It’s the Church season of Advent. A lot like Lent, preparation-wise — something I’d lost sight of, except around the edges of all the seemingly urgent Christmas crazy.
How I get sucked into that, and yet so little into the coming of Christ, I cannot fathom. It’s like I need to be told, too, to get me behind Him, for I’m thinking like man, not God.
Every year, what I truly desire to do is give very hard-earned money to the Shriners for kids, and to St. Jude’s for kids, and to Casa Juan Diego for everyone there, and to Fr. Marvelous and his fellow contemplatives way too far away.
This year, I’d like to add migrants. And I can, though not financially.
I got to thinking (and then Googling) about the religion of Central Americans. Well, of course it’s mostly Roman Catholic. Why else would they be so easily abused en masse, so dismissible as real people?
They have the face of Christ. Like suffering children, like suffering priests.
So, I have adopted, in my heart, a migrant family to pray for throughout Advent. My house itself is full, but the inn of the heart need not be. Need never be. I will indeed put myself behind Thee, Lord, for I am a sinful woman, but I know you will see this family. Their faces remind You of Your mother’s, and of Your foster-father’s, and of Your friends’. When You looked in a mirror, You saw all faces but Yours.
Come, Lord Jesus. Change me.