December in Trumau has been a quiet, dark month, the sun rising late and setting earlier; this shortening of the days providing an expectant atmosphere, hinting at an unfulfilled moment in time. For us who remain on campus for the winter break, we experience an extra dose of quiet, as the majority of the students have returned home for the holidays, and the campus is mostly void of typical ITI movement: intellectual sparring, laughter, song, dance, and communal prayer and feasts. Advent ushered in this December month full of anticipation of the joys and graces of Christmas, and we marked the Sundays with light and prayer to keep in mind that true Light's Presence is imminent.
O Dawn in the East, splendor of the everlasting Light and Sun of Justice: Come and give light to those sitting in darkness, in the shadow of death.
~ 3rd 'O Antiphon' of Advent
December is shrouded in a hushed expectancy, a darkening and stillness of the earth, reminding us to keep watch. To be silent and listen. In winter, nature itself sets the pace. Plant growth halts, leafless trees stand still against the grey sky, animals hibernate, water freezes over; everything pauses as if to remove all distraction from something small that might go unnoticed: "The Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before him," (Habakkuk 2:20). The darkness of the winter days encourages a quieting of spirit and activity, and invites us to turn inward and to reflect. To ponder the spiritual realities so prevalent in this time, and to search and prepare our hearts. We recall the contents of another darkness; the Mystery contained in the virgin's womb. One must be still and attentive to hear the humble stirring of the King of kings, made manifest in tiny human form. He entered the world ever so quietly, this Babe in the manger, and gentler still, knocks at the doors of our hearts. Are we listening? Are our lives ordered to a quiet expectation of His sound? Are we opening our souls to His invitation?
A few days after Christmas, Trumau was covered with a few inches of snow, to the delight of the children still here on campus. Snow is the pinnacle of winter's transforming effects - it seals off the ground, purifies the dirt, cloaks the branches, and refreshes the air with the crisp, pure scent of frozen water. One is unconsciously compelled to be silent and listen, in an attempt to hear the falling snowflakes. We revel in the renewal of the earth's appearance, covered in this sparkling whiteness.
Silent, still, pure - with the entirety of its form, winter invites us to retreat from noise and unnecessary activity in our lives, to empty our minds of needless distractions, and to purify our hearts. Without stillness, we may easily miss the most significant moment in time; the arrival of our Savior, and the ears of our minds and hearts may be too obstructed to hear the gentle stirrings of His voice.
"Today it is very quiet. Are you listening? If you are listening, you can hear the faint sound of tinkling bells. He who is pure of heart and childlike shall hear the bells of the donkey ringing in his life."
Catherine Doherty, Donkey Bells
