Mark 10:45

Tag: Advent

  • Open the Door

    Open the Door

    Isaiah 7:10-14; Psalm 24:7c, 10b; Matthew 1:18-24

    You’ve probably seen the famous painting of Jesus standing on a porch, holding a lantern, and knocking on the door. The painting is called “The Light of the World,” and its artist, William Holman Hunt, embedded a few symbols into it, two of which are very appropriate for Advent.

    First is the door itself; it has no handle on the outside. Second is the bottom of the door; weeds are growing everywhere. What did Hunt intend with these symbols?

    The answer lies in the Psalm response chosen by the Church today: Let the Lord enter; he is the king of glory. The door opening only from the inside means that we have to let Jesus enter. He will not force his way in. The weeds symbolize a life where prayer has been crowded out. Again, if we don’t take the time to speak to Jesus, to ask him in, he will not enter.

    So, is there anything keeping me from opening the door and letting God more fully into my life? There are probably many things, but I can think of two.

    First, fear. Despite his outward appearance of piety (“I will not tempt God!”), King Ahaz was afraid. What did this arrogant young man have to fear? Loss of control. He couldn’t allow anyone, even God, to take control from him. But notice in the gospel how Joseph is just the opposite: He allowed God full control, to the point of listening to Him in dreams.

    Second, distraction. That was another problem with Ahaz. He was too occupied with himself and his kingdom to make time for God. Again, Joseph was the opposite; even in his dreams, he discerned and listened to God’s voice. In return, God made him the guardian of Jesus and his Most Blessed Mother.

    That brings us to ourselves. We might ask who we’re more like – Ahaz or Joseph – but perhaps we’re a little of both. Our “inner Ahaz” may fear giving God control. He might ask a lot of us, or lead us where we don’t want to go. Or we too may be distracted, our hearts so cluttered with other things that we aren’t really listening for God or speaking much with Him.

    Let us use these last days of Advent, when things can get so busy, to remind ourselves that God doesn’t need to take control. As Emmanuel, “God With Us,” He is already in control. Fear is useless; what is needed is faith. We need only be still, ask Him for the faith we need, then “open the door”: Pray, listen, and trust that He who is already near may truly be “with us” – in our homes and hearts, now and for all the days to come.

    —

  • The Shoot and the Fruit

    The Shoot and the Fruit

    The 2ndSunday of Advent, Cycle A

    Isaiah 11:1-10; Matthew 3:1-12

    It may not seem like it, but today Isaiah presents one of the most striking images in all of Scripture: A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse. To us it sounds poetic, and is, but for the prophet’s audience, it was also practical, and its symbolism powerful. Why? Because the Hebrews knew that a shoot growing from the stump of an old olive tree, when properly cared for, grows into a new olive tree. Then and now, the olive tree was a symbol of resurrection: What looked dried up and dead is alive again; a whole new tree, fresh and full of fruit.

    To this, the prophet adds two things: First, he gives the stump a family name – Jesse, King David’s father – in effect prophesying a son from that family endowed with spiritual gifts. Second, this son would usher into the world a kingdom of peace beyond our imagination. On this side of the resurrection, it’s easy to see this son of David as our Lord, Jesus Christ, and creation at the end state God planned from all eternity: healed and restored, with its people living in justice and peace. What a perfect picture.

    But, as we all know from times we’ve pictured ourselves having reached some new personal milestone, there has to be a path to get us there. We don’t just become a new self; real effort is involved. Sometimes, I think I need a drill sergeant to push me where I want to go. Once I find out how hard the path to a better me is, the less I’m motivated to get there on my own.

    Enter John the Baptist, the first century’s spiritual drill sergeant.

    His words – Repent… prepare the way… make straight the paths… produce good fruit as evidence of your repentance – may sound harsh, but they’re true. They remind us that the kingdom Isaiah pictured takes a lot more than good intentions or warm feelings. It takes real effort; a deliberate, disciplined turning back to God.

