"In the beginning was the Word" (John 1:1).
Snow is falling across the city, a blanket that is both shroud for the dying year and pristine cloak for year about to be born. The world is defined in its seasons and obeys the deeper cycles of planetary motion unmindful of us and our need for meaning. Everything depends on how we interpret the silence. We need stories to tell us where we came from, who we are and where we are going.
The church year ends and begins with the story of an expectant mother. Advent is our time of watchfulness and anticipation. Conception has occurred and birth will follow. We lie awake in the middle of the night, pondering the fact of death and the promise of life. Our story reassures us that through death we will be reborn. In the stillness, a chorus of praise rises all around us, those who have gone before us, cheering us on to finish the story they began.
Mary is Mother of the Word, the timeless story of God’s hope for us, unfolding in our memories and dreams, moving the world forward passage by passage, question by question, from suffering to triumph, from promise to fulfillment. Turn the page. This our world to remake. We are the people we’ve been waiting for, and we will now write the next chapter of the story. The future lies before us like fresh snow, waiting only for our footprints to point the way.