Advent 1B (Mark 13:24-37)

As we embark on this sacred season of Advent, let us immerse ourselves in the profound imagery of Mary in labor. I invite each of you to adopt the role of Mary, not merely as one informed of her impending pregnancy but as the Mary in the throes of labor pains. For those who may find it challenging to envision themselves in Mary's position, consider taking on the perspective of Joseph.

Picture, if you will, the expectant parents, fully attuned to the rhythmic beeping sounds emanating from the medical devices monitoring their unborn child—the cardiotocograph, blood pressure monitor, and external tocodynamometer. No admonition is needed to "beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come" (Mark 13:33). They vigilantly remain awake, their vigil concluding only with the safe arrival of their newborn.

As a form of spiritual practice, I would like us to ponder on the following poem written by Yosano Akiko. 

Labor Pains

I am sick today,
sick in my body,
eyes wide open, silent,
I lie on the bed of childbirth.

Why do I, so used to the nearness of death,
to pain and blood and screaming,
now uncontrollably tremble with dread?

A nice young doctor tried to comfort me,
and talked about the joy of giving birth.
Since I know better than he about this matter,
what good purpose can his prattle serve?

Knowledge is not reality.
Experience belongs to the past.
Let those who lack immediacy be silent.
Let observers be content to observe.

I am all alone,
totally, utterly, entirely on my own,
gnawing my lips, holding my body rigid,
waiting on inexorable fate.

There is only one truth.
I shall give birth to a child,
truth driving outward from my inwardness.
Neither good nor bad; real, no sham about it.

With the first labor pains,
suddenly the sun goes pale.
The indifferent world goes strangely calm.
I am alone.
It is alone I am.

The poet’s heightened attentiveness, this acute awareness, is the very essence that befits the spirit of Advent. The season mirrors the anticipation and pain of a woman in labor, a mother undergoing the transformative process of birthing new life, even with the numbing comfort of Adderall coursing through her veins. Through this pain, Christ is born within us. This pain for us is to contemplatively reflect on our unskillful thoughts, words, and deeds because it is painful to recognize our shortcomings. It’s crucial to keep in mind that this frame of self-examination for pain is “what’s skillful or unskillful.” It goes beyond the dichotomy of "good or bad" and "right or wrong." It also adopts a less judgmental yet more discerning stance—prompting us to transcend self-pity, guilt, and shame and inspiring genuine transformation in our thoughts, words, and deeds.

Advent stands as the counterpart to Lent, much as Christmas complements Easter. The incarnation and resurrection manifest within our very cores, mirroring the experiences of Jesus of Nazareth. In both Advent and Lent, we celebrate the resurrection—the advent of Christ. During Advent, we not only identify with the expectancy of Mary but also find ourselves in the midst of labor until Christmas. The symbolic representation of Mary in labor throughout the four weeks of Advent places us in the liminal space of Holy Saturday—the day of labor, where the tomb transforms into a womb giving birth to the risen Christ.