    As John none-too-gently reminded his audience when he said, the ax lies at the root of the tree, some pain may be involved. We know the discomfort, the humility of Confession. But we also know that God meets us there, and gives us the grace to cut away the behaviors and attitudes that lead us away from Him.

    It may feel as though all that remains of our old life is a stump, but remember the olive tree – from the stump that remains, new shoots can grow. What are those? Imagine the possibilities: A moment of honesty; a bad habit given up; a virtue practiced on purpose; a relationship tended with patience; less screen time replaced by more and deeper prayer; reconciliation with someone we have avoided. And many more.

    The best news of all? Any of these small shoots will become, if tended, a new tree — a new self — rooted in Christ. And from that tree, the good fruit will begin to appear: gentleness rather than impatience, mercy rather than judgment, courage rather than fear.

    So, this Advent – right now – let’s choose just one concrete act of repentance, one “spiritual muscle” to train, or one place where we invite the Lord to straighten the path. God is eager to do it; He, who raised a shoot from Jesse’s stump will raise a new heart in us as well. And, through that heart, we will bear the fruit that shows we are really doing what God wants most – turning back to Him.

    —

  • Expect the Unexpected

    Expect the Unexpected

    Friday of the 4th Week of Advent

    Malachi 3:1-4, 23-24; Luke 1:57-66

    Today’s story from St. Luke is like a parable: On the surface, it tells the story of the birth and naming of John the Baptist. But there is a deeper level, which teaches us about the action of God in the lives of his people, including us.

    Like most parables, it works best if we put ourselves into the story. Since Luke gives such a prominent role to the relatives and neighbors of Zechariah and Elizabeth, let’s look at it from their point of view. When we do that, we see some pretty big surprises.

    The first is that Elizabeth was even pregnant. No one seemed to know! Note how Luke is careful of the order: First she gives birth, then the relatives and neighbors hear about the baby. Of course, they rejoice, and we sympathize; we all know how it feels to hear good news of a prayer being answered in the way we hoped – especially such a big way!

    Then comes the surprise that starts an argument. Without asking, the relatives and neighbors assume the baby will have his father’s name. When Elizabeth objects, they get argumentative, almost dismissive, and appeal to Zechariah. When he confirms the name “John,” they give in but are clearly perplexed about this unexpected break with tradition.

    Finally, the biggest surprise: Zechariah is healed. While Luke describes their reaction as “fear,” the implication in the original language is that it has begun to dawn on the friends and relatives that God is behind all this.

    It is this realization that brings us to the deeper meanings of the story. I see at least three.

    First, God works in unexpected ways. A woman beyond childbearing age, bearing a child; the obvious name for the baby not chosen; his father, after confirming the name, suddenly able to hear and speak again. All unexpected, but at the same time, not surprising. As we see throughout Scripture, God works in ways we don’t expect and through those who appear least likely. The lesson is clear: God has a plan in need of no revision, chooses who he wills to accomplish it, and provides the grace necessary. All he asks is that we do our part. So, the question is: Do I submit my will totally to God and his plan for me, no matter how difficult or humbling, and do I ask for the grace to do it?

    Second, if divine revelation seems sudden, that’s because we haven’t been paying close attention. Scripture tells us time and again that God is always close, always active, and intimately involved in every aspect of our existence. The problem is, as the relatives and neighbors demonstrate, we tend to drift into uninvolvement. They didn’t even know that Elizabeth was pregnant, let alone that she had the baby. Why? Perhaps for the same reason that we lose touch with people: Neglect, either intentional or unintentional. Again, we need to ask ourselves: Have we allowed relationships to drift, carried grudges and allowed them to persist, or wait for others to make the first move?

    Then there is the story’s most important lesson: That everything in life, expected or not, points to Christ. This is summarized most perfectly in John’s own name, chosen for him by the Holy Spirit, for “John” means, “God is gracious.” To John, Christ Jesus, the source of all grace, was everything. He knew, as St. Therese of Lisieux once said, that “everything is a grace, everything is the direct effect of our Father’s love – difficulties, contradictions, humiliations, all the soul’s miseries, her burdens, her needs – everything, because through them, she learns humility, realizes her weakness. Everything is a grace because everything is God’s gift. Whatever be the character of life or its unexpected events – to the heart that loves, all is well.”

