Let us pray for peace on our earth. May restful times flourish in our households on Christmas. May anguish vanish and conflicts melt in the promise of our Savior’s presence. May hope’s fire never end.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for our Church Universal. May our leaders perpetuate joy in serving people most in need. May we listen to the voices of the voiceless in the silent night of Christmas. May we sing forever of Christ’s redeeming love in every church on earth.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for all families this Christmas. May every relationship be sustained with forgiveness and kindness. May every family find joy this day as they gather around dining room tables and listen to the voices of those they love.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for survivors of hatred and violence. May the children and widows and loved ones be sustained in hope. May the Incarnation of Christ invigorate us to reach across the globe to help rebuild homes, futures and lives.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for the healing of our planet. May the Incarnation form our work for the benefit of our water, food, oceans, forests, ecosystems and birds of the sky. May mercy flourish on the earth where Christ was born.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for courage this Christmas. May the King of Glory enlighten our lives. May the Prince of Peace reveal love among us. May the silent night of Christ’s coming show us how to speak up for justice and all good.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for those who sleep not in peace but on our streets. May every human find adequate shelter and every heart know God’s eternal love. May Christmas challenge us to serve beyond our fear.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for the lonely on Christmas Day. May all who shiver in isolation know the healing love of Christ on earth. May our elderly, our desperate poor, our disabled, find sustaining relationships. May hope renew us all.
We pray to the Lord.
.Let us pray for all who have died since last Christmas morning. May our families find consolation and love in the miracles of the Incarnation of Christ Jesus. May the dead be brought to the joy of heaven.
Let us pray for God’s endless mercy and love. May we prepare for Christ daily in our lives with hope, love and joy. May Christ become miracle in our waiting lives.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for impossible things. May peace abide in God’s promise that all things are possible. May truth become known in every land under the sun.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for wisdom in our last-minute Advent preparation. May our hearts be broken open to prepare for our Savior. May we long for all that seems unattainable on earth in the richness of the Incarnation.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for delight in our family gatherings this Christmas. May our loved ones find a voice of gratitude and joy. May Christ’s presence among one another discourage discord and bickering. May love be born again around our family tables.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for leaders of nations in this season of hope. May we end war, violence, conflict and gunfire in this season that penetrates hopelessness with abiding love.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for sheer delight in this season of waiting. May the veil of human loss be open to God’s eternal presence. May Christ find us longing for him alone.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for miracles upon miracles. May God’s angels sing hymns of awe and wonder in the ears of people despairing from ill health, job loss and divorce. May Christ awaken our call to serve from every household.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for tenderness in our grief. May we discover the miracle of God’s healing grace even when our loved ones leave the earth. May our loss become a new home for faith and compassion.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for all who have died. May our Advent longing be real among our beloved dead who now see God face to face.
God’s messengers are often just as surprising as the words they bear.
Advent always opens me up. Just when I think I am in control of my life and ministry, I am confronted by the challenges of a new liturgical year. The prophets get under my skin. The gospels splash my soul to surprise and awaken me.
Never has Advent shaken my priorities as the year Bonnie camped out in front of the red doors at our urban parish. Our small chapel in Old Town, Portland, Oregon serves our low-income neighbors, our homeless friends, and people just getting on their feet after prison. Just before Thanksgiving Bonnie wheeled a shopping cart to the front door filled with her stolen treasures: picture frames and toys, extra sweaters and fake flowers.
Bonnie signed up for our hospitality center on her first morning in search of new clothing and a warm breakfast. Her boundless energy disturbed everyone’s routine in the small basement room. Suddenly our entire staff, volunteers, and the room full of guests awakened to her forceful presence. We panicked as she stuffed food into her pockets, paperback novels under her jacket, and rolls of toilet paper in her plastic bag.
Bonnie’s kleptomania unnerved the staff, her penetrating voice disturbed many of our shy guests, and her wiry presence evoked fear in me. Bonnie began her Advent journey by disturbing our entire operation.
She prayed during Mass on her first day with a voice that could stop a train, screaming out every liturgical response at the right time but with a dozen extra words. She threw off the rhythm of our common prayer so completely that the entire congregation stopped speaking. People erupted with complaints and tried to quiet her. Bonnie persisted with her prayer.
Many of us were left confused and bewildered in those first few days with Bonnie. She stirred up resentment among our neighbors, angered many parishioners, and even blocked people from entering our front door.
But I also began to notice something shift inside me. Slowly I opened my eyes to see her differently. I began to hear the message of Jesus in Mark’s gospel: “Be watchful! Be alert!” Bonnie shook me out of my own sleepiness toward people who suffer beyond my imagining. I started to interpret her disturbing actions and screeching voice as our Advent wake-up call, a real prophet in our midst.
