As For Ourselves, Yes, We Must Be

We Are All Called To Be Saints, St. Paul Says, And We Might As Well Get Over Our Bourgeois Fear Of The Name. We Might Also Get Used To Recognizing The Fact That There Is Some Of The Saint In All Of Us.

If We Had Had The Privilege Of Giving Hospitality To A Ho Chi Minh, With What Respect And Interest We Would Have Served Him, As A Man Of Vision, As A Patriot, A Rebel Against Foreign Invaders.

We Are Not, Most Of Us, Capable Of Exalted Emotion, Save Rarely.

It Is Penance To Work, To Give Oneself To Others, To Endure The Pinpricks Of Community Living.

Advent Is A Time Of Waiting, Of Expectation, Of Silence. Waiting For Our Lord To Be Born. A Pregnant Woman Is So Happy, So Content. She Lives In Such A Garment Of Silence, And It Is As Though She Were Listening To Hear The Stir Of Life Within Her. One Always Hears That Stirring Compared To The Rustling Of A Bird In The Hand. But The Intentness Which Which One Awaits Such Stirring Is Like Nothing So Much As A Blanket Of Silence.