Author: patcamerino

Today’s question is a very practical one. How many shopping days before Christmas? If you exclude Sundays, the answer is twenty-two. But if that isn’t enough time and you want to “shop ’til you drop” on Sundays, including this weekend, you have twenty-six days to find all of those perfect gifts for family and friends. The signs of the holiday season are all around us. The leftover Thanksgiving turkey is not yet gone, but the red, green and gold decorations are in all of the stores, to lure us into buying early and often. This is the time of the year for nostalgia about the wonderful holidays of our youth and the hope this Christmas will be better than any which have gone before.

The signs of the holiday season are also here in the church. This weekend begins a new liturgical year. Today we celebrate the First Sunday of Advent, a time of preparation for our celebration of Christmas. With its colors of violets and blues, the Church urges us, as in Lent, to slow down, to prepare quietly for the coming of the Christ Child, and to anticipate rejoicing during the twelve days of Christmas, which begin on December 25 and end on January 6, the feast of the Epiphany. In contrast, the world around us urges us to speed up, to buy more things and to party harder, with more food and drink than ever before. The secular world calls our attention to the plastic-wrapped product of Madonna, rather than to the flesh-wrapped Son of the Madonna.

So, what should be the focus for today’s homily as we begin these four weeks of Advent, of preparation? At first glance, the readings for today seem to be giving us mixed signals. The Gospel reading, the words of the Good News, seems to be depressing: a continuation of the theme we’ve been hearing lately about the sudden end of the world and the last judgement to follow.

On the other hand, the First Reading from Isaiah speaks of a time of peace among nations, a time when instruments of war and aggression will be turned into implements for planting and harvesting the fruit of the land. Nevertheless, it may be possible to unite all three readings with a focus on three words: memory, metanoia and mission.

First of all: memory. Indeed, this is the time of year for each of us to recall what has already occurred in our lives. It’s not just for the misty nostalgia of longing for what we miss in our lives, but, rather, recalling real problems and how they were resolved. While each of us still has problems, most of them are not identical to the ones from the past. Each one of us knows today is not the same as yesterday and tomorrow will be different from either one.

Many years ago there was a black native of North Africa who took his own memories with him to Italy. His efforts in North Africa were not as well received as he would have liked. Even in Rome, he didn’t reach the goals he had in mind when he had brought his family to live there. They moved to Milan and things improved. But still he kept reflecting on all that had happened in his life, both the good and the bad. But nothing seemed to change.

Finally, one day he was sitting in a garden and talking with a close business friend about his life, when, suddenly, he felt on the verge of tears and had to walk away so his friend would not see him crying. As he wept under a fig tree, he heard a young child singing the phrase: “take and read, take and read,” over and over again. At first, he thought it was a song from some children’s game, but he could not remember such a game. Then, instantly, he knew what he had to do. He ran back to the garden and picked up a book of the Letters of St Paul he had been reading. He opened the book and read the first passage he saw. The words were those we heard in today’s reading from Paul’s letter to the Romans: “let us live honorably as in daylight; not in carousing and drunkenness, not in sexual excess and lust, not in quarreling and jealousy. Rather, put on the Lord Jesus Christ and make no provision for the desires of the flesh.”

It is with this passage that St Augustine, in his Confessions, tells us he underwent his conversion, his change, his metanoia. He began with his memories, his memories of the kind of life he had led and, with these memories, his metanoia began.

When we think of change, of metanoia, we can think of two processes which are parts of change: a slow preparation and a sudden explosion, a breakthrough. For some, like St Paul himself, who was blinded by the sudden Light of Christ, it’s possible to have a sudden change of heart and find Christ without ever looking for him. Without any preparation, Christ overwhelms us. But, for most people, metanoia comes as it did with St Augustine. After a long reflection on our lives and with a desire to change, there comes a moment when Christ appears in a special way to the prepared heart.

Metanoia is like fireworks. Here in the south, kids celebrate Christmas and New Year’s Eve with fireworks, something that’s reserved up north to only the Fourth of July. Remember, if you will, the experience of lighting a rocket. It’s deceptively slow ascent into the sky, its loud whistle, its complete disappearance into the darkness and, suddenly, the explosion and the bright light spreading rapidly across the heavens.

The Jews had no fireworks. It wasn’t until Marco Polo came back from China that Middle-Easterners and Europeans knew about such things. But if they had experienced them, I would guess Jesus would have referred to fireworks in today’s story about being prepared for the unexpected. The glory of a golden burst in the heavens is, for me, the epitome of the “anticipated unexpected.” And that’s what Jesus is talking about in today’s Gospel reading.

