Committed love). Although words matter, their significance is unknown unless practised: nowhere is this more significant than when we speak of tolerance as fundamental to our self-understanding. Measuring our words, although not readily admitted, we often say more when we say less and thus, it’s worthwhile to weigh Wittgenstein’s observation: “Whereof one cannot speak, there one must be silent” (Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, Prop. 7). 

Yes, silence plays its part when speaking of tolerance, because it permits us to observe how intolerance prohibits us from putting things right, which necessarily entails a practised ‘Metanoia’: in other words, the possibility to look at others differently. This insight recalls a deeper self-understanding illumined by my conversion, which integrates the wisdom of the Magister’s insightful advice: “How can you say to your brother, ‘Brother, let me remove the speck that is in your eye,’ when you do not see the plank in your eye” (Luke 6,42). We hear these words repeatedly, but we should not presume that we practice them:  their practice is feasible when we realise that unless the Lord builds the house, we labour in vain because the Magister’s presence enriches our understanding (Psalm 127). 

Advent is a time of expectation, inviting us to review our agendas and how deeply  they are actually focused on the Magister. The surrounding decorations can blur the stars beyond and cage us in a senseless sentimentality. Instead, we are invited to recognise the Magister and let Him be our lighthouse, defining our paths. Moving on, we embrace a newness rooted in the cross: from Bethlehem to the empty tomb, we are invited to reinterpret our response to the Magister. 

Martin 


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