In the First Letter of John, we read about an old commandment, a word that has already been heard. But then the author has second thoughts: “On second thought, the commandment that I write you is new.” We have all probably had the experience of hearing or reading a Scripture story many times. The Christmas story, for example, may be almost memorized. (Years ago my five-year-old nephew could recite several verses from Luke’s Infancy Narrative—those in the Peanuts version that Charles Schulz had the courage to include.) Yet there comes a moment when we think, “I never noticed that before.” That second thought is new. Or maybe we are new. Our spirituality may have become deeper. Our understanding of Scripture may have risen to a new level. Maybe God was tapping at our heart in a way we never experienced before. Thank God for your “second thoughts.” Thank John for his second thought on the commandment of love.

The New Testament reading for the Solemnity of Mary, Holy Mother of God (New Year’s Day) begins “When the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son. . .” The phrase “fullness of time” intrigues me. After millennia of creation, after multiple generations, God’s plan was “Now.” This instant. This person. This spot on the Earth. How infinitesimal. How grand. How humble. How magnificent. How full this moment in time.

No other moment will cause such a chain of events. No other person will be as graced and revered as Mary. No other point on earth can claim the human feet of God touched its soil. Everything, everyone was in readiness for a moment that was “the fullness of time.’”

Here we are on the first days of a new year. How will this year impact God’s mysterious plan? How will your home, place of work, town be the ground for God to walk? How will you be graced? Are you ready? Are you ready to make each 24-hour period of time a “fullness” for God?

When I opened my daily book of meditation, I saw “Monday, December 25.”  For a moment I felt a shock of surprise. How could the beautiful Masses I just attended be Monday, such a mundane workaday time in the week? Really? Christmas falling on a Monday? Something about it just didn’t seem right. After a reflective pause, I realized not much of the first Christmas seemed right either. So much of the most famous day of all times (around 4-7 B.C.) was ordinary with a mix of extraordinary. Now that’s an oxymoron! Extraordinary ordinariness. An ordinary feeding trough: the crib for the King of Creation. Workaday shepherds: believers in celestial beings. Messy rafters, dirt floors: Home, Sweet Home for Divinity. From all eternity the Trinity held the Mystery: Divinely Human, Humanly Divine.

We’ve all seen signs “The end is near.” What would happen if I walked around with a sign stating “The beginning is near”? What? In this Advent Season as we wait in joyful hope, we are already in the endtimes inchoatively as we proclaim the death of the Lord until he comes. The Second Coming at the end of time shows us that the first coming in Bethlehem was not just a visitation but a permanent presence. The endtimes are already here, because all is fulfilled in Christ. It’s like a basketball game when your favorite team is ahead by 20 points and there are only 7 seconds left to play. We know the victory is already ours. We know the outcome. We’re just waiting for the clock to run out. The end time is a victorious new beginning, and the beginning is near.

Jesus multiplied bread and fish, but did they know Him when he came? He cast out demons and cured disease, but did they know him when he came? He preached in their synagogues and raised the dead. But did they know him when he came? He stretched out his arms in love on a cross and stretched his body in risen glory across the universe. But did they know Him when he came?

Today you and I passed people in the grocery store. We answered phone calls. We took care of our family. We saw people from around the globe via TV and the internet. Perhaps we briefly encountered salespersons, medical personnel, mail carriers, attendants, church-goers. In these people did we recognize the Christ? Do we know Christ when he comes?

Jesus had relatives, but Ancestry.com probably won’t get it right. Scripture hints that Elizabeth, John the Baptist, and a few others are “cousins.” Close cousins?  Shirttail cousins? Kissing cousins? Many times removed cousins?  Ilia Delio writes that the universe “possesses in its inner constitution a relation to the uncreated Word.” Because the Word bears the imprint of the Trinity, the Incarnation “is the perfect realization of what is potentially embedded in human nature, that is, union with the divine.” Christ and the world are intrinsically connected. Minerals, plants, animals, humans are related to Christ. Every creature is connected to Christ and to one another. I think this makes us all cousins to Christ and to each other.

There’s no other reason for Christ than love. The first glorious, dynamic, unbelievably powerful spark of creation, “Let there be!” launched the echo that reverberates down the eons “Let there be love!” And love has permeated the cosmos ever since. Love is the energizer in the millions of “Let there be’s” in Love’s unceasing, evolving transformation. Love became human in Mary’s “Let it be done to me.” The incarnation of Divine Love leapt into Mary’s womb like God’s all-powerful Word. And the tiny cells forming the heart of Jesus were the fire bursting into the milieu to fill all creation with His love. Let the fire of God’s love be done to us.

The waitress may say, “Tell me when” as she shreds cheese over your salad. Your response “That’s enough” stops the grater. December is the month when we might like to say “That’s enough,” but there’s always more. Nothing stops. December is a cascade of parties, plays, shopping, baking, visiting, decorating, hosting, praying, longing, expecting. Sure, there’s anxiety and fatigue in all this, but who can say “That’s enough”? If December were a piece of pumpkin pie, and December were the whip cream, why stop? Just enjoy the “too much-ness of the season.” Let the cup of December run over. In bleak January, you’ll be glad you did.

Earliest dawn is a rose. Watch a little longer, and the rose becomes a ruby. Before I even reach my morning coffee, I feel rich, bejeweled, the recipient of Nature’s wealth. I suppose I should walk with regal step throughout the coming day wearing my Dawn tiara.

November is my twelfth favorite month of the year. The sky is gray, the grass is brown, the trees are bare. With the change of the hour hand on a clock, the evenings are suddenly very, very dark. Clouds hang low, and I can almost feel their weight on my shoulders. The earth heaves a big sigh, acquiescing to the damp, dense despondency of lonely longing for sun and warmth and life. “Death and decay!” Nature demands.

Listen to November. What do you hear? Silence. No chirping birds or croaking frogs. It’s the silence of waiting, holding one’s breath in expectation. Or is it doubt-filled hopefulness as an atmosphere of sadness saturates frosty ground.

November is the time to visit cemeteries, pray for the deceased, light candles in remembrance. November feels like depression, but it’s not. It’s pressure. It’s the awareness of the millions in the “cloud of witnesses.” We don’t see the souls living in joy and grace, on that final lap heavenward bound. But we feel their presence. It’s like heavy air. Inhale deeply. You may whiff a heavenly scent.