Reflections

Tragedy & Grace

Solomon, bright as morning sun,
a crown heavier than gold,
wisdom poured like water
into vessels of endless thirst.
He spoke of cedars, hyssop,
and the secret songs of birds,
boundless as sand,
greater than kings.

A temple rose at his command,
stone and cedar, prayer and glory,
a dwelling built for God—
but could not hold the builder's heart.

In love multiplied, his wisdom stumbled;
the splendor fractured in shadows cast
by altars raised to lesser gods.
Seven hundred queens,
thousands of whispered promises,
and the quiet slipping of his soul.

Yet greatness lingered,
undiminished but stained,
a king's sorrow woven through gold.
The throne remained,
but the kingdom tore like fabric,
and Israel bore the weight
of a heart turned away.

But in tragedy echoes hope:
though Solomon fell, God's love did not.
For it is not in wisdom,
nor riches nor mighty deeds,
but in mercy given freely,
that a king is redeemed.

Solomon, grandeur mingled with grief,
human and holy intertwined,
God loved you still—
and that is what remains.

A Reflection

The life of Solomon resonates with us because it encapsulates the profound paradox of human existence—greatness shadowed by frailty. His extraordinary wisdom, divinely bestowed and unmatched, exemplified humanity’s highest potential. Solomon spoke eloquently of nature’s wonders, resolved intricate dilemmas, and presided over an era of unparalleled peace and prosperity. Yet, this exceptional wisdom and splendor could not shield him from human vulnerability.

Tonight, I invite you to explore a profound way of praying—one that can deepen our experience of this Advent season. To begin, let us reflect on the words of St. Josemaría Escrivá:

“This time of Advent is a time for hope. These great horizons of our Christian vocation, this unity of life built on the presence of God, our Father, can and ought to be a daily reality.

Ask Our Lady, along with me, to make it come true. Try to imagine how she spent these months waiting for her Son to be born. And Our Lady, Holy Mary, will make of you alter Christus, ipse Christus, another Christ, Christ himself!” Christ is Passing By, 11

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N.B. This reflection is on Luke 3:1-6 from the Second Sunday of Advent, Year C.

In stillness we gather by candlelight to prepare our hearts for the coming of Christ. This Gospel reading from Luke, though seemingly unusual in its detailed account of rulers and regions, invites us into something profound: the historical reality of God’s intervention in the world. Luke begins with a litany of names and titles, grounding the story of salvation in a particular time and place. This is no accident, for it reminds us, as we affirm in the Nicene Creed, that Jesus “suffered under Pontius Pilate.” Christianity is not a myth, not a collection of poetic fables disconnected from reality. It is history—God stepping into time, taking on human flesh, and transforming the course of humanity forever.