Of Wombs and Tombs

Written by John Osterholzer on Tuesday of the First Week of Advent

During a difficult time in my life, I sought a spiritual touchstone for Advent reflection comparable to the powerful Lenten image of a tomb. I thought of a womb, perhaps because it sounds like tomb (not unlike Advent and Lent). Yet by regularly comparing and contrasting these “bookends in life” that Advent, I gained a deeper understanding of my faith and its relationship to Paschal Mystery.

Physically, tombs are dark . . . cold . . . and silent. In contrast, wombs, though also dark, are warm and anything but quiet; immersed in a constant cacophony of sound: heartbeats . . . breathing . . . a mother’s voice . . . laughter . . . even singing.

Biologically, within tombs, what was once alive decomposes . . . slowly . . . inexorably . . . the complex becomes elemental. Within wombs, the elemental become organized . . . expands . . . and develops in ways seemingly unimaginable.

Spiritually, tombs are empty, lonely places that break down our former selves; teaching us to accept this breaking and decaying process. We learn to listen for God’s word in the silence; for if we yell and rage, all we will hear are the empty echoes of our voice against stone walls.   Tombs impart patience, slowly preparing us for new paths in our lives and for new ways of being in relationship. Ultimately, tombs force us to believe in miracles; for only God can roll away the stone that entombs us.

In contrast, our spiritual wombs are joyful, dynamic, and nourishing places that foster growth in a secure environment. Wombs teach us to trust that things are developing as they should, even though we may not understand the complex processes of change in our lives. Like tombs, wombs require patience, yet provide ample reassurance that once adequately developed and prepared, we’ll emerge into a new world full of opportunity. Ultimately, wombs teach us not only to hope for miracles, but to expect them; for God is the source of all new life.

Questions for Reflection:
What are the spiritual wombs in my life (consider your family, friends, St Mary’s or a former parish, an SCC group)?
Am I receptive to change? Despite life’s complexity, do I trust things are unfolding as they should?

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John Osterholzer
John has been a parishioner at St. Mary’s since arriving on campus as an undergraduate 26 years ago and is currently a faculty member at the Medical School working primarily at the VA hospital. He and his wife, Kathy, were married at St. Mary’s and the parish remains central to the faith formation of their three children (Matthew, 13; Danny, 11; and Sarah, 9).
Email: oster@med.umich.edu