  • Time for an “Awe-full” Advent

    As part of a school Christmas pageant, some first-graders reenacted the nativity story. Mary and Joseph, weary after their journey, sat by the manger and closed their eyes. The lights went out. When they came back on, Joseph woke up, looked in the manger and said, “Mary, wake up! Wake up! Look who you had!”

    As we all know, children get so excited at this time of year. Every sight, sound, and smell of the season is a wonder, and they are so full of anticipation that time seems to stand still; every day from Thanksgiving to Christmas seems like an eternity.

    But we also know that as we grow older the same time seems to fly. So many things occupy our minds; there are gifts to buy, parties to plan, places to go, people to see. Before we know it, Christmas is upon us and the only wonder that remains is where the time has gone.

    St. Gregory the Great once said that we make idols of our concepts, but wisdom is born of wonder. Every hint of wonder, every shred of joy in that little voice who cried, “Wake up! Look who you had!” is a reminder that any concept of Advent is an idol if it does not lead us more deeply to the wonder of Christ, who is Wisdom.

    It’s true that we are not children, time cannot stand still, and there are things during Advent that must be done. But it’s also true that Christ confers his Kingdom on those who trust like children, that time is what we make of it, and that our busyness is nothing but spiritual slumber when we yield to the temptation to put things before people, even ourself, and above all before our love of God, who loved us so much that he would take our flesh only to lay it down that we might live.

    Wake up! Wake up! Look who you have!

  • The Three Consolations: Thursday of the 3rd Week of Advent

    Judges 13:2-7, 24-25a; Luke 1:5-25

    I remember once years ago sitting with my mother, watching TV. The shows were full of young people and I jokingly remarked, “I guess no one over 40 can be on TV.” Mom saw no humor in it; she replied, “Our society has no use for us older people, especially women. In their eyes, once we’re past childbearing age we’ve outlived our usefulness.”

    That got me thinking about the Hebrew world of today’s readings. Elizabeth and the mother of Sampson could probably identify with my mother’s feelings. They lived in a culture where barrenness was seen by many as a punishment from God (Genesis 16:2, 20:18). For such women the future was bleak; nothing but loneliness and insecurity to look forward to. No wonder some of them were prompted to despair (Genesis 30:1).

    Especially during seasons such as Advent and Christmas when we exalt the virtue of hope, people still fall prey to the loneliness, depression, and anxiety that lead to despair. Rather than consolation they are in desolation, the sense that God sees our hopelessness yet has abandoned us, left us in the dark, and is never coming back. We cannot see that it is only an inner sense and not the outward reality; the voice of the Prince of Lies telling us we are worthless, that God doesn’t love us and is far, far away. The truth is that God is as near as our next breath and loves us so much that we are worth dying for.

    It is the wait that fools us. If God loves us so much, why do we seem to wait forever for him to answer? The women in the readings must have wondered the same thing. Day after day, week after week, year after year they waited; still no answer. It would have been easy to give up. Yet what does Scripture say? Elizabeth, like her husband, was “righteous in the eyes of God, observing all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord blamelessly” (Luke 1:6).

    In other words Elizabeth persevered, and it was this that kept her from falling into despair. This is a lesson for us. We too must not only endure times of desolation but use them to strengthen our spiritual gifts. We cannot learn prudence when the way is always clear, justice when all is fair, fortitude when times are easy, or temperance when we get everything in just the right amount. We cannot strengthen our faith when all is seen, or charity when all is given. In the same way, the virtue of hope grows stronger as we persevere in waiting and through that perseverance appreciate ever more deeply the coming of that which we most long for: Unity with God, the object of our hope. Desolation is not the time to turn away from God but toward him; to reinvigorate our hope in the everlasting joy of heaven. The time is now, for Advent is the definitive season of waiting, when hope longs to be rekindled.

