Shortly before a woman gives birth, she is likely to be overcome, overwhelmed, and driven like a boat on the water ahead of a stiff wind. She will not be able to stop herself. She will nest. She must. Her body knows that a baby needs a place prepared, and that she will need a safe and nurturing place for that fourth trimester. It is imperative. Nesting is not cultural, or habitual, or consumerist. It’s nature. A baby is coming. A nest must be built.
The liturgical year is so beautifully, wonderfully, deliciously suited to this idea. Our Baby is coming. The Baby the Church awaits is nearly here. It’s time for us to nest.
I think about the answer of Our Lady to the angel. “Be it unto me according to thy word,” she said. She could not have known that this answer would include a trip to Bethlehem during her nesting time. She could not have known that she would build a nest much more resembling a bird’s nest, with straw and wood and whatever she could find, than a baby’s bed. But go, she did. Nest, she built. And she was ready with the swaddling clothes.
It’s not time to party yet. The noise and bustle of the malls and city streets have become a good representation of the chaos of a distracted and broken world – the one the Baby came to. I visit it a bit. I’m nesting. I need some things. Food stuffs and packaging and a token or two of the season to put aside for the Day of Joy. But I cannot stay out there in the noise.
I’m too raw and expectant. I have learned to go in. Go more deeply in. Quietly hush. Find the things I
need, and then go home and be home and pray. And nest.
A Baby is coming. There is a lot to do.
- Federico Barocci ~ The Nativity, 1597
