Once upon a time there was a king who was very rich and powerful—but also very lonely and unhappy. He wanted a wife, but even though many ambitious noblewomen were eager to become his queen, he desired a marriage rooted in genuine love, and as a result, hadn’t been able to find the right woman. One day he was riding through a small village when he saw a beautiful peasant girl. It was love at first sight for him, and he desired that she marry him and become his queen. The question was, how could he make this happen? If he issued a royal decree, ordering her to marry him, he’d never know if she really loved him. The same would be true if he visited her and gave her expensive gifts; he’d always wonder if she were just marrying him for his money. The king thought about dressing as a peasant and going to meet her in disguise, hoping to win her heart, but decided that would be dishonest. Finally the king realized there was only one fair and honest thing to do. He would temporarily give up his throne and go to the village in secret as a peasant himself, living and working and suffering among the people. He would become one of them—and hope that, given the opportunity, the young maiden would fall in love with him, too. The story had a happy ending, for that’s what eventually happened; the king found his bride, and knew without a doubt that she truly loved him for who he was (Connections, Dec. 1988).
A 19th century Danish philosopher named Sören Kierkegaard wrote this story to show that Jesus comes to us in this same way—humbly, gently, and secretly, full of love and hope. God could have sent His Son as a great King unmistakable in power and majesty; instead, He came as a little child—so that our worship of Him might be genuine and sincere. The Lord invites our friendship; we must choose whether or not to respond.
The readings for the final Sunday of Advent speak of the humble manner in which God comes to us. No one is forced to worship Him; instead, He respects our freedom. The prophet Micah describes Bethlehem as insignificant in worldly terms—but it was from this little town that the Messiah was to come. As we know, Jesus was born there not even in a house or an inn, but in a stable. His life was marked by humility; as the Letter to the Hebrews states, He came not for His own glory, but to do the will of His Father. God’s plan unfolded in secrecy—but He made it possible for persons of good will to discover it, rejoice in it, and take part in it. Mary and Elizabeth were the first to do so. As soon as Mary heard that Elizabeth was with child, she went to see her cousin so as to assist her in her pregnancy. As soon as Elizabeth saw her arrive, she immediately began praising Mary for her faith in God. Neither woman thought of herself; both humbly praised the goodness of the Lord.
We must be like Mary in her concern for others, expressed by her visit to Elizabeth; we must be like Elizabeth in her recognition of God’s presence, expressed by her words to Mary. The Lord is all around us—but we must look for Him. Opportunities to serve Him are ever present—but we must want to find and use them. Few of us will ever have a vision of God, in which our own eyes behold His majesty and power; few of us will ever have direct revelations from Him, in which His will is spelled out in clear and certain terms. God does not want to overwhelm us, so He usually speaks in softer ways. My mother once told me that, when I was just a few years old, if I was making a lot of noise and she wanted to get my attention, she wouldn’t raise her voice. Instead, she’d whisper—and I’d be quiet and listen. God calls to us in the same way. He’d rather not shout; He prefers to whisper. He will shout if necessary, allowing problems and failures to shake us up, but if He can get our attention in softer, gentler ways, that’s what He’ll normally do. Therefore, we make things easier on ourselves when we regularly take time to be still and receptive to Him; getting in touch with the Lord helps us truly get in touch with ourselves. When we were baptized, the seed of His love was planted in our hearts, and He continues to nurture and protect it—but we must allow it to grow, and we must listen when He calls.
The world would not have considered Mary’s visit to Elizabeth to be anything special—but Elizabeth herself, and her son John the Baptist still in her womb, knew differently. They were prompted by the Holy Spirit to be the first to worship the soon-to-be-born Messiah. In the same way, when the world looks at the final days before Christmas as a time for last-minute shopping and hurried preparations, Christians are called to see something more, being reminded by the face of each person we see, by the experiences of each day we live, by the truth of each prayer we utter. Instead of giving in completely to the stress and busyness of the season, we are called to look and listen for something deeper. God has come among us, seeking our friendship and love. Advent and Christmas are times for us to respond—not for show, and not for appearances’ sake, but from the heart.