    stained-glass-4522405_640The great gift of fertility given to Samson’s mother and to Elizabeth are confirmation that perseverance is rewarded. God sees all of us who endure desolation and, in his own time and manner, provides from the storehouse of his infinite mercy the life-giving consolation of his Spirit. When we find ourselves in times of desolation remember to ask the intercession of St. Elizabeth; she understands very well not only the pain of endless waiting but also the indescribable joy of the Holy Spirit’s three priceless consolations: The new life of St. John within her womb; the love and help of Mary, the Mother of Hope; and most of all the fulfillment of Hope itself: Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

    St. Elizabeth, pray for us.

  • Our Mother, Clothed With the Sun: Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe

    Revelation 11:19a; 12:1-6a, 10ab; Luke 1:39-47

    The book of Revelation is apocalyptic literature. This was a genre used in and around the time of Christ. It is overloaded with rich and mystical symbolism; a single image may represent multiple things. Further, the imagery can be violent and warlike, even though its ultimate message is one of hope and peace.

    In the passage of Revelation chosen for today’s feast lurks a huge red dragon. The Hebrew word translated as dragon can also mean “serpent” or “sea monster” and is thought to represent the devil and the forces of evil, ready to make war against the Christ and his Church.

    In late 15th century Mexico, the Spanish conquistador Cortez saw echoes of that dragon in the violent, warlike Aztec religion. Every year, thousands of people were sacrificed to appease its bloodthirsty gods. In 1487, the dedication of a new pagan temple saw 80,000 people sacrificed in just a few days. As if that weren’t bad enough, the dragon’s shadow also appeared in some of the immigrants to the new world, who spoke of peace but practiced avarice, treating the Mexicans and their land as things to be exploited for personal gain. Even some within the Church hindered the spread of the gospel by refusing vocations from the local community; Catholic Mexicans were not allowed to minister to their own people. It’s not hard to understand why many resisted converting to Catholicism.

    If a reflection of the dragon could be found in the new world, so could a reflection of the woman. In 1531, a mystical apparition identified herself as “the ever Virgin, Holy Mary, the Mother of God” to a middle-aged Mexican man named Juan Diego. In Revelation, the woman was clothed with the sun, the moon under her feet, and wore a crown of stars. The apparition at Tepeyac is also rich in symbolism, but it is all Aztec. The woman stands in front of the sun, eclipsing the Aztec sun god; her foot rests on the moon, dominating their chief god, Quetzalcoatl; her mantle holds the stars, which they worshiped. Yet, the woman is not divine; her hands are in a posture of prayer and she looks down, which Aztec gods never do. She is a queen, for she wears the Aztec royal color of turquoise; a Christian, for there is a cross on her brooch, is pregnant, for she wears an Aztec maternity belt; yet she is a divine mother, for over her womb appears a four-petal flower, the Aztec symbol of a deity.

    As important as her image was, her words were far more so; for what she said, how she said it, and who she said it to. She spoke in the language of the Aztecs, not in Spanish; she spoke to a simple peasant, and through him to all people; her message was one of comfort and hope: She was there; she was their mother; she held them in her arms, heard their weeping, and knew of their hardships and sorrows. Above all, she wanted them to rest assured that through her intercession they would be healed.

    our-lady-of-guadalupe-4542831_1920She became known as Our Lady of Guadalupe, and as word of the miraculous appearance and image spread, she became the most effective tool of evangelization that Mexico or the world had ever known. In the gospel, Mary carried the Eternal Word into the Judean countryside where the babe within Elizabeth’s womb leaped for joy; 15 centuries later, Mary’s maternal word went out into the Mexican countryside where millions leaped for joy. Conversions increased so dramatically that for a couple of years the missionaries could almost not keep up with them. More than that, the peoples’ faith was strong; to this day, the faith of the Mexican people remains vibrant, with deep devotion to Our Lady of Guadalupe.

