"PREPARE A WAY FOR THE LORD."

Second Sunday in Advent, Year B.  Is. 40: 1-5, 9-11; Mark 1:1-8.

AIM: To help the hearers repent, and to show the Spirit’s role in repentance.

 

          “John was clothed in camel’s hair ... He fed on locusts and wild honey.”

Not exactly the kind of character we’d care to meet socially — let alone invite into our homes. Today we’d call someone like that a drop-out, a hippie perhaps; certainly a food nut. Can someone so bizarre really have anything to say to us at the beginning of the twenty-first century? Let’s look at what John did say. His message has two parts.  John proclaimed:

---     “A baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins;” and —        

—      the coming of one mightier than himself, who would baptize not with water but with the Holy Spirit.

          In placing this message before us on this second Advent Sunday, the Church is saying that it is relevant — and important. Let’s see why.

          Repentance means “turning around,” reversing the direction of our lives.  We come into this world turned in on ourselves. In infancy and early childhood, what I want, right now, is more important than anything else. Some of you will surely remember celebrated baby doctor of an earlier generation, Dr. Spock. Like some of you, perhaps, I was raised on Dr. Spock’s principles. That may help you understand why I’ve turned out so badly. In one of his books Spock tells about a two-year old who was a little angel, until he was put down to sleep. Then he screamed his lungs out. Up to a certain age, we can’t do anything about this self-centeredness. It is inborn. We can’t even hide it. It is there for the whole world to see.

          Part of growing up is learning to overcome our self-centeredness. To do that

we must admit that is there: that I am not the person I ought to be and want to be; that I fall short of what God wanted me to be when, through my parents, he gave me the precious gift of life. 

          The people who came to John to be baptized in the Jordan River were making that fundamental admission: “They acknowledged their sins,” Mark’s gospel tells us. That meant — as acknowledgment of sin must always mean — facing up to their brokenness; admitting that their lives were a tangle of loose ends and failed resolutions. That is the first step in repentance: admitting that we fall short, that our lives are disordered.

          Many people get that far. But then they think that is up to them to mend their brokenness. By trying harder they think they can clean up their act, get it all together, as we sometimes say today. The second part of John’s message demolishes such optimistic ideas about repairing our disordered lives through our own willpower. “One mightier than I is coming after me,” John said. “I have baptized you with water; he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”    

          Acknowledging our sins, admitting our self-centeredness, is only the first step, John is saying. We need to acknowledge something more: that the disorder in our lives can be put right only by a power greater than our own; a power from outside ourselves. This is the power of God’s Holy Spirit.

          Are you completely satisfied with your life? If you knew that you were to stand before the Lord in judgment tonight, is there nothing you would regret, nothing that you would want changed? If there really is nothing, then the gospel of Jesus Christ is not for you. For this gospel is good news: the almost unbelievably good news that God loves people who are not satisfied with their lives; who — when they remember that they must stand before the Lord in judgment one day — are weighed down by all the things they wish they had done differently, or not done at all. Only for such people does John’s Advent message of repentance make any sense at all. 

          And for such people -- for all of us who are not completely satisfied with our lives, the second half of John’s message – about a power greater than our own – is as important as the first part: the call to repentance. The changes that need to take place in our lives will not occur without our best effort — true.  But our best effort alone is insufficient. Thinking that we must first get our act together before God will love us and bless us leads either to pride, or to despair. Either we persuade ourselves that we have got our act together, and now it is time for God to reward us for our efforts — which is pride. Or we grow so discouraged at constantly falling short that we fall into despair. 

          The gospel message, Christ’s good news of God’s freely given love, is for those who know that they don’t have their act together; who have tried and tried again to get it together, and failed time after time; but who recognize that there is One and One alone who can do for them what they never do for themselves: make straight in the wasteland of their lives a highway for Himself. 

          To accomplish this, Christ has given us a special sacrament: the sacrament of reconciliation or penance. Here is what the Catechism says about this sacrament: “Christ is at work in each of the sacraments. He personally addresses every sinner: ‘My son, your sins are forgiven.’ He is the physician tending each one of the sick who need him to cure them. He raises them up and reintegrates them into fraternal communion. Personal confession is thus the form most expressive of reconciliation with God and with the Church.” (1484)

          I finished my Christmas shopping this week and got my gifts in the mail. And I went to confession. I hope you will too. If you recognize the need for the healing, purifying touch of God’s Holy Spirit; if you are able to admit that your own efforts alone will always be doomed to failure until you allow God to be at the center of your life — then, like me, you will want to receive this beautiful sacrament. Then, and only then, will your preparation for Christmas be complete. Then you will really be ready for the coming at Christmas of God’s Son: your savior, you redeemer; but also your brother, your lover, and your best friend.

"FREELY YOU HAVE RECEIVED."

Homily for Saturday in week 1: Matthew 9:35-10:1,5a, 6-8.       

