Making Space: A Walk to the Manger with St. Benedict
It is easy to imagine that if I had been in Bethlehem on that night all those years ago I would have made room for them. I would have recognized them. I would have welcomed them in. But as it was, they were turned away because there was no room. No room for Jesus. Preposterous, right? Or is it?
2020 has been full of lessons, some of which I will be still realizing years from now, I am sure. When the pandemic began, when the year was new, everything shut down. Slowed dramatically. Ground to a halt. I went days without leaving my home. Sure, I taught classes online, but the rest of our full calendar was suddenly wide open. And it was strange. Beautiful in some ways, hard in other ways.
Slowly as we adjusted to the new normal, things picked back up here and there. We added some outdoor sports for the kids, a couple of backyard meals with friends, weekly coffee dates with my best friend resumed - outside from 6 feet apart. As fall turns towards winter, and the pandemic still looms, I find myself keenly aware of the areas of my life where there is no space. While the calendar might not be as full as it was last year at this time, space is taken up with stress and uncertainty. It makes me wonder, if they showed up at my door today, would I notice? Would I even hear their knock over the noise of my life? (I really should get the doorbell fixed, that might help) Would there be room for Jesus during this season in my life?
Saint Benedict, my 5th Century monastic friend, offers wisdom from his Rule for Monastic Life. He considered prayer to be the work of his day, and the Benedictines, even today, pray 8x per day. Traditionally those prayers would include: Matins (during the night), Lauds (dawn), Prime (early morning), Terce (mid morning), Sext (mid day), None (mid afternoon), Vespers (at lighting of lamps), and Compline (night, before bed). When I stayed at a monastery a couple of winters ago, the bells would toll, and everyone would walk to the chapel for prayer. Whether I was painting at the table or walking the trails, I heard the bells and I stopped what I was doing and joined the path of women to the chapel.
As I walked, I could feel the thoughts from the day easing their grip and sliding from my shoulders. Easing me into the holy space. In the few moments before prayer began, we sat in silence, glancing out the giant wall-to-wall windows down at the winter landscape below. I found myself searching for the ‘flock*’ of robins I had seen, in numbers like I have never before encountered, on my wanderings. *[A side note, try as I might, I could not find an official name for a group of robins. Apparently it is quite rare to see them in a group. Suggestions I found, however, included a round of robins and a worm of robins.]
My breath slowed, easing me into the holy space. After prayers, as we wandered back into the world, the space created remained open. I remained attentive to the whispers of Jesus. The nudgings. The soft knocks. I noticed so much more - tiny splashes of color, soft songs of birds, tiny new buds.
By making space in my heart, I was so much more open to awe. I wonder what this would look like in my ordinary life. I have a husband and teenage triplets, a job, and lots of laundry. How might I use this model to make space in my heart for Jesus during this Advent season?
The answer for me has to do with silence. And the very first word of The Rule of Saint Benedict is, “listen.” If I am to hear the knock, there must be silence. With each call to pray the hours in the monastery, the bells, though ringing loudly, signaled a change from doing to being. From noise to quiet. From busy to slow. The walk from whatever I was doing, wherever I was into the chapel was a shedding of stresses and lists, an opening, a clearing, a making space.
Just like the friend who stays on your mind long after you exchange a few texts throughout the day, Jesus will do the same. The more I make space for him during my day, the more he comes to mind. I remember to continue our conversation over the laundry or the making of the meal. I notice the beauty in my ordinary days. Making space for him makes him a priority.
Making space in your heart this Advent is a practice. Set a soft alarm on your phone to go off a set number of times during the day. I suggest between 4-8 times. At each alarm, set down what you are doing and pause. Close your eyes if you can do so safely. Rest your feet on the ground. Breathe deep. Pray a favorite prayer. Read a psalm or mass reading for the day. Or just sit in silent contemplation. When you are finished, carry on with your day.
It is easy to imagine that if I had been in Bethlehem on that night all those years ago I would have made room for them. I would have recognized them. I would have welcomed them in. But as it was, they were turned away because there was no room. No room for Jesus. Preposterous, right? Or is it?
Meet Anna Bonnema
Anna Bonnema is an open-armed Catholic and a lover of words and nature. Anna is a wife to a man with a contagious laugh and a mom to amazing teenage triplets. Though she calls herself an introvert, she loves to gather around the table or the fire. Fueled by tea, lattes, and dog snuggles, Anna loves small celebrations and glitter. Fill your favorite mug and join her on Instagram @annabonnema.