    In our own time the dragon still lurks. We do not have thousands dying in pagan temples, but we do have millions dying in abortion mills here and throughout the world. Still, the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe reminds us that the woman of Revelation is still present, still giving birth to the Church, still giving her ever victorious Son to the world. As she comforted the Mexican people, so she consoles us. She is our mother; she holds us in her arms; knows of our hardships and sorrows, and assures us that through her intercession, we too will be healed by Christ, her son.

    Our Lady of Guadalupe, pray for us.

  • How Not to Lean: Thursday of the First Week of Advent

    Isaiah 26:1-6; 55:6; Matthew 7:21, 24-27

    In the 12th century the people of Pisa, Italy could say like Judah in the first reading, A strong city have we (Isaiah 26:1). A military, political, and economic force, they had recently triumphed over Palermo in Sicily and returned home with the fortunes of war – millions in booty and a shipload of soil from Golgotha in the Holy Land. Eager to show off their wealth, the people set aside a large plot of land called the Field of Miracles and in it filled a new cemetery with the sacred soil, built a majestic cathedral and baptistery, and set to work on what was to be the largest bell tower in the world – 200 feet high.

    Unfortunately, Pisa could also say that the Lord humbles those in high places (Isaiah 26:5). Before it had risen 3 floors it was obvious the tower was leaning. Perhaps they forgot that the word Pisa is Greek for marshy land, its ground too soft to support such a structure. Construction stopped and started for centuries as different architects tried different things, all with the same result: Fixed on one side, the tower would lean the other. By 1990 it leaned so badly that it had to be closed to the public. Finally, after millions in repairs it reopened, still leaning. As one expert said, “Sandy and soggy ground is definitely not ideal for tall, heavy towers unless they have rock solid foundations.”

    As we begin a new Church year in these early days of Advent let us consider our own spiritual foundation. Like ancient Pisa we have been given so much. We are a strong city – the City of God. Strong walls and ramparts protect us – the four walls of the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. We have neither the marshland of Pisa nor the dirt of Golgotha but something infinitely better: The Father, the eternal Rock (Isaiah 26:4), his Only Son who died on Golgotha giving birth to the Church, and the Holy Spirit sent by them to guide her into all truth. And we have every tool needed to build our faith: Sacred Scripture, Tradition, and the teaching authority vested by Christ in his Church.

    But all of that goes for nothing if we build our faith on the sand of ourselves and not on the rock foundation of God. How do we do that? By reading Scripture with our own mind rather than the mind of the Church; failing to give the assent of faith to Church teachings we find difficult; following whatever preaching tickles our ear; taking for granted or ignoring the Sacraments as the means of receiving sanctifying grace; and failing to see all people, especially those we don’t like, as made in the image and likeness of God and loved infinitely by him as we are.

    italy-3577677_1280These and many more are like the soft, marshy soil below the tower of Pisa. Like that tower, a faith built on human weakness will lean and no amount of stopping and starting, tinkering and refining will fix it. It must be torn to the ground and rebuilt on the foundation of Christ and his Church, for we must take the faith as it is, not as we would like it to be.

    This is painful but growth often is; to be fertile and capable of bearing fruit, soil must be dug into, plowed, upturned and weeded. It’s no different in the spiritual life; we must go deep into our minds and hearts, tear them open if need be, do all that we can to prepare them for the foundation of Christ. This will require that we come to him by repenting, admitting our weaknesses and failings, and resolving to amend our lives; trusting in God and all that he has revealed, whether we fully understand it or not.

    These first two weeks of Advent are a time set aside by the Church for exactly this. Now is the time! As the gospel acclamation says, call to him while he is still near (Isaiah 55:6). In the end each of us will stand before him from one of two places: A tower of faith built solidly on the rock of Christ or one built on sand. The Master Builder has already given us his advice; we find it in Proverbs: Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding (Proverbs 3:5).

    In other words, remember the tower of Pisa: When we lean on our own understanding, we simply lean.