(Isaiah 40:25-3; Psalm 103:1-2, 3-4, 8 and 10; Matthew 11:28-30)
We’re in the middle of the Advent season, a time when we’re supposed to be turning our hearts and minds toward God, to get ready for the birth of Christ. During this season, I like to spend some time contemplating the nature of that transformation. In particular, this season I’ve been thinking about time.
My son turned nine years old recently. That means my wife and I are about halfway through the 18 years of our raising him, when law and culture say he’s an adult. Of course (God willing), he’ll hopefully continue to be part of our lives long after he reaches adulthood. However, for the moment, we’re smack-dab in the middle of our time together as parent and child. One weird thing about this journey of parenthood has been how strange time has been. The years have flown by, and it feels like just a year or two ago he was born. But I also vividly remember moments where time seemed to slow down. I recall the agonizing overnight stay in the hospital, when his frail form struggled to breathe as his body fought croup; each minute listening to his labored breathing felt like a week.
This elasticity of time reflects in other aspects of my life. I became a full-fledged Catholic in 2005. Again, that decade-plus has flown by, but sometimes life has seemed unbearably slow. When I joined the Church, I felt invincible in my resolve to do right by the Lord. But, being a flawed human, I have stumbled at times. Like all of us, I’ve sinned and fallen short in my hopes and expectations.
All of these thoughts came together as I reflected on today’s readings. Today’s first reading, from Isaiah, talks a bit about the nature of God: “The LORD is the eternal God, creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint nor grow weary, and his knowledge is beyond scrutiny. He gives strength to the fainting; for the weak he makes vigor abound. Though young men faint and grow weary, and youths stagger and fall, they that hope in the LORD will renew their strength, they will soar as with eagles’ wings . . .”
One mistake we sometimes make is thinking that we are alone in this voyage, that God expects us to do everything right ourselves. Or perhaps we think that we don’t need God to put our spiritual affairs in order. But even if that were feasible in the short term, it’s impossible indefinitely.
A young runner feels, at first, like he can run forever. The landscape flies by, and the horizon can be seen to grow closer with each stride. Yet we cannot run at a sprint forever; our legs will falter, our muscles fade. Even if we slowed to a walk, we cannot walk indefinitely; sleep demands the attention of even the most dedicated traveler.
This reflects many faith journeys. What starts at first feeling like a limitless level of faith and determination can falter, or ebb, or become stagnate. That could be a real problem if we were making the trip through life alone.
Fortunately, we’re not alone in our journey; God is with us. Isaiah’s words reverberate: For the weak he makes vigor abound. Though youths stagger and fall, they that hope in the LORD will renew their strength.
This message in repeated in today’s Gospel selection from Matthew, where Jesus says, “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”
Maybe you have the bulk of your years in your past. Maybe you have longer still in your future. Time is difficult to gauge, and our understanding of the journey is incomplete and deceptive in even the best of cases. Regardless, the eternal and everliving God is with us, and He calls us right now, at this moment. If the journey feels easy at this time, be aware that God is with you, ready for you to lean on Him should you stagger. If the journey seems too difficult, trust in the Lord to help you along the way. If you feel lost on the journey, the Advent season is a perfect opportunity to trust in the Lord to guide you home. Take Christ’s yoke upon yourself and learn from him. In this season of darkness, the candles of the Advent wreath are burning bright; the burden is light, and the time is right.
