Reflection for the first Sunday of Advent.

That HE should come into our poverty and hopelessness—when we are in the dark of our mid-winter; when the moody sun becomes broody and miserly at a time when we are most in want of his light—that he should come now, of all times, is matter to be pondered. How shall we care for him in our poverty? Isn’t it better that he comes into the house of kings? Isn’t it better that he be educated in the best schools? Would it not serve the world for him to be a prince among men, high, proud, and powerful among the masses? What have we to offer him? What but love? And what is that against the raging of nations and the weight of history? What is love when we can barely feed him, clothe him and hardly keep a roof over him? What of love when we must watch him struggle under the oppression of the rich and the powerful as we have done? And yet, we do. Somehow we do. We love this baby, crying to be fed, like any other baby. We love him, find food somewhere for him, clothe him, house him and teach him. He grows up with the masses, dirty and running barefoot through the smelly, dusty, crowded streets. We love him. That is all we have. But how will the world be better for this?