[The photo at left is the stained glass window in the front of my former church in MA. I took this when I visited there during the break.]
AT CHRISTMAS HE CAME; THIS CHRISTMAS HE MUST COME
AGAIN
"Je
dois aller."
People
are always having to go away from me,
from each other,
from home, from work, from school, from play.
People
are always having to go away from me (and I from them)
to other people and places.
"Je
dois aller: I must go [the
imperative].
I have other things claiming my life, my time.
You're not all there is to my life.
Important, yes. But not all.
Je
dois aller."
There's
nothing I can do to keep them from going;
They must.
And
if I want them still in my life,
I, too, must—must accept, must acquiesce, must not
pout or complain.
Ils
doivent aller. Et je dois
accepter.
"Je
dois venir encore." There's
another who must, too.
"I
must come again" He says.
There's a difference, though.
Those
who must go, can go as they need.
But He who must come, must have an invitation; He cannot come just because He must.
Not
only must He come, but He must wait.
Wait for you, for me—for us—to be ready.
To be willing.
To be open.
And
to invite Him to come.
"Je
dois venir.
I need to come. It is necessary.
There is nothing else claiming My life, My time.
You're all there is to My life.
You're important, yes. And everything.
But
I can't come without an invitation.
I
can ask, but I can't just come.
And yet, I must. Je dois venir."
Christmas: celebrating the coming of Christ—the
first time.
But
should it not be something more?
Must
we not also anticipate His Second Coming?
Must
we not prepare for—and invite—Him to come back?
The
goings in our life, we have no control over.
But the comings, those we do.
"Je
dois venir encore," He says.
This
Christmas, let it be "Tu dois venir--You must come."
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