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This December, I’m reading an Advent book by Franciscan priest and ecumenical teacher Richard Rohr, who writes about the difference between Jesus in the flesh, or as we see him almost universally depicted this time of year, “Baby Jesus,” and what he calls the Cosmic Christ. Being of Jungian psychological orientation, I find it easier to say, the archetypal Christ. He makes the point that we are missing something if we perpetually conceptualize Christ as a baby. A baby does not demand adult relationship or maturity from us. The archetypal Christ does. As Rohr writes, “The Christ we are asking for and waiting for includes your own full birth and the further birth of history and creation.” 

I like the idea that there is an opportunity during the dark hours each year to reflect on what of the archetypal Christ wants to be born in us, and into history. I feel hopeful about myself and about the world when I consider this possibility.

In the midst of of these deep thoughts the perpetual movie screen in my mind abruptly cut to this:

I’m pretty sure that whatever it is of the divine that wants to be born in me at this moment has a pretty unbelievable sense of humor.

 

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