When Grace Sets Out on a Journey
There are encounters that are not coincidences,
but answers already on the way.
Mary rises.
Elizabeth waits.
John leaps for joy.
Jesus is there — still unseen, already at work.
Saint Ambrose says it with striking clarity:
grace does not wait,
it goes before us,
it sets out on the road.
Mary does not go because she doubts,
but because she believes.
She does not seek proof;
she offers presence.
This is how true encounters are born:
when someone, filled with God,
dares to go toward another,
without guarantees, without control, without delay.
“The grace of the Holy Spirit knows neither hesitation nor delay.” — Saint Ambrose
Our Encounters Today
Like them, we are full of questions.
Like them, we know the weariness of the heart,
the nights of doubt,
the silences of searching.
Within us there is something of the mute Zechariah,
of the troubled Joseph,
of John waiting in the shadows,
of Christ who gently knocks.
We often live in Chronos:
the time that wears us down,
the time that counts,
the time that slips through our fingers.
Chronos tells us:
“This is not the right moment.”
“It is already too late.”
“You have lost too much time.”
But God speaks in Kairos.
The favorable time. The saving time. The time that lifts us up.
Kairos is not measured;
it is received.
“There is a time for everything… and a time to love.” (Ecclesiastes)
Suspended Time – Silent Night
Silent Night…
This is not a naïve lullaby.
It is a theology of silence.
The night when God forces nothing.
The night when he becomes a child.
The night when the world holds its breath.
In Silent Night, time stands still:
the angels sing,
the shepherds listen,
heaven bends low.
It is the absolute Kairos:
God enters our Chronos,
not to break it,
but to transfigure it.
“The Word became flesh, and time learned to hope.” (inspired by Paul Claudel)
A Pause: The Seekers of the Star
There are also those
who do not come from the Temple,
nor from a promise learned by heart,
but from the patience of looking.
The Magi.
Men of science and culture,
readers of the heavens,
friends of signs and maps.
They do not speak the language of shepherds,
yet they know how to wait.
They too are searching.
They too doubt.
They too move forward without understanding everything.
They lift their eyes,
and something exceeds them.
A star — not a proof, but an invitation.
So they leave behind their certainties,
their observatories,
their intellectual comforts.
They set out on a journey.
Chronos accompanies them:
days, fatigue, detours,
the deceptive palaces of Herod,
questions without answers.
But another time works within them in secret:
Kairos.
The time when searching becomes adoration.
The time when knowledge bows before a face.
When they finally arrive,
they do not find a demonstration,
nor power,
nor dazzling evidence.
They find a child.
Poor.
Silent.
Offered.
Then they understand differently.
They make an act of faith.
They offer what they have most precious:
the gold of their intelligence,
the incense of their quest,
the myrrh of their clear-sightedness.
And they return by another way.
Not because they have understood everything,
but because they have been touched.
This is how grace works:
it does not deny the search,
it transfigures it.
It does not suppress doubt,
it opens it to encounter.
Grace Received, Grace Given
John leaps before he can speak.
Elizabeth prophesies before she understands.
Mary rejoices even before she conceives.
Grace circulates. It is not possessed; it is passed on.
As Georges Bernanos wrote:
“Grace is everywhere, but it never imposes itself.”
It passes through a voice, a look, a visit,
a forgiveness finally spoken.
And sometimes the long-awaited reconciliation
comes not from a great speech,
but from a simple:
“Here I am.”
Do Not Give Up
Yes, we doubt.
Yes, we search.
But to believe is not to never waver —
it is to refuse resignation.
Mary goes forward.
Joseph rises.
The shepherds set out.
The Magi change their route.
And so do we, despite our weariness,
our wounds, our slowness.
“To hope is to risk once more.” — Charles Péguy
Fr. Piotr K. WILK
21 December 2025 – Chalet Jean XXIII
Poem – When God Visits Time
Some days pass,
others are born.
Some hours are exhausted,
and one alone saves.
Chronos counts our steps,
Kairos opens heaven.
One presses us on,
the other lifts us up.
A voice whispers:
“Do not be afraid.”
And time falls silent.
Then the night becomes gentle,
forgiveness possible,
encounter fruitful.
Someone comes toward us,
and we ourselves become the way.
Grace received
becomes grace given.
The offered wound
becomes a source of peace.
And in the silence finally inhabited,
God is born —
not outside the world,
but at the very heart of our lives.
Fr. Piotr au Chalet Jean XXIII à