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Advent
Dynamism
December 2, 2007
Readings for the First
Sunday of Advent
| Reading
1: Is. 2:1–5 |
| Responsorial
Psalm: Ps. 122: 1–2, 3–4, 4–5, 6–7,
8–9 |
| Reading
2: Rom. 13:11–14 |
| Gospel:
Mt. 24:37–44 |
| Link
to Readings |
For
another angle on Sunday's readings, check out Fr. Ray Ryland's
homily, "The
'Advent Situation'."
By
Father Roger J. Landry
Happy New Year’s
Day! Today the Church, indeed, inaugurates a new year dedicated
to our reliving in time the central mysteries of the life
of Christ. Christ is the “the Alpha and the Omega, the
first and the last, the beginning and the end” (Rev.
22:13), and the Church has us begin each year focusing both
on the end and on the beginning so that we might better live
the present. Advent is that season in which we prepare for
Christ’s coming in the past (in Bethlehem), His coming
in the future (on the clouds of heaven to judge the living
and the dead) and His coming in the present (in so many ways,
but especially in the Eucharist).
Advent, like the
life of faith as a whole, is fundamentally DYNAMIC. There’s
movement. Christ out of love is coming toward us and we, out
of love, await His coming, so that we might embrace Him with
joy. There’s a temptation sometimes to look at a new
liturgical year with little or no excitement, similar to what
we experience when we watch re-runs of television programs
or movies. We know how the story ends and therefore it makes
less and less of an impression on us each time.
But that’s
not the way God wants it and that is not what the liturgical
year is meant to be. It’s supposed to be more like the
way Red Sox fans and players alike are looking forward to
spring training next year. Even though there will be 162 games
next season just like this one, even though the squad will
for the most part face the same opponents in the same cities,
even though the games will still be nine innings long and
the diamond will have the same dimensions, there will be a
whole new drama. The drama will involve how they rise to meet
the challenges that will come to them within the structure
of the new season. Similarly, there’s meant to be a
whole new drama for us in this new liturgical season in which
we, with Christ’s help, rise to meet the challenges
He puts before us. Every liturgical CYCLE is supposed to be
a liturgical SPIRAL: we are not meant to repeat last year’s
steps but rather to retrace their direction at a higher and
more intense level. The experience of last year is meant to
help us to have a better season this year. God the Father
shouts to us from heaven, “Play ball!” and He
wants us to do so with enthusiasm.
Get
on the Ark!
Jesus tells us
in today’s Gospel that, when He comes, there will be
winners and there will be losers. “As it was in the
days of Noah,” He stresses, “so will it be at
the coming of the Son of Man.” We know what happened
at the time of Noah. “The wickedness of mankind was
great in the earth and every inclination of the thoughts of
their hearts was only evil continually,” the Book of
Genesis tells us. “It grieved God to the heart”
(Gen. 6:5–6). While the majority of people were drowning
in their own hedonism—so self-absorbed that they didn’t
even see the storm coming—Noah was building an ark awaiting
God’s word to be fulfilled.
Jesus tells us
that history will repeat itself. When He comes again, some
will be ready and some won’t. He tells us that of two
men who do the same job in the field, only one will be ready;
of two women in the kitchen, only one will be prepared; of
a husband and a wife in the same bed, only one will be taken
(Lk. 17:34). He Himself has come into the world and built
a new ark for us—Peter’s barque, the Church—stockpiling
it with the salvific provisions of the sacraments, His Word
and His very presence, but we have to be wise enough to see
the forecast and to get on that ark.
Jesus tells us
very clearly in the Gospel how to avoid making the same mistake
the people in Noah’s day did. The means is to “stay
awake,” to remain always vigilant and alert for His
return so that we might never “fall asleep spiritually”
and be caught off guard. St. Paul interprets for us what that
means in the second reading. “You know what time it
is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For
salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers;
the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside
the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us
live honorably as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness,
not in debauchery and licentiousness, not in quarreling and
jealousy. Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make
no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.”
Ready
or Not, Here He Comes
Thus, each of us
is faced with a choice. The choice is between light and darkness,
between day and night, between life and death. The choice
is that stark. If we elect to “revel in drunkenness,
debauchery, licentiousness, quarreling and jealousy,”
we’re electing the darkness and will remain there. In
the final analysis, we either “make provision for the
flesh, to gratify its desires,” or make provision for
the Spirit, to gratify God. Jesus and His faithful apostle
sound an alarm clock for us today. They tell us to wake up.
And they give us the GOOD NEWS that we CAN “walk in
the light of the Lord” (first reading), leaving “the
words of darkness” behind, and “put on the Lord
Jesus Christ.” That is the way we will always be ready
to embrace Christ whenever and wherever He comes.
We know that when
Christ came into the world the first time, some people were
ready, but most people were not. Mary Immaculate was ready
and said a hearty “yes” to God’s will. Joseph
was ready and therefore capable of adapting quickly to God’s
mysterious plans. The shepherds were ready, vigilant at night,
to run to Bethlehem as soon as they heard the news. The Magi
were ready, so ready in fact that they were able to discern
the newborn king’s presence through the presence of
a star.
On the other hand,
Herod was not ready, too caught up in his own pride and sensuality
to recognize the Source of his authority. The inn-keepers
were not ready, too caught up in their business and in their
need for order that they didn’t have room to house their
Creator. The scholars of the law were not ready to make even
the short six-mile journey from Jerusalem to Bethlehem to
learn from the Divine Legislator. The vast majority of the
Jewish people, who had been awaiting the advent of their Messiah
for centuries, were simply not prepared when at last He came.
The
Time Is Now
The surest way
for us to be ready for Christ when He comes in the future
is to be ready for Him now. The same Christ whom the shepherds
and Magi adored in Bethlehem comes to us in the Eucharist,
in an even more humble disguise. Our response to Jesus in
the Eucharist now is the true indication of whether we are
awake or asleep, whether we’re like Noah or so many
of his contemporaries, whether we’re imitating Mary
and Joseph, the Shepherds, and the Magi, or whether we’re
behaving more like the inn-keepers, scholars of the law, and
Herod. How would we have responded two thousand years ago
if we were in Bethlehem? The best indication is how we respond
now when Christ is here with us.
In this new liturgical
year, let’s get it right. Emmanuel, God-with-us, has
come! He is here with us now in the Eucharist. Come, let us
adore Him!
Father
Roger J. Landry is pastor
of St. Anthony of Padua Parish in New Bedford, MA and Executive
Editor of The Anchor, the weekly newspaper of the
Diocese of Fall River. An archive of his homilies and articles
is found at catholicpreaching.com.
This
is adapted from one of Fr. Landry’s recent homilies.
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From Our Founder
How different the holy Church would be this very day if, years ago, we had
been filled with a spirit of humility and compunction, of patience and ready
obedience, with the spirit of the Publican, who stood afar off, not
venturing to raise his eyes to heaven, but only saying, “Lord, be merciful
to me, a sinner” (Lk. 18:13). Or if, like St. Paul, we had begun by saying,
from the bottom of our hearts, “Lord, what would you have me do?” Or if,
like St. Catherine of Siena, we had been able to cry: “Thanks be to Thee,
Eternal Father! . . . I was sick and you gave me . . . a medicine against a
secret infirmity that I knew not of, in this precept that in no way can I
judge any rational creature, and particularly Thy servants, upon whom oft
times I, as one blind and sick with this infirmity, passed judgment under
the pretext of Thy honor and the salvation of souls.”
H. Lyman Stebbins
March 1987
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