Although the Christmas season calls for reflection and stillness, many Catholics struggle to slow their hearts and minds. Ironically, the peace and renewal promised by the arrival of the Christ Child can seem far away amid their social demands, planning, and travel.
Advent — and Christmas in particular — provide a markedly different narrative. Rather than urging us forward, they call us to wait and rest, even while others rush ahead. The Jewish people waited generations for the Messiah; Abraham and Sarah waited long for the fulfillment of God’s promise; and Mary herself carried her child for nine months in patient trust. Even prophets like Simeon and Anna watched and waited in the temple for God’s salvation to appear. “Those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength,” Isaiah reminds us (Isaiah 40:31).
This rhythm of waiting and receiving in the interest of strength is part of a larger pattern that the Church has long embraced. Rest and holiness are companions; not opposites. Stillness and pause are woven into God’s design for human life.
Practically speaking, this means resisting the urge to fill every free moment, loosening the habit of measuring our worth by productivity, and letting go of the assumption that rest must be earned. Each pause, instead, becomes an opportunity to “watch and wait” as Advent teaches, and to encounter Christ anew.
For me, this season continues to challenge the belief that constant motion is a virtue. Grace doesn’t arrive when every task is completed; it arrives when my heart is willing to receive. In practices like the Rosary, I’m reminded of the peace that comes from letting prayer slowly unfold. As I allow my fingers to move over the beads, and my mind to gently reflect on the life of Christ, I am given graces that no amount of rushing can attain. Rest, patience and waiting are part of a divine rhythm, inviting us to align with God.
Parenthetically, these insights mirror what I have learned through decades of clinical and scientific work in the rehabilitation of stroke survivors. The human body isn’t designed for constant output. Prolonged stress elevates cortisol levels, narrowing attention and actually slowing brain and body recovery. On the other hand, periods of rest and patience attenuate the effects of injury and stress, allow the nervous system to “settle,” and ultimately facilitate healing. In clinical settings, we repeatedly see that relearning of motor skills and neurological recovery mostly occur in the pauses between exertion; not during it.
Scientists may describe these changes in biological terms, but their significance extends beyond physiology. The pauses encouraged during Advent cultivate the same receptivity for growth, renewal, and, yes, recovery to take place.
Now and always, the greatest gifts are not what is accomplished but what is received from Him. These gifts are most fully realized in moments of quiet and attentiveness. As the psalmist reminds us, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).
The season of Advent invites us to slow, to pause and to embrace the stillness that makes God’s grace perceptible. In this way, each of us becomes the innkeeper, called to decide whether there is room in our hearts for Him.
Steve Page, PhD, MS, MOT, OT/L is a multi-award-winning writer, educator, and clinician-scientist whose work has been published in the American Spectator, the Ohio Press Network, as well as hundreds of medical journals and magazines. Reach out to him at DrSteveWrites@gmail.com