When I began this column a year ago, I dubbed it “Two Cracked Ribs” as a reference to the fire of joy that filled the heart of St. Philip Neri while praying in the catacombs of Rome in 1544, which physically expanded his heart and broke two of his ribs from the inside. From that moment when St. Philip encountered the overwhelming power of the Holy Spirit, his life was radically changed. Physically, he was always hot, and his heart beat so strongly that he was known as the “human earthquake.” Spiritually, he experienced the ecstasy of intimacy with the Holy Spirit and became the “Second Apostle of Rome” while also establishing the Congregation of the Oratory. I bring this up because there is a great mystery of fire in the darkness. St. Philip received this divine fire of the Holy Spirit while in the darkness of the catacombs of Rome. At the time, there would have been no artificial lighting to illuminate the darkness in the underground cemetery. The catacombs would have been close to pitch black. And yet it was there that St. Philip experienced the brightest fire of the Holy Spirit. During this darkest time of the year, there is a newfound attraction to fire in the darkness. Perhaps you have enjoyed a fire in the living room with your family. Or, like me, maybe you have enjoyed having a bonfire outdoors with your friends as the temperatures have decreased throughout the past several weeks. Whatever the case, there is something mysterious and transformative about fire. On one level, fire connects us to the universal human experience of the thousands of generations who have come before us. From the beginnings of human history, we have looked to fire as a power greater than ourselves to provide for our most basic needs – warmth, shelter, light, and the capacity to cook. Naturally, of course, this became the place in which the communal life was able to take root. From time immemorial, humans have gathered around fire to share one another’s company and to pass on the stories of their lives. In the midst of a time in which the artificial lights and noise of computer screens, smartphones, and TVs have distanced us from one another and from our forebears, the natural light and warmth of a simple fire brings us back to our own humanity and our littleness in the order of creation. It makes us realize that we were made for a life of communion that comes from a power beyond our own human creativity and technological advances. In other words, a simple fire can make us realize that we were made for a joy beyond what this world can give or that we can manufacture by our own power. As we move through this Advent toward another Christmas, I encourage all of us to slow down at some point for a simple fire. Invite friends and family. You can enjoy it either in your home fireplace or outside around a fire pit. Put away the cellphones and the social media. Enjoy some food and drink in the presence of your loved ones. As the wood burns and is transformed into heat, the same will take place in us. Our modern tendency toward isolation and loneliness will slowly be burned away. We may realize ourselves laughing for the first time in a long time and remembering stories we may have otherwise forgotten. In short, we may remember we are humans – humans whose conditions God chose to take on to become Emmanuel – God with us. Father Brian Isenbarger is the pastor of St. Joseph Catholic Church in Garrett. The post Fire in the Darkness appeared first on Today's Catholic.