Among the ancient devotions that the Christian people have known how to preserve with delicacy and depth, the Little Journeys of the Virgin hold a singular place. Born in the bosom of popular piety as an immediate preparation for Christmas, these nine days are not a mere pious evocation of the journey of Mary and Joseph from Nazareth to Bethlehem, but a spiritual school of Advent, where the soul learns to walk with God, to wait with Him, and finally, to adore Him made Child.
The tradition structures this journey into nine stages, each symbolically linked to a place on the Lord’s itinerary: mountains, cities, fields, wells, poor roads, and finally, Bethlehem. It is not about reconstructing an exact geography, but about each day illuminating an aspect: the humble beginning, weariness, indifference, thirst, poverty, rejection, hope, and joy that does not disappoint. Everything converges in the Ninth Day, where the journey ceases and adoration begins. That is the criterion for reading the whole: to walk in order to learn to adore.
These Little Journeys must be prayed one by one, respecting the rhythm of the path, which does not place the reader as a spectator, but as a companion of the Holy Pilgrims. That is why they are written in the first person, in the form of a praying dialogue with Mary and with Joseph, and they always culminate in the gaze fixed on the Child who is coming: there is intimacy, listening, silence, waiting. That is why the final prayer is directed successively to the Virgin, to Saint Joseph, and to the Child Jesus. The text is designed for various uses, without the need for substantial adaptations: personal reading, slow and meditative; family prayer, especially around the Nativity scene; communal prayer (parish, convent, or associative).
Whoever travels these Journeys learns that Christmas is not prepared with noise or accumulation, but with detachment, with everyday fidelity, with a heart that accepts not being a perfect inn in order to become, humbly, an open portal.
Initial Prayer
Before beginning the journey
Lord our God,
Eternal Father, origin of every fulfilled promise,
in the silence of Advent we set out on the journey before You.
We know where we are going and with Whom we walk.
You have willed that Your Son not come suddenly, but slowly,
gestated in the faith of a Virgin,
guarded by the silence of a just man,
awaited step by step, day after day.
And in that humble journey You have taught us
that salvation does not burst forth with clamor,
but arrives walking little by little.
Today we want to accompany Mary of Nazareth,
Immaculate Virgin and believing Mother,
on her silent march toward Bethlehem.
We want to walk with Saint Joseph, blessed Patriarch,
faithful man who sustains without possessing the mystery that saves the world.
And we want to dispose the heart
to welcome the Child who is coming,
the eternal Word who becomes flesh
without demanding a place or forcing doors,
without imposing His Love.
Purify, Lord, our memory,
so that the journey may not be only remembrance, but conversion.
Awaken in us a simple hope, capable of rejoicing even in rejection,
and a humble joy that does not depend on being consoled, but on knowing oneself loved.
May these Little Journeys teach us to walk slowly,
not to anticipate the end, nor to flee from weariness, nor to close the heart.
Make us interior pilgrims, so that when we arrive in Bethlehem,
we do not pass by, but know how to adore.
Through Jesus Christ, Your Son, who comes to us in poverty
and lives and reigns with You in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
and is God forever and ever.
Amen.
Today the journey begins. Not in Bethlehem or in Nazareth, but on Mount Tabor, as the ancient tradition of the Little Journeys commands. This beginning surprises me. I would have chosen a plain, something comfortable, something easy. God starts from on high and from the arduous.
The air is cold. The mountain stands out sharply against the clear sky. I know, Mother, that here, years later, the Son You now carry hidden in Your womb will show His glory before Peter, James, and John. Today, however, everything is discreet and poor. I walk beside You, Mary. I see You adjust Your mantle to protect Yourself from the wind. You do not complain. You do not ask questions. You walk.
—Mary —I dare to say to You—, why start here, on this mountain, when the journey is still so long?
You do not respond right away. You take a few more steps. Then You say to me in a low and serene voice:
—Because God usually starts from on high to teach the heart to descend without fear.
I fall silent. I understand that this first day is not yet a long effort, but an interior disposition. Here everything is decided.
Joseph, Your most chaste spouse, walks a little ahead, leading the little donkey by the halter. He does it with care, like someone who knows he carries a treasure that does not belong to him: a pregnant Girl with God. He stops, adjusts a blanket better, and then I approach him.
—Joseph —I say to him—, what do you feel at the beginning of this journey?
He looks at me with a sturdy peace, without sentimentalisms.
—I feel the weight of what I do not understand and the peace of knowing that God does understand it.
We continue advancing. The ground is uneven. It is not a comfortable path. And I think that this is how my Advent also begins: with small decisions, with a yes that still does not know everything it will cost. And I look at You again.
—Mother —I say to You—, I am afraid of not being faithful to the end.
You look at me with a tenderness that does not judge.
—Do not think now of the end. Think of this step.
And I take that step. Only that one. Here, on Mount Tabor, I learn that the true beginning does not consist in enthusiasm, but in humility; not in foreseeing everything, but in trusting. The Child who is coming is not yet visible, but already weighs sweetly on the journey. Everything begins like this: without noise, without witnesses, without applause.
Prayer
Virgin Mary, walking and believing Child, teach me to begin well.
Uproot from me the haste to arrive and give me the grace to advance with You.
Keep me from the desire to understand everything before obeying.
Make my heart simple, available, capable of saying “yes”
when the journey has barely begun and Bethlehem is not yet in sight.
Joseph, just and silent man,
guardian of the mystery that is not possessed,
teach me your strength without words and your fidelity without noise,
your concrete obedience, made of steps and small cares.
Keep me faithful in the beginnings,
when everything is fragile and there are still no consolations.
And You, Child Jesus,
who come hidden, beginning Your redemption without splendor,
from the cold and poverty of the journey,
enter already into my life.
Although I do not yet see You, although I do not yet feel You,
stay in me from today.
Teach me to walk with You
until the hour arrives to adore You in Bethlehem.
By: Msgr. Alberto José González Chaves
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