“THE NIGHT IS ADVANCED,
THE DAY IS AT HAND”
Advent 1A. Isaiah 2:1-5; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew
24:37-44.
AIM: To proclaim
the Advent summons: to live in the light of history’s last hour, and of
eternity.
Imagine yourself sitting at home
watching your favorite evening program on television. Suddenly the screen goes
blank. An unseen announcer says: “We interrupt this program for a special
announcement. We take you to the White House in Washington.” In a moment you
are watching the President. Sitting at his desk in the Oval Office he announces
an international agreement between the governments of all the major states in
the Middle East: Iran, Iraq, Israel, the Palestinians, and Saudi Arabia.
Guaranteed by the governments of the United States, Great Britain, France,
Germany, and Russia, the agreement provides for swift settlement of all
conflict in that area: an end to hostilities in Iraq; disarmament in Iran, the
establishment of a Palestinian state living at peace with its neighbor Israel.
The guarantor governments, the President says, have formed a consortium to
rebuild Iraq’s shattered infrastructure and provide education for the millions
of young Arab people in the area, embittered up to now by lack of opportunity
to live the good life they see daily on television from outside their region.
What a sensation such an announcement
would be! How people all over the world would rejoice to know that the fear of
war and terrorism was banished, and that the vast sums spent on arms could be
devoted to constructive, peaceful purposes.
Is that a dream? Sadly, it is. Yet we
find a description of just such a dream in our first reading today. There the
prophet Isaiah speaks of all nations coming to Jerusalem. There, in the holy
city, the Lord himself will settle all their quarrels and conflicts: “They
shall beat their swords into plowshares ...one nation shall not raise the sword
against another, no shall they train for war again.”
For Isaiah that was not a dream. It
was reality. But it was a reality which he knew would be fulfilled only at the
end of history. Nowhere in the Bible do we find any reason to expect that time
will come within history when there will be no more wars. This should
not discourage us from working to limit and, as far as possible, to banish all
wars and conflicts – in our communities, in our nation, in the world. At the
same time, we are not to entertain unrealistic hopes which can only be
disappointed. The abolition of all conflict, and all war, will come only
at the end of time. And it will come about not though human planning, but
through God’s direct intervention.
When will God intervene? In today’s
gospel Jesus tells us that we cannot know. We can be sure of one thing only:
that God’s intervention will catch many people unprepared: “Two men will be out
in the field; one will be taken, the other left. Two women will be grinding at
the mill; one will be taken, the other left.”
How can we prepare? Not by
speculation about when the world will end, but by living now in the light of
that crucial future event; by living in this world according to the standards
of another world. That is what
Paul means when he writes in our second reading: “Let us throw off the works of
darkness and put on the armor of light.”
What are today’s works of darkness?
To name them all I’d have to stand here far longer than you would like. Let me
give just three small examples. It is a work of darkness when we accept the
popular slogan: “Don’t get mad, get even.”
How many conflicts in our world are due to people acting on those words?
Had Jesus accepted them, there would have been no Calvary – and hence no empty
tomb. If we are his followers, we need to seek not vengeance, but forgiveness.
It is a work of darkness to believe
what we are told by the advertising industry: that to be happy we need a never
ending supply of the goods and services portrayed daily on television and in
the glossy magazines. That is false. Happiness comes not through getting; it
comes through giving. People who have never discovered that are poor – no
matter how large their houses are, or their bank accounts.
Yes, and it is a work of darkness
when we tell women in problem pregnancies that there is a quick fix. Get rid of
it, and then all your troubles over.
Every year thousands of women discover, to their sorrow, that after an
abortion their troubles have only begun. Shame, guilt, and bitter regrets often
continue for months, not seldom for years. Putting away this work of darkness
means compassion for women in problem pregnancies: costing, caring
support which helps them do what every mother knows, deep in her heart, is
right: protect and nourish the human life within them, even and especially when
this is costly.
Throwing off those works of darkness,
and countless others, means accepting the ridicule of people who call darkness
light. Remember Noah, Jesus tells us in the gospel – ridiculed by the people of
his day for building a boat hundreds of miles from water. ‘Building an ark, are
you, Noah?’ his friends taunted him. ‘What on earth for? Expecting it to rain?’
Oh, they had a good time with old Noah, you may be sure of that. “In those days
before the flood,” Jesus says in the gospel, “they were eating and drinking, marrying
and giving in marriage ...until the day when the flood came and carried them
all away. So will it also be at the coming of the Son of Man.”
For those who are unprepared – for
people who live according to the standards of this world, calling darkness
light, and light darkness – the coming of the Son of Man will be a shock. They
will be like the homeowner, Jesus warns in the gospel, who sleeps soundly while
the burglar taps on the mud brick wall of the man’s Palestinian house, to
discover the hollowed out place inside where the family’s savings are kept.
When the burglar finds the spot, he digs through and takes everything. Too late,
the homeowner discovers that he has been picked clean.
For those who are prepared, however,
God’s final intervention will be a day of joy and fulfilment. These are the
people who live in the darkness of this world with their faces turned toward
the light of Jesus Christ. “The night is advanced,” Paul tells us in our second
reading, “the day is at hand. Let us then throw off the works of darkness and
put on the armor of light.”
That is the Advent message. We are
living in history’s final age. How long this final age will yet last, we cannot
know – any more than we can know now long our own personal lives will last.
What we can and do know is that this age will end when Christ comes again: not
in obscurity, as he came to Mary and the shepherds; but dramatically, in an
event so momentous that no one will doubt that history’s last hour has struck.
For those who ignore the Advent
message and live for themselves, Christ’s coming will be a day of shock and
disaster. For those, however, who are trying to live not for themselves but for
Jesus Christ, and for others, his coming will be a joyful encounter with a
dearly loved friend – whether this encounter be at our own personal death, or
at the end of history. They will be able to say, with great joy, the words of our responsorial psalm: “I
rejoiced because they said to me, ‘We will go up to the house of the Lord.’”
Will you be able to say that when the
final hour strikes? Will you be ready when Jesus Christ comes?