          “Without cost you have received; without cost you are to give,” Jesus tells us. I prefer another translation: “Freely you have received, freely give.” Can you think of something that is all your own, and not a gift from God? Many people might cite their achievements, the money they have earned, the awards they may have received. Would any of that be possible without the talents and abilities God has given us? When you stop to think about it, everything we have is given to us by God. There is one exception: our sins. They are all our own. Everything else comes ultimately from God – not because we are good enough to deserve God’s gifts – for none of us is. God showers his gifts on us not as rewards for being good, but simply because He is so good that he wants to share his goodness and love with us. 

          What is the appropriate response? We can describe it in a single word: thanksgiving. Here’s a question we all need to ask ourselves from time to time: Am I a thankful person? If we are people of prayer – and you would hardly be here if you weren’t – then we’re probably pretty good at asking God for things. Are we equally good at saying “Thank you,” when our requests are granted?

I was born before universal air travel. In my childhood I remember hearing about the Pastor of a wealthy parish who regretted that so many of his parishioners were lost at sea every summer. When they asked him, How come? he explained: “Lots of my people ask every June for Masses for a safe passage to Europe. Come Labor Day I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of Masses of thanksgiving requested for a safe return.”

What is the best way to thank God for all his gifts? The closing words of our gospel reading tell us: “Freely you have received, freely give.” In other words: we can’t keep God’s gifts, unless we give them away.” And it gets even better. When we do give them away, they come back to us. If you doubt that, just try it!

"DO YOU BELIEVE I CAN DO THIS?"

Homily for Advent 1 Friday: Matthew 9:27-31              

          “Do you believe that I can do this?” Jesus asks the two blind men who ask for healing. “Yes, Lord,” they respond. This declaration of faith is crucial. Faith opens us up to the action of God, as the sunshine opens up the flowers to the sun’s life giving warmth and the morning dew. Jesus reaffirms the close connection between faith and healing when he says: “Let it be done to you according to your faith.” Whereupon he touches the two and they are immediately healed.

          Now comes a surprise. “See that no one knows this,” he commands. Why? Bible scholars have been puzzling over this question ever since the gospels were written. The most convincing answer seems to be that Jesus did not wish to be known as a sensational wonder-worker. If all those who preach Jesus Christ today were to follow his example, a number of hot gospelers on TV have to go off the air. In Jesus’ day many of his people thought that when the long awaited Messiah came, he would be a person of power and glory. The only power that Jesus had was the power of love. His only glory was acceptance of the cross – an instrument of shame, degradation and death.

          Pope Benedict gives perhaps the best explanation for Jesus’ unwillingness to reveal his true identity until after his resurrection. Identifying himself publicly as Messiah, the anointed servant of God, “would undoubtedly have been misinterpreted in the public climate of Israel [Pope Benedict writes] and would necessarily have led to false hopes in him and on the other hand to political action against him. … The true Messiah is the ‘Son of Man,’ who is condemned to death as the precondition for his entrance into glory as the one who rose from death after three days.” (Jesus of Nazareth: from the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfiguration, pp. 297f)

          The two newly healed blind men know nothing of all this, of course. Overwhelmed with gratitude for their newfound sight, “they went out [Matthew tells us] and spread word of him throughout all that land.” Now, after Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection has removed all false expectations of the Messiah, Jesus invites us to do the same: with words when necessary, but in any case through a joy no less intense and contagious than that of the two men in today’s gospel: previously blind, but now able to see.

TWO HOUSES

Homily for Advent 1, Thursday: Matthew 7:21, 24-27.

          “Not everyone who says to me Lord, Lord, will enter the kingdom of God,” Jesus tells us, “but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven.” Who are the people who say, “Lord, Lord”? We are! Every time we pray – and your presence here shows that you do pray – we are saying, “Lord, Lord.” God asks for more, Jesus is telling us. If our prayers do not bear fruit in our lives, they are useless.

          The parable of the two houses which follows shows the difference between words and deeds. It may reflect something Jesus himself had witnessed: a house built on sandy, low lying ground, swept away by heavy rains and storms. Those of us who live in the Mississippi valley witness that every decade or so. Houses built, despite all previous experience, on the floodplain are swept away, or rendered uninhabitable, when the Father of Waters, as the native Americans called the river, overflow its banks. Meanwhile, those who build on higher ground, with solid foundations, experience no loss at all.

          What does it mean to build on sand? It means basing our lives and hopes on things that are unstable and fleeting: money, success, fame – even health and prosperity. To build on rock means to build our lives on God. The Bible often compares God to solid rock. We have an example in today’s first reading, from the prophet Isaiah, “Trust in the Lord forever,” he writes, “for the Lord is an eternal Rock.” Simply calling out ‘Lord, Lord,” is useless, if the good things we do are not done for Him, but for our own glory, to impress other people.

          Here is a prayer written by a man who built on God: Cardinal Mercier of Belgium, a hero to his people for defending them, at great personal cost, during the German occupation of World War I. It goes like this: “O Holy Spirit, Beloved of my soul, I adore you. Enlighten me, guide me, strengthen me, console me. Tell me what I should do. Give me your orders. I promise to submit myself to all that you desire of me and to accept all that you permit to happen to me. Let me only know your will. Amen.”

