Imagine two doors before you. One wide. One narrow.
You stand on the threshold. A moment of decision.
The wide door hints at busy brightness behind. You can hear music, laughter and many voices. You catch a hint of delicious smells and colorful lights. The pull is almost irresistible.
But you pause, hand on doorknob. The mere presence of another door is intriguing. It stands smaller and quieter. You cannot make out anything behind it, but you wonder where it goes.
What difference will it make, which door you choose?
As Catholics, we stand before two doors: secular time and church time. The ancient Greeks — and thus the early church — had two words for these different senses of time. Chronos is chronological: earthly, ordinary, one day after the next. Kairos, on the other hand, is sacred: extraordinary, holy and perfect whenever it interrupts our daily lives.
God is always waiting to meet us in kairos, right in the midst of our chronos.
Each day we stand before the doors of chronos and kairos. We can enter into the frantic, fast-paced, nonstop rush of consumerist culture, with its endless urgent cries of “buy, buy, buy” and “more, more, more.” Or we can turn and open another door, the quieter way of faith. Here we learn to listen, to slow down and quiet our hearts, to learn more about the mystery of God and turn our lives toward Christ in response to his call.
The door we choose will change our lives — and the lives of those we love.
A delightful (and overlooked) aspect of the liturgical calendar is how it teaches us to live “off time” with the rest of the world. While secular society is swarming with Christmas sales and end-of-year specials, we’ve already celebrated our new year with the start of Advent. And while Jan. 1 gets heralded as the perfect time for “new year, new you,” the church begins the calendar year with the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God.
At every turn, our Catholic faith invites us to follow Christ down the narrow way. What’s more, this choice is offered to us every day, as if each dawn brings another Advent or New Year’s Day. God’s mercies are fresh each morning (Lam 3:22-23).
As a child I was charmed by Anne of Green Gables’ plucky words: “Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it.” But as adults, we learn it’s hard to scrub the slate clean. Grudges fester, resentment simmers, and even ordinary conflicts quickly cloud our relationships.
Forgiveness ranks among the hardest parts of the Christian life. This is why Jesus spoke of forgiveness often in the Our Father, why the church celebrates reconciliation as a sacrament and why God pours out grace to help us. We cannot forgive alone, but it changes lives — for spouses, children, siblings, friends, relatives, co-workers, and anyone whose path crosses ours.
Here is where the beauty of the church year beckons us again.
If we are always living the spirit of Advent, then we are constantly anticipating the coming of Christ. If we strive to keep our hearts open like Mary, then we are forever turning our year toward God.
“Today a new day dawns, the day of our redemption, prepared by God from ages past, the beginning of our never ending gladness.” The Office of Readings includes this responsory for Christmas, but the wonder of God’s grace and the power of reconciliation mean that we could pray these words every morning.
What if we tried to live more like this? Trusting that each new day is part of God’s plan for salvation. Believing in the transformative practice of forgiveness. Trying to love one another, then waking up and doing it again.
To enter by the narrow door, we must bow our heads with humility. We may miss out on the fleeting fun, ego boosts, or selfish gains behind the wide door that leads to the wild world. But if we trust that Jesus is the Way, we will find Love waiting for us inside.
Family life brings endless possibilities to try again. Each morning when we wake, which door will we choose?
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