She challenged our professional ideals regarding how we deal with crisis and how we try to keep order as we serve the poor. As the voice crying out in the desert, she echoed the words of Isaiah and John the Baptist to get our acts together and let go of our control. Bonnie was not going to let us get too comfortable thinking we were in charge of our lives or even of the parish. Once we all began to see her as a gift to us, she started to change our experience both of her and of the Advent season.
One day during Mass I heard Bonnie screaming outside the chapel. She was trying to stop people from stealing her things. When Bonnie started screaming, I saw one of our parishioners leap out of the pew to go outside. There was something about her scream that day that was raw and primal.
I felt deep sadness rise up in me. Bonnie was communicating to us that many things in our society are not right. Her haunting scream reminded me of all the ancient prophets who tried to get the attention of people to reform their lives and society. I heard in her scream the challenge to wake up and realize that addicts need shelter and sobriety, people need adequate housing, and the mentally ill need affordable medications. I felt in her scream the poverty of the world.
Bonnie also changed my perceptions of her loud responses at Mass. In the very predictable patterns of common prayer, I understood by her piercing voice that those who are marginalized by poverty or mental illness need to be heard. Mass could no longer be prayed on autopilot. We had to think about what, how, and why we were praying the liturgy. She made us think about our responses to the Word that was proclaimed. She halted us in the middle of blindly reciting the Creed. Like the biblical prophets before her, she was teaching us how to pray and live with new awareness and intention.
Bonnie still reminds me that most of the suffering around us remains hidden and secret. She helps me realize we all must take on the prophet’s role when disease, poverty, loneliness, and financial instability grab hold of our communities. People who suffer silently need the voices of the rest of us to speak up for the abandoned and neglected. The Advent season calls for courage and conviction to make faith real, inviting, truthful. Advent is a time to go deeper into our human condition, beyond the surface of relating to one another from our financial status or educational backgrounds or the styles of clothing we wear.
One day Bonnie approached a woman named Sally, who was born with one arm shorter than the other. Bonnie walked up to Sally and said, “Don’t worry about that arm, honey. When Jesus comes back, he will fix that right up for you!” Bonnie really believes in Emmanuel, God-with-us. She even voiced God’s consolation and joy announced in the prophet Isaiah: “Comfort, give comfort to my people, says your God.”
I thank God for our prophet Bonnie. Even though she washed her glazed donuts in our baptismal font, collected our hymnals in her shopping cart, and took hundreds of our plastic rosaries to wear around her neck, we all recognized that she carried Christ into our midst. She unstuck my notion that Advent is about the purple polyester fabric in the sanctuary or the flattened, artificial greens with faded, purple ribbons posing as the circle of life. She helped me break open the lie that Christmas is for the rich and well-deserving. God desires to be in relationship with all of God’s beloved.
Before Bonnie left our parish, she knelt down in front of the crèche on Christmas Eve. Several parishioners feared her kleptomania as she approached the newborn king. Instead, poised in prayer, she placed a clean, meticulously folded purple blanket in the small stable. It was her cleanest blanket, her source of warmth on the cold Portland streets.
I never realized I would find the birth of Jesus in the center of mental illness, homelessness, and my own insecurity. God gave us the gift of hope years ago in a small stable and continues to grace us with real human beings who teach us that faith is about relationship. I wait patiently for Advent this year to see if our prophetic sister returns. I wait for love again to awaken me.
Let us pray for courage this Advent. May we not resist God’s invitation to pray always and never lose heart. May we not resist the suffering of our neighbor or ignore our call to justice in our world.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for the end of war, mass shootings, and all destruction. May our aching hearts and unresolved faith discover new hope as we serve survivors of injustice. May Advent truly bring the Prince of Peace.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for hope in this Advent. May we never tire to lift up our souls to God’s grace no matter our pain, our scars, our weariness. May hope flood our soul in this holy season.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for the brokenhearted. May we be attentive to people whose hearts are broken from divorce or job loss. May those wearied by family violence find the merciful presence of our long-awaited Savior.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for children in this Advent season. May our youth who suffer from depression and loneliness find healing miracles in God’s grace. May we serve our young without measure.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for people who live behind bars and those who await trials. May prisoners find release and hope for their future. May all people live in God’s freedom.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray to bring glad tidings to God’s beloved poor. May we act with courage to bring housing to the houseless and food to people without resources. May we work for justice and pray without ceasing for the real needs of people.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for people lost among the margins of our world. May people suffering mental anguish and those who cannot make ends meet be brought into the merciful justice of God. May we not blame people for their suffering or their poverty.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for our elderly poor. May our aging brothers and sisters without health insurance find resources to survive illness and disease. May we listen to the lonely and console the terminally ill.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for our beloved dead. May hope spring up in our hearts for our loved ones now resting in the richness of heaven. May eternity bring us solace on earth for people we have loved.
