This too too sullied flesh.

"O that this too too sullied flesh would melt, / Thaw and resolve itself into a dew," utters the despondent Hamlet. Before any Shakespeare buffs e-mail to correct me on that quotation, let me add that there is a version which reads "solid flesh." (It's a matter of choosing between the 1604-05 quarto and the 1623 folio version of the play, according to my Hamlet Appendix notes.)

An argument can be made for either word, since Hamlet begins the soliloquy with a death-wish. protesting the Divine prohibition against suicide. Later in the same passage, however, he bemoans the weakness of the flesh, lamenting his mother's too-hasty remarriage after the death of his father.

So what on earth does this have to do with Advent and Christmas? I'll answer that by posing more questions. How many of us love our bodies? How many of us will love them even less after all the Christmas revelry? For that matter, who thinks "feasting" and "gluttony" are synonyms? Who's already planning to buy a health club membership or join a weight loss program in early January?

As a woman (and one who's been pregnant eight times), I've spent a lot of time contemplating how to melt this too too solid flesh. In the last five years alone, I've lost (and gained and lost and gained and lost ...) over 120 pounds. I still have fifteen to go, since giving birth last June.

I'm not blaming motherhood, or for that matter, Christmas goodies. My problem is the "sullied" flesh. That is, not my actual human body, but what St. Paul refers to as "the flesh"--fallen human nature, the propensity to sin--in a word, concupiscence. Those enslaved to sins of the flesh like gluttony, lust, etc. know only too well what St. Paul means when he says, "I cannot even understand my own actions. I do not do what I want to do but what I hate.... [N]o good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh; the desire to do right is there but not the power" (Romans 7:13, 18).

Many of us have a love/hate relationship with our bodies. We love to pamper and feed ourselves, but when we step on the scale, or look in the mirror (after trying on those clothes that have shrunk again), disgust takes over. Now it's Advent and some of-us are already stressed out about the extra weight we know we're going to gain over Christmas. (Does this stop us women from baking 60 dozen cookies, squares, cakes, pies, buns and candies? Not a chance.)

I don't pretend to have all the answers, but I do know this: the Son of God did not take on flesh so that we could obsess endlessly about taking it off. I think we can come closer to appreciating our bodies and attaining self-mastery by meditating on the Incarnation.

We need to slow down during Advent and think about this: God, the all-holy and almighty Creator of the universe, who transcends time, space and matter, chose to confine Himself within a flesh-and-blood human body for a 33-year lifetime. Why? He certainly could have redeemed us with the merest thought or whispered word.

Instead, the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us. Jesus was hike us in all things, except sin. He experienced heat, cold, pain, sadness, laughter, hunger, temptation. He allowed His body to be tortured, crucified and buried. His body rose, was touched by His disciples, and ascended to heaven. Jesus gave us the Eucharist, His own flesh and blood, so that we could be physically and mystically united with Him. He took all our sins, weaknesses and disorders to the cross so that we could not only be set free from them, but actually have power over them. God-made-man restored the sanctity of the human body, so that we can be sanctified in and through our bodies.

In order for God's grace to work in us and triumph over sin, we must practise self-abnegation. (This is not easy, since the diet and fitness industries encourage us to be self-absorbed.) We must empty ourselves. I'm not just talking about food, but it's one place to start. If we're never hungry physically, we forget what it is to be hungry spiritually.

I'm not suggesting we fast during Christmas; just cut back on the consumption in order to be more aware of (and thankful to) the Founder of the Feast. We can give our bodies wholly to God, just as He has given His body to us. If we focus on making others happy, instead of indulging ourselves, we may just experience the merriest Christmas yet.

Image: Raffaello Sanzio, Cowper Madonna, 1504

Mariette Ulrich is a mother and a homemaker. She writes form Scott, SK, where she lives with her husband, Dan, and seven daughters.