Most people would emphasize that this “anticipated unexpected” event, an event we know will happen but we do not know the exact moment of its glorious arrival, is the return of Christ at the end of the world. But I would suggest there is another way of looking at what he said.

What if, instead of focusing on his Coming in a special way at the end of time, we begin to focus on his Coming in a special way to each of us in the near future? What if we should prepare to receive him today, or next week, or at the end of next month? What if, during this Advent, we take the time to prepare for his Coming into our hearts and our lives momentarily?

What if, today, we light the rocket, and watch its glowing trail, and hear its whistle in the darkness, until it explodes into the glorious golds and reds of Christmas? But then what? After fireworks burst in the sky and light the heavens and the earth for a brief moment, what then? Do we take our memories, and our metanoia, and have nothing but new memories of a brief, bright light in our lives? Or is there something after memories and metanoia? Is there a mission?

Each of us has a mission: something that sends us forth after our change. I cannot describe your mission or give you any details about it. But I would suggest, in some way, your mission might include the concept of “hospitality.”

This is the season for hospitality. Many of the ads we see on television or in our magazines and newspapers show people greeting people. But there is more to hospitality than welcoming people, of making them feel welcomed. Consider for a moment. The word “hospitality” is directly related to the word “hospital,” an ancient word for a place of caring for the stranger, the foreigner. The Latin word “hospes,” from which both hospitality and hospital are derived, had a wide range of meanings: not only “host” but also “guest” and “friend” as well. Yet, the same word, hospes, also meant “stranger” or “foreigner.” What a marvelous word! One which suggests the stranger, the foreigner is not only a guest, but also, a friend and even has the capacity to become the host, the one who welcomes others.

And consider the ideal hospital, the ideal place where one is welcomed and healed as a pilgrim far from home. A place where caring action is taken to make you feel comfortable and to heal your wounds. And, finally, a place where you are not expected to remain permanently, since, once you are cured, you leave to continue on your pilgrimage.

Hospitality shares the same elements. Hospitality welcomes. Hospitality assists to alleviate the pain, to help bring about a restoration. Hospitality helps the pilgrim on the journey and is not the end of the journey itself. In the next weeks, here at Christ the Good Shepherd, we will be hearing more about this theme of hospitality: a theme which is a central part not only of our Advent celebration, but of our individual lives as well. Hospitality in helping other pilgrims on the way, as we continue our own pilgrimages, our journeys in which we anticipate the unexpected, when we hope to encounter Jesus the Christ when we least expect to meet him.

To the three M’s of memory, metanoia and mission, we can add a fourth “M,” meeting with Christ. A few minutes ago, I began by asking how many shopping days were there until Christmas. Yet, as you might guess, the real question is not how many “shopping” days until Christmas, but rather: how many days until we truly encounter the Christ among us?

^{First Sunday of Advent; November 29, 1992
Is 2:1-5; Rom 12:11-14; Mt 24:37-44}

Today’s question is for those of you who are familiar with a Big city back east. No, I did not say “up east,” but “back” east, east of Houston. So, my question is not about the “Big Apple,” New York City, but rather about the “Big Easy,” New Orleans. My question is this: What motto, what saying, does New Orleans often use for itself? Yes: “let the good times roll.” And no, I won’t attempt saying it in Cajun French.

Now you might think it’s strange I’d begin today’s homily with a reference to New Orleans, a city usually associated with Mardi Gras and the beginning of Lent, not Advent. Yet, some of you may recognize there is a certain commonality between the two seasons. Just as Lent is a time of preparation for the celebration of Easter, Advent is a time of preparation for the celebration of Christmas. In fact, Advent is sometimes referred to as a “Christmas Lent.” If you look around, you can see our liturgical colors are purples and violets, the colors usually found during Lent. And the altar is very plain, with an Advent wreath, almost as simple as the rocks and branches with which we adorn our altar during Lent.

Others of you might think it’s strange I would also make use of a motto such as “let the good times roll.” On the surface, it doesn’t match the austere climate of our country. Especially now that we know “officially” we are in a Recession, one that began six months ago

On the other hand, there are those who might suggest this is the right motto for us now. After all, we are being urged to go out and shop, to buy all of those tantalizing consumers’ products offered at discounted prices for the holiday season we’re now entering. We’re encouraged to travel more and buy more, so that we can return to a time of what is called “normalcy.”

Well, perhaps, an even bigger question than one about the motto for New Orleans might be: “and just what is a time of normalcy?” What should we consider to be “normal?” Is it really “normal” to buy excessively, to grab everything you want and desire? Is it “normal” to go increasingly into debt especially for one day, for December 25, so that it takes us the next five or six months to pay off the cost of our “binge buying?”