Let us pray to seek the Kingdom of God like John the Baptist. May our eyes weep for people ravaged by war, violence and destruction. May we strive for lands of justice and lives of peace. May love flourish upon the earth.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray to carry the burdens of people abused by systems and institutions. May justice flourish in our workplaces and care be given to people who have offered their lives to serve others.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray to shout out our convictions of love. May our earth benefit from our common cry to create clean oceans, lakes, forests and city streets. May our hearts overflow with hope for our children’s future.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray to rouse deep hope in our earthly relationships this Advent season. May reconciliation become food at family tables, at church gatherings and in corporate headquarters. May integrity become nourishment for all people.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for our loved ones in nursing homes, recovery centers and in hospitals. May our lives heal in the midst of illness, recovery and long-term need. May hope be lived on earth.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray to raise awareness about people lost on the margins of life. May our hearts be open to helping people ravaged by poverty, mental illness, and homelessness. May we pray for every human need in this Advent.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray to uncover genuine desire for God in this Advent season. May our hearts be set ablaze in our search for hope, justice and right-living. May we not fear the desires of our hearts or overlook God’s love within us.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray to ease the despair of our children. May our next generation know the comfort of Christ Jesus in every aspect of life. May our communities support the lives, education and faith of young people.
We pray to the Lord.
Let us pray for our loved ones who have died. May we reach out to people who grieve and pray for our loved ones who now see the face of Christ Jesus.
“Under the Roof of Heaven” is published in Give Us This Day, December 2023 issue, by Liturgical Press, Collegeville, MN.
Under the Roof of Heaven
Soon after the latest translation of the Mass was implemented in 2011, a parishioner approached me as he wiped tears away. He had read the new before-communion prayer text about our unworthiness to have Jesus enter under our roof. Eyes glistening, he looked at me and said, “I can’t receive Jesus because I live outside, I don’t have a roof.”
I recall his face and hear his voice when I read the centurion’s encounter with Jesus in today’s Gospel. The image of the roof is far broader than wooden beams and shingles. The human heart becomes the protective place where Jesus dwells.
Advent reveals the places of injustice or injury, of pain or persecution, as we wake from our slumber and prepare for Christ’s coming. Advent releases despair and opens our hearts to welcome Jesus Christ—today, tomorrow, every day of our lives. The centurion understood that Jesus could heal his servant, and we must model such conviction. He realized, even in his unworthiness, that he must surrender to Jesus’ mercy and compassion. Jesus waits for our surrender.
We celebrate Advent under the roof of heaven. Advent hope transforms the metal of weapons into tools of good works, changing the course of injustice. Advent carves courage within ailing souls and lonely hearts. Advent wipes away tears. Advent prepares us to live the light of heaven amid darkened human nature here on earth.
Jesus longs to heal us no matter where we rest at night, no matter the obstacles of our unruly perceptions, no matter the shelter we call home.
Fr. Ronald Patrick Raab
Fr. Ronald Patrick Raab, CSC, serves as Religious Superior at Holy Cross House, a medical and retirement facility at Notre Dame, IN. He is a retreat director, award-winning author, and visual artist. Learn more at ronaldraab.com.
Mothering AIDS: Snippets from my encounters and conversations with mothers who stood by the suffering of their sons in the complexities of AIDS in the first twenty years of my priesthood. I wrote this poem in 2017 as the first in a series.
At the Screen Door
We meet at the dirty screen door
Her face in shadow
Her fragile hand reaches for the loose doorknob from the inside
She seems taller because I stand a step down on the front porch
Sweat dripping down my back from the summer sun and
Nerves because another mother
Invites me over the threshold to sit aside a son’s deathbed
Still desiring the best for him
The priest’s last call
The pills exhausted and the chemo done
The oil is on the thumb of the man who
Opens the door to heaven within her heart at least
From her whispering invitation I slowly
Creep the narrow bedroom path amid silent machines
Strangers in this quiet room creating more fear than remedy
I open up my prayers and my heart in the darkened space
His empty eyes look through me
I sing a lullaby of faith
My heart resting in his
Connecting his silence and his song of unspoken truth
Feeling the eternal shore wash up against his bed
I touch him
Laying my hand on his forehead bearing open sores
With oil and prayer deeper than the silence
Blessing him in his fear that I will condemn him
More distracting than the pain beating against his breath
His worry that no holy man would touch his truth
The real man
His mother and I give him away and birth him again
We amble back to the threshold
She tells me I am the only person to touch her dying son
She rests those grateful words and her face on my chest
Broken But Not Divided 