The Fourth Sunday of Advent (Year C)
Micah 5: 1-4a; Hebrews 10: 5-10; Luke 1: 39-45
Have you packed the car yet to go over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house? If that’s where you’ll find yourself over the next two weeks, you’re in good company. According to AAA, more than 109 million people will travel this holiday season – from December 21st to January 1st. That’s more than three times more Americans, or 27.7 million more people who’ll be packing the sleigh this Christmas to visit relatives or friends than did last year.
Visiting . . .
Children may be expecting a “visit” that results in toys under the tree next Saturday morning. And adults, well, we anticipate a visit from a letter carrier bringing credit card bills over the next couple of weeks. But we make Christmas visits (whether it’s across the country or down the street) because we want to be near one another, close to one another at this special time of the year.
The gospel today begins with a visit: “Mary set out and traveled to the hill country in haste . . .” Despite her own pregnancy and despite the angelic proclamation that she was the one who had been chosen from the beginning of time to be the mother of the Son of God, Mary left her home in Nazareth and went to Ein Karem to visit her older and also pregnant, relative, Elizabeth. The distance between the two villages is roughly 100 miles. Ein Karem is on the outskirts of Jerusalem and is about 2,474 feet above sea level, while Nazareth is at 1,138 feet. This means Mary had to trek uphill nearly 1,336 feet in elevation! Besides the physical toll it must have taken on the newly pregnant Virgin Mary, the path she took had many hidden dangers. The dirt path that wound through the mountainous region is believed to have been a popular place for bandits, who would surprise unsuspecting travelers.
This encounter between these two pregnant women is called the Visitation and is recalled, not only on this Fourth Sunday of Advent, but also on May 31st, the Feast of the Visitation, and each time we pray the Joyful Mysteries of the Rosary. Mary, literally, brings Jesus to another, as she carries him in her womb and goes to her cousin. This is a great story for us to hear just before Christmas, the feast that celebrates the greatest visit in human history: God visiting his people, in Christ, some 2000 years ago. Not through a vision, not through a prophet, not by email: this wasn’t a “virtual visit” this was a visit in the flesh, in real time. God’s visiting the world began in just the same way our coming into the world began: through the door of a mother’s womb.
We’ve all heard a pregnant woman tell us, “I just felt the baby kick!” That’s what Elizabeth told Mary when she said, “As soon as I heard your voice, the child within me leaped for joy!” Elizabeth was carrying the child who would become John the Baptist, Christ's cousin, and in her heart she already understood who the Child who’d come to visit her in Mary’s womb was.
At Christmas we celebrate Christ who came to visit us. And Christ is a visitor who stayed not for just a day or two; in fact, not even a lifetime was long enough for him. Jesus didn’t just “stop by.” Christ moved in . . . He moved into humankind, into our history, into our hearts and our hopes, our problems and our pain; our worries and our wounds; our dreams and our desires; into our past, our present and our future. Jesus came to visit - and has never, not even for moment, left us.
Christmas is a time for renewing family relationships and friendships, a time when we try to be especially warm and welcoming of one another - even of the stranger. It’s a time to be especially warm in welcoming Jesus, too, and to welcome him to visit in those places in our hearts and lives where perhaps in the past we've told him in one way or another, “Sorry, there’s no room in the inn for you here.”
Jesus is a good and gentle guest: He comes with love and mercy and with peace. He doesn't leave those under a tree or stuffed in a stocking. He leaves them in our hearts. He knows our hearts’ desires and wants to fulfill the deepest needs we have.
For the past four weeks, as we’ve lit our Advent candle, we sang “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” And He has. Jesus is Emmanuel, God-with-us. He is no overnight guest. He is the God who stays. Stays . . . to share our joys. Stays . . . to share our sorrows. Stays . . . when we need Him most. Stays . . . when we don’t even know He’s around. Stays . . . at the times we beg Him to be there. Stays . . . even at the times when, through our sinful acts, we’ve asked him to leave. He stays . . . never distant . . . sometimes quiet. He stays . . . sometimes making His presence known in the loud, the dramatic, the miraculous. He stays . . . sometimes His presence is so subtle and unnoticed that we chalk up the things He does for us as mere coincidence. He stays . . . He visits . . . He ransoms . . . He redeems. He is the guest of our soul . . . The guest who refuses to leave.
And so, in this week that will culminate in the celebration of His nativity, let us pray: Maranatha, come Lord Jesus! Come into our hearts! Come into our souls! Come into our lives!
Maranatha, come Lord Jesus! Come to the world as King of the nations where we wage war against the empires and kingdoms of this world.
Maranatha, come Lord Jesus! Come into our suffering as Savior and Comforter where we languish in sickness and sorrow.
Maranatha, come Lord Jesus! Come into our conflict as Prince of Peace where we sorrow with quarrel and strife.
Maranatha, come Lord Jesus! Come to our families as Heavenly Father and Holy Brother where we wrestle with relationships broken and ragged.
Maranatha, come Lord Jesus!
Come, O Wisdom from our Most High God!
Come, O Leader of the House of Israel!
Come, O Root of Jesse’s Stem!
Come, O Key of David!
Come, O Radiant Dawn!
Come, O King of all nations!
Come, O Emmanuel!
Come, O God-with-us and give us Christmas peace and Christmas hope and Christmas love and Christmas joy. Come, O Sacred Visitor . . . Come, O Divine Gift wrapped in an infant’s body. Come, O Christmas Guest. Come, O Christ the Lord. Come . . . visit . . . stay in the unworthy manger of our hearts.
