The Cry of Advent

Simone Riva - “The Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” And whoever hears repeats, “Come!” He who is thirsty let him come; he who wants to let him draw the water of life freely…. He who testifies to these things says, “Yes, I will come soon!”

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.” Thus ends the last book of the Bible, Revelation, after leading the reader into the very heart of reality, man and God, with its fascinating and evocative language. It is a book that only a lover could have written, and this was the apostle John, in love because he was loved. In these last sentences of Scripture are contained the cry that accompanies us every year until Christmas:

“Come, Lord Jesus.” It has been repeated for two thousand years, yet it does not seem to have had much effect. If we look around us, we surprise a reality that, over time, seems to have put God at the door. Not to mention the extent of this temptation in our personal lives. We await many things, but what about Him?

His coming? That is why the Church does not tire of provoking us with that ancient cry that is the only one, ultimately, with which we continually need to reckon.

St. Ambrose sensed this precisely by looking at his existence, so much so that he wrote:

“What does it profit me that the Lord comes, conscious as I am of such great sins, if he does not come into my soul, if he does not return to my mind, if Christ does not live in me, if Christ does not speak in me?

For me therefore must Christ come, for me must his coming be realized.” The first place where there is a need for His coming is precisely our lives. And we do not say this in a manner of speaking, but by giving voice to everything in us that He demands.

Indeed, if we had even for a moment the loyalty to ourselves that St. Ambrose had, we would immediately recognize the urgency, in the face of our evil, of the coming of One who can deliver us from it.

Or, in the face of the challenges of reality—which the bishop of Milan certainly did not lack—all our strategies aimed at solving situations would immediately seem inadequate. Even in the best of circumstances, a demand for fulfillment would remain within us.

So we require the coming of Christ before anything else, before any of our attempts, before any of our possible moves. Jesus, after all, is not a player who enters the field in the second half, but is already in the thick of the game at the beginning.

This presence of His that, to use an effective expression of Pope Francis, “primes” us is the real engine even of our every attempt. God did not bring men together on purpose, but on origin. That is why the signs of his companionship can be found there, where, often, no one seeks them: in our cry. Who is there at the origin of our restlessness, questions, desires?

Who kindles in us the taste for living, for doing, for creating? Who makes love, affections, correspondence possible? Surprising Him present at the beginning enables us not to lose sight of Him throughout the journey. To cry out, then, in this time “Come, Lord Jesus” is also to cry out the need for our presence, our being in the things we live. Christmas may thus see us amazed rather than bored.

The author has not revised the translation.

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