Is it really “normal” to binge not only on our material purchases, but also on what we will be eating and drinking at all of the parties we will be celebrating in honor of the child who was born in a stable, whose birth was witnessed by poor shepherds tending their sheep in the fields?

Does it make sense in the year 2001 to listen to words written by a former maker of tents, words written some twenty years after the Passion suffered by that stable-born child? Listen again to the words Paul wrote: “Let us … throw off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us conduct ourselves properly as in the day, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in promiscuity and lust, not in rivalry and jealousy. But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the desires of the flesh.”

If buying and consuming, if spending our money for the material things of this world is “normal,” what, then, is “abnormal?”
● Is it “abnormal” to turn swords into plowshares?
● Is it “normal” to wage war and “abnormal” to pursue peace?
● Is it “abnormal” to turn spears into pruning hooks?
● Is it “normal” to thrust a weapon into an enemy and “abnormal” to pull toward you a neighbor who needs your help?

Which is the reality of our lives and which are the dreams? Often we are urged by our contemporaries to “get real!” Stop being a “dreamer.” We are told to prepare for the future by making wise investments today. And yet, we are puzzled by just what that future might hold.

In our Gospel reading, Jesus reminds his disciples, his friends, that before the flood, Noah’s contemporaries ate and drank to their heart’s content and were not concerned with the dark clouds gathering over their heads, until it was too late. Too late for one. Not too late for another. Too late for those who are not always prepared. Not too late for those who prepare correctly, for those who stay awake, who prepare for the return of the one who left, but who will return, unexpectedly.

And that is what this season of Advent is about. It is not to prepare for the birth of the Christ Child. That event happened twenty centuries ago, some forty generations ago. No, the Advent, the Coming for which we prepare, is the return of our God.

Once again, during this season, we acknowledge that God has come to us in a very special way, incarnated as a human being. One like us in all ways except in sin. Like us in our human needs and desires, yet One who exercised his own free will as a human so that his free will was always in complete agreement with the will of the eternal Father.

Once again during Advent, we acknowledge that God not only became infleshed, but our God is still present with us in a very special way: as the Holy Spirit who strengthens us so we, too, can exercise our own, human free will, so our will becomes more in agreement with the will of our eternal Father.

Once again in the coming weeks, we acknowledge that God not only became infleshed in time and is still present with us in every moment of our human lives, but also our God awaits our reunion with him in a very special way: a time when we will once more be reunited with our eternal Father from whom we gained our life. Yes, at each liturgical gathering, we continue to say: “Christ has come, Christ is with us, Christ will come again.”

And during these next days and weeks, we will continue to prepare for Christmas, the celebration of the Mass of Christ, for that is what the word “Christmas” means: Christ’s mass. Perhaps, during this particular Advent, we might focus on December 25 as the time for the celebration of Christ’s Eucharist as well as a time for our becoming Eucharist, our becoming a true thanksgiving, and a time for sharing of our lives, our very selves, with one another.

A few minutes ago, I said the motto of New Orleans was: “let the good times roll.” Perhaps, our own motto for this season of Advent could be, not “let the good times roll,” but rather, “let the Good News roll!” Let the Good News spring forth, the Good News that the Kingdom of God is at hand.

^{First Sunday of Advent; December 12, 2001
Is 2:1-5; Rom 12:11-14; Mt 24:37-44}

Today’s question is in keeping with the pre-Christmas season. It’s this: excluding the Bible Nativity stories, what is your favorite Christmas story? What story do you enjoy reading again and again, or, since so few people seem to read stories anymore, what Christmas story do you enjoy watching for the tenth time on television? How many would vote for Miracle on 34th Street? How about It’s a Wonderful Life? And what about my own, personal favorite: A Christmas Carol?

Have you ever wondered why such stories as Miracle on 34th Street, It’s a Wonderful Life, and A Christmas Carol might be so popular year after year, and, in the case of Dickens, for over a century? There are probably many reasons, of course, but one of them might well be our human fascination with the past, the present and the future.

Miracle on 34th Street deals with a nostalgic past in which every child wanted to be certain about the existence of Chris Kringle, as well as wishing a dream house would come true in the future, but with a recognition there are trials and tribulations in the present. As for It’s a Wonderful Life, we want to know our past and present life have meaning for the future, what we have done (and what we are doing) will make a difference in the world of tomorrow.