          I pray that prayer myself, every day.

"THEY ALL ATE, AND WERE SATISFIED."

Homily for Week 1 Wednesday: Matthew 15:29-37.

          This story of Jesus feeding the vast crowd in the wilderness was clearly a favorite with Christians in the decades after Jesus’ resurrection. We find it told, with variations, six times over in the four gospels.

What accounts for its popularity? I can think of three reasons. First, it shows Jesus’ ability to solve a problem that, to us, is insoluble. Second, it is an example of what is sometimes called “The law of the gift.” And finally, it helps us understand the central Christian mystery: the Eucharist. Let me speak briefly about each of these three.

Feeding a vast multitude with seven loaves of bread and a few fish was clearly impossible. Not, however, for Jesus. The story tells us that when we place our resources, however inadequate they may be, into the hands of Jesus Christ, we discover that they are inadequate no longer. Jesus is the Son and representative of the God of the impossible.

Second, the story helps us understand what is sometimes called “the law of the gift.” This tells us that when we give something to the Lord, it is not lost. It comes back to us. But it comes back transformed, and enlarged. That is because God is, in the words of the theologians, sufficient unto himself. He needs nothing.

Third and finally, what we offer to God in the Eucharist -- a little bread and a small quantity of wine, gifts every bit as insignificant as the seven loaves of bread and a few fish offered to Jesus in this story -- comes back to us transformed into the Body and Blood of God’s Son: all his love, all his goodness, all his  strength, all his purity and compassion, all his willingness to forgive.

And friends, when we have Him – Jesus – we have everything.

THINGS HIDDEN FROM THE WISE.

Homily for Week 1 in Advent, Tuesday. Luke 10:21-24.

          The seventy-two have just returned from their missionary journeys to tell Jesus: “Even the demons are subject to us” (Luke 10:17). Jesus responds with the spontaneous hymn of praise to his heavenly Father which we have just heard: “I give you praise, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for although you have hidden these things from the wise and the learned, you have revealed them to the childlike.” The wise and learned are those who fail to respond to Jesus, because they feel no need for God. Jesus’ disciples are the childlike, whose hearts and minds are open to the Lord.

          Who are today's wise and learned? They teach in our elite universities; they run the great foundations, with names like Ford, Rockefeller, and Gates. They dominate Hollywood and the media. With few exceptions they consider the killing of unborn children whose birth might be an inconvenience to be a wonderful advance in humanity’s ascent from ignorance and superstition to enlightenment and freedom. They charge those of us who consider abortion for any reason a crime and a grave sin with waging a “war on women.” They look down with patronizing scorn, disbelief, and hatred on those who insist that life is precious at every stage: in the womb, but also in old age, when Grandma’s mind has gone ahead of her, and her meaningful life is over. When we contend that marriage is the union of one man and one woman; and that re-defining marriage is an injustice to children, who have a right to a father and a mother, they denounce us as bigots and homophobes.

          Who, on the other hand, are today’s childlike? We are! We pray in this Mass that our merciful and loving Lord may keep us always so: aware that we can never make it on our own; that we are dependent every day, every hour, and every minute on the One who came to show us what the invisible God is like; who always walks with us on the journey of life; and who is waiting for each one of us at the end of the road – to welcome us home!

"LORD, I AM NOT WORTHY."

Homily for Monday Week 1 in Advent. Matt. 8:5-11.

          Immediately before the healing story we have just heard, Jesus has healed a leper by reaching out and touching him. Obedient to the law of his people, Jesus sends the man to the priests in the Jerusalem Temple. Jewish priests were quarantine officials. With a priestly certificate of good health the leper, previously bound to live apart from others, lest they too become infected, could enter society again. There is irony here: later it would be priests who would conspire to arrest Jesus.

          The centurion who asks Jesus to heal his servant is a Gentile military officer. This is clear from his response when Jesus says he will come to heal the servant. The officer shows both courtesy to Jesus and respect for the Jewish law by saying: “Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof.” He knows that in entering a Gentile house Jesus could become ritually unclean. So he suggests an alternative: “Only say the word and my servant will be healed.” I do that all the time, he says. I give orders to those under my authority, and they do what I command.

          Upon hearing these words, Matthew tells us, Jesus “was amazed.” Normally it is the witnesses who are amazed at Jesus’ healings. Here it is the Lord himself who shows amazement. I have not found faith like this from my own people, Jesus says. This outsider, who has neither our divine law, nor our prophets, he tells the people, shows greater faith than you do. The words which follow about people coming from east and west to take seats at God’s heavenly banquet alongside Israel’s heroes are a prophecy of the Church. Originally a sect within Judaism, the Church would break out of its Jewish womb to become the worldwide community of Gentiles as well.

          The centurion’s words continue to resound two millennia later. “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof,” we say before we approach the Lord’s table to receive his Body and Blood, “but only say the word, and my soul shall be healed.” Even after a good confession, we are still unworthy of the Lord’s gift. He gives himself to us for one reason: not because we are good enough; but because he is so good that he longs to share his love with us.