Where in your house is your dump pile? You know the place I mean. It’s where the mail and the bills go before you have a chance to pay them. It’s the place where the kids put their homework and all their other school papers. The place where you stack the books you mean to read or return to the library. It’s the place you go to first when something is missing around the house. Everyone has a dump pile. Ours is the right side of the kitchen table, up against the wall, so things won’t fall off when the pile gets too high. So. the question for today is: Where is your dump pile?
Perhaps you might think this is a strange way to begin a homily reflection. But when I read those lines about “Every valley shall be filled and every mountain and hill shall be made low,” that’s the image which jumps into my mind. The mountains and valleys of stuff piled on our kitchen table just waiting for someone to level them off. I keep waiting for all of it to go away by magic, but it just sits there, waiting for me to do something about it. I need to sort it out, to figure out where each piece actually belongs.
It’s with this image of those waiting mountains and valleys I want to begin today’s reflection. The focus of this reflection is a simple one: it is active waiting. Not passive waiting, but active waiting. It’s not about straightening out the dump pile on the table; but rather, it’s about straightening out the dump pile inside of me. It’s about active waiting and about preparing the way for the coming of Christ.
We all realize, of course, Advent is a time of waiting, of preparation. The question is: What are we waiting for? What are we preparing for? Are we waiting for the birth of Christ on December 25th? The answer to that question is “no.” We are not waiting for the birth of Christ. He was born into the world some two-thousand years ago. He will not be born in another three weeks.
Then what are we waiting for? Is it for our Messiah? No. Our Messiah, our Savior, began his ministry to his people sometime between the years 27 and 29 A.D. How do we know this? Our gospel reading for today begins with a history lesson. We are told John the Baptist began his preaching: “…. In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was tetrarch of Galilee, … during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas …” These are real people. They are part of history.
And so back in about 28 A.D., John the Baptist proclaimed that the time of the Messiah, the Savior of Israel, was now at hand. Yes, the Messiah came to his people some two-thousand years ago. We are not waiting for our Messiah.
Then what are we waiting for, here, today? We are waiting for two events. We are awaiting the return of Christ, the return he promised us when he left his disciples many centuries ago. At each celebration of the mass, we continue to profess this belief when we proclaim such words as: “Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again.” We do not know when this will happen. But, as Christians, we are sure it will happen.
In the meantime, we are waiting for another event. And this one we expect much sooner. This event is one for which we need to prepare actively. We await, we expect, the coming of the fullness of Christ within each of us. For most of us, we are not awaiting the coming of Christ into us for the first time. That happened at the moment of our baptism. It was then that we put on Christ.
Yet, the fullness of Christ is another matter. Here we need to prepare for his coming. Here we need to make room for him. It is this preparation that Advent is all about: Advent, the coming of Jesus into our heart and our lives, completely. Here is where we need to participate in active waiting.
None of us likes to wait. Much of the time we seem to be forced into passive waiting. And passive waiting brings on impatience. Think about the last time you had to wait in traffic on I-10 or I-45. This passive waiting is not pleasant. Each of us knows there are better ways to expend effort.
There are other times when we are forced to wait passively, not to be able to do anything about the outcome. How about those times when you are waiting for the results of an exam you took at school? You know you can’t do anything about changing the grade you’re going to get. Or what about waiting to be notified whether you are going to get the new job you applied for? You’ve completed all of the interviews; now all you can do is wait. We don’t like “passive” waiting, when we feel helpless, when we must depend on others for the outcome.
On the other hand, there are also times of active waiting. There is the farmer who plants the seeds and must wait for them to grow. Yet the farmer’s waiting cannot be passive. If the crops are to grow, there is a need to supply water and fertilizer. And even if they have been planted in the fall and there is a need to wait-out the winter months; this waiting cannot be passive. There is equipment to fix. There are things to repair and build over the winter months. Waiting for the birth of a child is even a better example of active waiting. There is the nursery to paint, the crib to buy, the diapers to get, and the clothes to find.
Even our examples of passive waiting can become ones of active waiting. Stuck in that morning traffic, some people listen to music on their i-phone or plan out their day ahead. Waiting for the results of an exam at school doesn’t mean you quit doing your schoolwork until you get your report card; at least, it better not mean that, if you want to get a better report card the next time. And waiting for the response to an interview, doesn’t mean you quit your old job before you have another one. And if you don’t have a current job, it doesn’t mean you stop looking for one until you’ve heard about the one you’ve applied for.
You see, even passive waiting can become active waiting. Our model for our active waiting for Christ is given to us today by John the Baptist. John did not sit around in the desert just waiting for the Messiah. He engaged in active waiting. He went around the region proclaiming a baptism of repentance which led to the forgiveness of sins. John demanded his listeners change their hearts.
This is what repentance is all about: a change of heart. The Greek word (which many of you have heard before this) is: “metanoia.” A deep-down transformation, an interior change of heart. A turning away from what is killing us. A turning toward those actions which will save us.
In our first reading, we heard Baruch, the secretary and companion of the prophet Jeremiah, urge his listeners to “… take off your robe of mourning and misery; put on the splendor of glory from God forever: wrapped in the cloak of justice from God.” Baruch paraphrases the words of the prophet Isaiah who came some two-hundred years before him when he says: “For God has commanded that every lofty mountain be made low and that the age-old depths and gorges be filled to level ground”.
Luke in his gospel goes directly to Isaiah. In Luke, we hear it is not God who will do the work of leveling mountains and filling up valleys but rather He commanded his own listeners to do the labor, themselves. Luke instructs those listening to him with the words: “prepare the way of the Lord.” Baruch may be in favor of a passive waiting, of letting God do everything, but Luke is in favor of an active waiting, of our doing something to prepare the way for the Lord’s arrival.
A few minutes ago I began this reflection by asking about the mountains and valleys of stuff in the dump piles in your house. Yet each of us has our own mountains and valleys inside of us. Mountains of self-created obstacles. Valleys of self-created depression or despair.
In our second reading, Saint Paul reminded the Philippians that: “[God] who began a good work in you will continue to complete it until the day of Christ Jesus.” God has not created the mountains and valleys within me. Instead, He has begun the good work in me and will stay with me throughout my life.
I, myself, am called upon to level off my own mountains, those high-rising obstacles, and to fill up my own valleys of doubt. No one else can take care of the mountains and valleys in the dump pile on my kitchen table. Only I can sort through this mess and determine what needs to be discarded and what needs to be put in its proper place. No one else can take care of the mountains and valleys within me. I cannot wait passively for them to disappear. I must be active while I wait for the coming of the fullness of Christ within me. It is up to each one of us to ” … prepare the way of the Lord … [so that everyone] shall see the salvation of God.”
Second Sunday of Advent; (December 4, 1988)
Baruch 5:1-9; Phillippians 1:4-6; Luke 3:1-6