O King

O King of the nations, so long desired, the corner-stone making Jew and Gentile one: come!  Save mankind whom you formed from clay!
 
Jesus always comes to make peoples one—in his first coming, in his last and in the middle as well: “Holy Father, for this I pray, that they may be one, as you Father are in me and I in them, that they may be perfectly one.”  We can trust that when he comes to us this Christmas, he will come as peace, a peace that is able to break down the dividing wall in our souls, the interior hostilities that keep us strangers to the way of peace and unity.  He comes to make us one with his loving heart, a heart open to communion with all others.  He comes to give us the grace to make that difficult turn toward the other with whom we are estranged.  That the other does not or cannot turn toward us at the same time cannot lessen the freedom and openness in our own heart.
 
Guerric gives such good advice in this matter: “When you invite Jesus, take care that you do not invite the God of Majesty into an unclean and unworthy dwelling where a wrangling wife or clouds of smoke or a dripping roof would not allow even yourself to dwell in peace.”  I think we can imagine that a wrangling wife means “I want it my way;” clouds of smoke signify something like “Let’s not work through this problem lest it get worse;” and a dripping roof: “Haven’t I told you again and again.”  Not much divine about this indwelling.  “For” as Guerric continues, “his place is in peace and nowhere else.  Do not plead that it is a lavish dwelling you have to prepare for so great and so powerful a guest and that it is beyond the limits of your poverty.  You have the means at hand.  Make a perfect confession of your past life and have a good will in respect to all else—for there is peace to those of good will.”
 
A good confession, then, is part of our preparation for the coming of the Lord.  There is nothing comparable to sacramental confession but it can also be said that there is nothing comparable to that direct word of sorrow, no matter how halting or incomplete, addressed to the person one has hurt.  Often no sooner said, the walls fall and the path is made straight and open between hearts, or at least the necessary chink is made in the wall, making the next step more possible.  We could also say that there is nothing comparable to the response of forgiveness on the part of the person wounded.  When these things are in place, our hearts enter into peace with others and become spacious dwellings, roomy enough for the King of Peace to take long walks unhindered.

Image: O Rex Gentium - detail of a Ditchling vestment in St Dominic's, Newcastle, by Lawrence Lew, OP