Advent: The Entire Universe in Your Body

Picture by Isacc Quesada on Unsplash

I sit on the steep precipice of a canyon’s cliff as night falls. Tilting my head, just far enough to peer down into the canyon’s cavernous center, sends shudders through my body. Looking up, I am covered by black night and thick over layers of stars. My skin presses against gravely dirt still warm from the sun’s direct heat. A dry breeze carries scents of ageless desert spices.

I am on a pilgrimage through the Holy Land: a traveling speck of dust in the grandeur of creation. It makes sense that this could be the wilderness where Abraham heard God calling—surrounded by hills rolling out in every direction, no end in sight. After Abraham’s bedouin encampment went to sleep the silence would be deafening.

According to the Hebrew story, God drew Abraham (at the time called Abram) out of his tent and said: “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them […] so shall your descendants be.” Tonight, I too look toward heaven and cannot count the stars above me. I cannot identify when each star’s light arrived, or what promise it is fulfilling.

I do know that Abraham’s seed gave birth to God’s sacred nation the Israelites, who were later called the Jews: a religious community that Jesus was born into. Raising my chin a little higher, I take note that Jesus’ birth was also recorded in stars. Wise men of the east, guided by messages in their dreams, followed a rising star to Bethlehem. They were led to a small, fleshy, newborn baby.

Jesus, “the light of the world,” had entered into the world's darkness. Jesus, a small speck of light, contained all the stars in Abraham’s sky in his little body.

Overwhelmed with joy the wise men gave gifts of Frankincense and Myrrh—fragrant oils used to set something, or someone, apart as holy for a sacred purpose. Centuries later, I am following in their path: a wise woman, seeking under eastern skies, on my own journey to encounter Jesus.

My pilgrimage has taken me beyond Bethlehem, and down the streets where Jesus walked: Nazareth, Galilee, Jerusalem. I have caught visions of a fully grown man, filled with the Spirit, delivering good news of God's love in acts of healing, compassion, mercy, and justice.

With each vision of Jesus' life, the limitless love of the universe is intimately made known to me in human form. As I hear stories about Jesus, and hear his words in the locations where they were spoken, I can feel this same love—alive and growing—in me. 

A dry breeze brushes my skin, bringing me back to the present. I look around and realize night has now fully fallen; the darkness has deepened, and another layer of stars is shinning through. The ground beneath me has cooled, sending a shiver through my body. The silence, still deafening, makes the cliff's cavernous center feel all the more harrowing. The hills feel all the more endless, as they roll out in every direction.

This could be the wilderness where Abraham heard God calling. The land where Jesus, “the light of the world,” entered into the darkness. The universe's every promise (contained and expanding) in his body. I too am a pilgrim in the Holy Land: a small blazing light, a traveling speck of dust, a promise of God's love in the grandeur of creation.