'Our heart is restless until it rests with you'

Advent is all about longing. Longing for Christ to come, to be born in us. Longing for something better, to be part of something more, for something to finally fulfill us. This longing brings with it a restlessness to seek, to keep seeking. We feel a long way off; there is a journey.

The other day, Father Bill Kottenstette told me that our God has given us the gift of restlessness so that we seek him, that it is something that shows us we are made for him. He said the balance is to be at peace in our restlessness, to hold both of these seemingly dual states simultaneously with open hands, resting in God. I love this -- yet another perfect paradox, another mystery of our being with God, and of our God. St. Augustine: "You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you."

This Advent, I am interested in the journey. I'm interested in the actual physicality of Mary and Joseph and their donkey getting from Nazareth to Bethlehem, the little details.

What was it like? Was Mary beautiful? Was Joseph handsome? What words did they speak to each other and what did they talk about? Did they laugh? Was there a comfortable familiarity between them?

Sand is what I see. And a donkey. Look between the back of his two furry gray ears standing alert in the air, at the little tuft of black hair at the top of his mane.

Do you feel the back and forth sway of his steps beneath you, as your legs dangle over the round of his sides? I see facing forward. Mary, Joseph and that donkey, three pairs of eyes facing forward on the road ahead.

They aren't there yet, but I'm interested. What happened before all the pomp and grandeur, while there was still room in the inns, before the stable and the animals and the shepherds and kings, the last moments before Mary and Joseph understood the magnitude of things, before they saw the physical evidence of this baby and how their lives would be changed. As they were saying yes without yet fully seeing, while they were still being "normal" people leading "normal" lives, heading to the census to be counted and recorded. What happened then?

I think there is one thing I understand. One thing that I feel, that must be the same as them. It is longing. It is deep.

There is another thing, too, and they must have felt it, it must have gently pressed them on. In the midst of chaos and questions, in the journey, there is a faithfulness, an assurance.

This longing is right. This yearning, the questions, this miracle in the mundane is what pulls our hearts forward to Bethlehem. It's what makes us get on the donkey and ride.

Oh, the wonder of it all.