Come, Light of the World

The Winter Solstice, the darkest day of the year, is immediately followed by Christmas when the Light of the World comes and shines into the darkness of our lives.

During Advent, we sing quite frequently, "Come Lord Jesus! Maranatha!" But what does this really mean to us in our lives? I find in my darkest times in life- times when I am ashamed or afraid or anxious or doubtful- those are the times I need most the saving and loving Light of Christ. Unfortunately, like our fist parents Adam and Eve, when these occasions of sin arise instead of running into the loving arms of Our Lord, I often run away, afraid the Lord will see my own imperfections and sinfulness. Isn't this the world though our Lord willingly came in to save? This world of imperfection and brokenness and darkness. And what is even better! He comes as a little baby so easy to hold and love. "Be not afraid!" How many times do we hear this in the Scriptures? Just as much as we desire for Christ to come to us, He desires us to come to Him.

So, be not afraid! Christ is the light that is never dimmed. He is the Savior who made Himself weak, poor and broken. When we find ourselves in darkness may we always have the courage to say, "Come Lord Jesus! Come into my heart and life of brokenness and darkness. Come be my light! Come make me whole! Maranatha!"

"Most high, glorious God, enlighten the darkness of my heart and give me Lord, a correct faith, a certain hope, a perfect charity, sense and knowledge, so that I may carry out your holy and true command."  -St. Francis of Assisi

                                                                                                                 -Sr. Chiara Joan, novice

Living Tabernacles: on the feast of the Immaculate Conception

I've had the opportunity to visit many, many churches during my first semester serving Franciscan University in Gaming, Austria. Every time I walked in, my goal was to find the tabernacle and pay a visit to Jesus, if only for a moment. But on one visit, instead of a tabernacle, I found a stripped-down, empty room. Nothing but walls and windows, ceilings and floors. It was now just a museum for those interested in 13th-century architecture. It was one of the saddest moments of my semester.

Even when I was in magnificently-decorated Baroque cathedrals, they would have felt absolutely empty without the presence of Jesus. Today, on the feast of the Immaculate Conception, it got me to thinking. Mary was the perfect tabernacle for the presence of the Lord, prepared at her conception for Jesus to come and dwell within.

Each of us, flesh and bone that we are, was also made for this purpose. And we are nothing without Him.


These walls will stretch 'till you abide
Vast, vaulted ceilings higher climb
Beams and bricks without you there
Beams and bricks without you living there


This dust was made with you in mind
These stones are but a waiting bride
Empty if not filled with you
Empty if not filled with all of you




Who am I, that my Lord should come to me?
Who am I, that my Lord should dwell inside of me?
Take my body, take my blood
Take these sticks and all this mud
And build a shelter where your heart can come to rest


Basilicas and sanctuaries
Cathedrals, shrines, are just so many
Empty shells without your presence, Lord
Marble, gold I don't possess,
But, Lord, it is my happiness
If you would make this humble heart Your home
Make me your home


So find a candle, strike a flame
And leave it here to light your name
Jesus walks along these halls
Jesus lives and loves between these walls


-Sr. Mary Gemma, T.O.R.