What Can I Give Him?

December 26, 2013

What Can I Give Him?

Gaudete! Gaudete! Christus est natus ex Maria virgine! Gaudete!

It's no secret that I enjoy cleaning. On Christmas Eve I scrubbed my little heart out. By mid-afternoon, the bathroom was sparkling, all my closets and cupboards had been purged of surplus, and the teetering stacks of books on my nightstand (accumulating thereupon since August) returned to their snug homes.

While I scrubbed, tidied and organised, I prayed. It wasn't a spoken prayer. Indeed, I'm not even sure if there were words. But it was a prayer of my heart. My insignificant, repentant little heart spoke words which I know the Saviour understands:

I want to make a home for you.

Lord, as I prepare with my hands, so too with my heart.

May You come, Lord, and fill the nooks and crannies of these rooms; fill the cavities of my soul.

I am not, I can never be, prepared for the immensity of these mysteries

Help me to understand.

My heart overflows, Lord.

You are the Great Guest, the Prince of Peace.

Stay with me, my God,
Here in my heart.

~~~

Too often Christmas is our busiest time of the year. Between family gatherings, cooking, cleaning, extra driving and gift-wrapping, not much room is left for the Babe and His holy parents. Like the innkeeper in Bethlehem all those years ago, we want things to be perfect for our visitors. We clean and tidy and make sure everything is ship-shape. But not for the Saviour - for the world. The rooms of our heart are filled to the brim with busyness and merry-making and stress. In the end we relegate the Holy Family to a little shed in the back garden until we find space for them.

As a child, I always disliked the "character" of the innkeeper in the nativity narrative. Why was he so stupid? Couldn't he see that Mary and Joseph were really really special? And she was going to have a baby! How could he possibly turn them out into the cold and put them in that shabby little lean-to where the pigs lived?

I am the innkeeper.

I think to a certain extent we all are. We may be well-intentioned. We may have reserved a special place in the inn for weary travellers and expectant mothers. We may even be anticipating with baited breath the arrival of one heralded by a star. But sometimes we forget.

This Advent didn't find me in a state of interior rest. However much I wanted, with my head and my heart, to prepare a place of silence, of love, of peace, for my God to be born within me - the world seemed to creep in. One by one, the rooms, the days, of my inn were filled with activity and bustle:

NET looms, just two weeks away on the horizon line. Early December flashed by in a cacophony of fundraisers. Graduation followed, replete with an armload of trophies and a bucketload of tears. I drew myself back to the spirit of Advent the following week, praying a rosary daily as well as some silent meditation, extra chapel visits and a day at Tyburn.

But just when I thought I had made a beautiful room for the Virgin Mother to bring Christ into the world, the guests arrived. First to check in at the inn was Christmas Shopping - that most demanding of all visitors who will not sit silently until every possible option has been exhausted. Domestic Elves arrived, carrying with them a Tree to be festooned and a house to be decorated. The rooms of my heart and my time were fast becoming filled. Welcome but distracting guests rang the bell- dear friends who will head off in different directions in the years to come. There was laughter to be laughed and merriment to be made. The noise grew. The rooms were filled.

And the weary travellers were turned away at the door.

And I realised that, this year as ever, I played the part of innkeeper in the nativity. I denied Them a warm room and a place of honour at my table. I denied Them my full attention and my full hospitality.

But I crept out to see Them.

As she cried out in pain and anguish, I cleaned that little stable. I turned off the phone and the computer, blocked out the noise of the world and waited in silence and joy for a moment that changed eternity. I made a beautiful, if belated, place for that baby to be born. And I knelt in wait for those glorious words at midnight in the piercing cold:

Glory to God in the highest!

O Come let us Adore Him!

I sang from my soul, joining with the rest of the Schola, with the Cherubim and Seraphim in praising His eternal majesty.

~~~

I have a busy heart. It jumps from project to project, from cause to cause. I want to help all and to be all. I wish for a treasure chest of good works to present to my Lord when at last I meet Him face to face. But He does not ask for a successful heart. He does not ask for a perfect heart.

He asks for a poor heart. A humble heart. A heart ready to meet Him in the manger and exclaim in joy, "Come into the warmth, dear babe!"

He desires MY heart.