Held in the Labor of Advent
Dear All Souls,
In Morning Prayer this week, our staff read the following passages from Julian of Norwich:
“God chose to be our mother in all things and so made the foundation of his work, most humbly and most pure, in the Virgin’s womb. God, the perfect wisdom of all arrayed himself in this humble place. Christ came in our poor fleshto share a mother’s care. Our mothers bear us for pain and for death; our true mother, Jesus, bears us for joy and endless life. Christ carried us within him in love and travail, until the full time of his passion. And when all was complete and he had carried us so for joy, still all this could not satisfy the power of his wonderful love. All that we owe is redeemed in truly loving God, for the love of Christ works in us; Christ is the one whom we love.”
In the prayer book we use (Daily Prayer for All Seasons), the editors titled it “A Song of True Motherhood,” and Julian’s words invite us to imagine Christ not as a distant sovereign who keeps his hands clean, but as a mother who has carried us in her very body. She names a God who labors for us with love and travail, who bears us not for pain and death but for joy and endless life. It is a startling image, yet one that feels right at home in this season of Advent. A season when we keep vigil with Mary and with the whole creation for the coming of the Child who is also our true Mother.
Advent begins not with sentiment but with groaning. These twenty-five days are the birth pains of a new year. The prophets cry out. Creation strains forward. Our own souls feel the tug toward watchfulness and honesty. We stand in the shadows of the year and hear Jesus say, “Stay awake,” which is something any midwife would say too. At the trembling edge of incaration, we are asked to linger and to remember that God does not save from afar. God chooses smallness. God chooses flesh. God chooses the long patience of womb-time.
To keep vigil, then, is to take our place alongside and inside this laboring love. It is to notice the quiet movements of God’s life within our own, the way Christ carries us even when we feel empty or undone. A mother’s watch is never hurried. It is full of listening and attending, full of the hope that comes from knowing that something is growing, even in the dark. As we light our candles each Sunday and whisper our prayers into the stillness, we join Julian in trusting that Christ is even now bearing us into joy. Our vigil is not anxious waiting but expectant rest, a leaning toward the One who has already leaned so far toward us. In this season, we watch because we are being watched over. We wait because we are being held.
Peace and all goodness to you in this womb-time,
Bliss +
P.S. Our collective reflection on the first of our Advent Poems this past Sunday was incredible. Many thanks to all who offered reflections. Remember that you are invited to be sitting with the poem before each Sunday. You can find this week’s poem in the Advent Guide.