in whom we live and move and have our being:
You have made us for yourself,
so that our hearts are restless
until they rest in you.
—Augustine of Hippo
Advent is a time when I feel an “inconsolable longing, almost like a heartbreak”, as C.S. Lewis writes in his memoir. He describes “the stab, the pang” accompanying the experience of Joy. I feel it too, in a powerfully visceral way, within my chest, within the rhythm of my heart.The restlessness drives me to seek rest, taking me right where I belong in the still sanctuary of a manger of hay, quieted and swaddled alongside the Son of God.
Jesus, Jesus, rest your head. You have got a manger bed. All the evil folk on earth, Sleep in feathers at their birth. (But) Jesus, Jesus, rest your head. You have got a manger bed. Have you heard about our Jesus? Have you heard about his fate? How his mother came to the stable, On that Christmas Eve so late? Winds were blowing. Cows were lowing. Stars were glowing, glowing, glowing. Jesus, Jesus, rest your head. You have got a manger bed.