This is the name they give him: “The Lord our justice.”
He shall have pity for the lowly and the poor; the lives of the poor he shall save.
You are to name him Jesus because he will save his people from their sins.
They shall call him Emmanuel,” a name which means “God is with us.
Oh Lord, be my justice. Have pity on me. Save me. Even when I don’t turn to you, you know what I am facing. You made me, have been faithfully inviting me to accept graces all along. I’ve kept up a relationship with you, while maintaining an independence from you as well. Here, in the middle of Advent, you know what I need, how low I am, how poor. When things get bad, you know how I react to the problems, to the people around me. I try to be my own justice. It isn’t the way I want to be. I don’t want to be the source of any more conflict and hurt. Heal me and save me, my justice.
Dear Jesus, save me from my sins. Open my heart these crazy days and help me enter into and experience who you are for me. The nails and cross show who you are for me. These days, in the midst of feelings of “hollow-ness” and “not enough,” let me see who you are for me, in the very way you come into this world. There was controversy about who you are, at your conception. The straw and the manger prepare for the nails and the cross. This entrance, this way, for me. For my independence. God, and with us. God, and flesh. God, and so human. God and with me in all the mess I face. You came so lowly and poor, that I might be forgiven and healed, Jesus, my Savior.
In this light, shining in my self-imposed darkness, I can see more clearly a solidarity I miss most days. You are Savior of us all. You hear the cry of all the poor. My inner struggles darken my ability to see the poor around me, those who suffer so much more than me, are deprived of far more. Their need cries out for justice, most clearly on the Silent Night, the Holy Night. You are our justice, you save us from our sins, you are Emmanuel with us. As this sense of solidarity increases, my independence decreases, and I feel your justice and healing begin.
Rev. Andy Alexander, SJ
I was born and raised in Omaha, 8 blocks from where I now work. My parents were very involved in the Jesuit parish here and were outstanding examples of a commitment to service for my sister and me as we were growing up. I entered the Jesuits in 1966, and was ordained in 1979.
I love giving the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius, in any adaptation. One of my greatest privileges was to serve as pastor at Gesu Parish in Milwaukee for 8 years before coming here. The community there taught me about church, and the relationship between the worship which says who we are and the ministry to which it sends us.
One of the privileges of being back in Omaha was helping my mother care for my father, the last four and a half years of his life. Both of my parents have died and are enjoying the embrace of the Lord which they taught me about all of their lives.
When I write these reflections, I try to imagine the people who will be reading them. I try to imagine what ways I might be in solidarity with people struggling in any way. Then I read the readings. Then I ask, “what is the good news that we need to hear?” Something usually just comes, to me.
It is tremendously consoling to receive mail from people around the world, simply expressing gratitude for a reflection. Most of the time, it is enough to know, from the numbers, that people are finding this site to be a helpful spiritual support.
