Scattered peoples, travelers whose steps tremble, you say: “The desert grows, and we no longer know where to walk.” But listen to the voice crossing the centuries: “Prepare the way of the Lord.”
For it is not God who hides, but humanity that builds mountains between itself and the Light.
But behold, Advent advances like a gentle shovel clearing the buried road.
The Lord comes not on paved highways, but in the wastelands of our memory, in wounds we believed healed.
He comes like dawn in low valleys, like tenderness approaching our impossibilities.
Perhaps today you hear His voice saying: “Let Me level what crushes you. Let Me straighten what you can no longer carry.”
The desert is not the end of the journey; it is where new paths are born.
Do not fear your desert: that is where the Lord comes closest — closer than your breath, closer than your struggle.
Let your heart become a passage. Let your life become a path.
And the One who comes is already preparing in you a road nothing will ever close.