Then, there is the quintessential story of past, present and future: A Christmas Carol, which Dickens said was a ghost story. And who does not enjoy ghost stories in front of a fireplace when it’s cold and snowy outside? On the other hand, it may take some imagination for Houstonians to consider weather conditions in London during our own Christmas holidays! Anyway, here we have the classic setup of the ghost of a nostalgic Christmas-Past, a joy-filled Christmas-Present, and a sober, painful future Christmas resulting from what we have done in the past and in the present, and our desire to change the future, not only for ourselves, but for all who surround us. Dickens spoke to something deep within each one of us, whether we are Londoners or Houstonians.

He spoke to us of expectations. He spoke to us of times of waiting. For it, too, is a human condition to await something or someone. The Church throughout our history, is also aware of that condition of waiting, of expectancy. The Church, in fact, has given us this special time of the year, a time called “Advent,” the time of “Coming,” the time of waiting and of expectation. And for what, or for whom, do we wait?

A first response might be: Christmas. The coming of the Christ Child. The time of the Incarnation, the enfleshment of our God into human form. And yes, in part, we do await the night when the universe became a single star, when a star became a single light, when a single light became a person to lead us out of darkness. But we do not expect that special night to happen in two weeks. Rather, we await the celebration of the fact it has already happened some two thousand years ago. We do not await the Incarnation, but rather the celebration of the Incarnation. But is this all we await? Is this all we celebrate? Or do we as Resurrection people, as Christians, also await the return, the Second Coming of our Lord?

The Jewish people, in our first reading from the prophet Isaiah, looked for the coming of the One who would possess “… the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and of strength, the spirit of knowledge and of the awesomeness of God.” They awaited a time when natural enemies would put aside animosities and co-exist in peace with one another. A time when the smallest child would not be endangered.

Have we arrived at such a time? We have – and we have not. We have seen the time of Emmanuel, God with us, the time when Emmanuel still walks with us, exists with us, as the Holy Spirit. But we still await the return of the Resurrected Christ and the completion of the Kingdom when the rest of Isaiah’s words will be fulfilled, when there will be peace in all of the nations of the world, when every child will be safe from harm. The time of Advent is not merely the four-week period of waiting for Christmas.
Advent is, really, the waiting we do for the rest of our lives.

And so, the question becomes: how do we await the return of Jesus the Christ? Perhaps, for each one of us, we can gain an insight into our waiting for the return of Christ, by how we wait for other events in our life. Perhaps, as in A Christmas Carol, our future is, indeed, bound to our past and to our present.

There are many kinds of waiting. There is the waiting we do when we wait to hear about a new job opportunity or about the results of a test we took in school. In each case, we had prepared as well as we could. We had the best interview possible. We studied everything we could. Now all we can do is wait until our future is revealed to us. We wait with the knowledge we did all we could do.

There is also another kind of waiting. There is the waiting for the birth of a child. While the final results are out of our control, there is still much we can do as we await the inevitable outcome. The mother can eat well and avoid harmful activities in order to maintain the best possible internal world for the expected child. The father can paint the reconverted nursery and do everything necessary to provide for the best possible external world for the expected child. The exact moment of the birth is unknown, but the parents do know, with almost absolute certainty, the birth will occur. In the meantime, they do not wait passively, but rather they continue to prepare as best they can, for the future event.

Unfortunately, there is also a third kind of waiting: an expectation without doing anything at all, either before or during the period of waiting. Here, the potential job-seeker did not prepare for the interview, the student shrugged off the reading assignments. The mother did not concern herself with the health of her own body nor that of her child. The father did nothing to get ready for the child’s homecoming. And so the period of waiting continues to be one of “que sera, sera,” what will happen, will happen. I await the future without any effort on my part, what-so-ever.

John the Baptist warned his listeners about such people. For those who wanted the blessings of baptism, but without the accompanying need to change, to re-form their lives, for those who said they had no need for repentance because of who they were, what backgrounds they came from – he called them “a brood of vipers.”

He also presented them with the image of the one who would come like a harvester. The harvester who would toss the grain and the stalks of wheat into the air, where the winds would carry off the inedible chaff which would be finally collected for burning, while the heavier grains of wheat would be gathered together. There is the one who continues to work until the wheat becomes bread, the bread of life.

Yes, there are many ways in which we can wait for an event to occur. We can prepare ahead of time. We can continue to do all we can do while we are waiting, or we can do nothing and reap the consequences of our inactions. The choice is ours. Like Scrooge, we can heed the dreams of the ghosts of Christmas-Past, Christmas-Present, and Christmas-Tomorrow and change our ways of waiting for the Coming of Christ. Or we can ignore them, pretending all of this is merely a bit of indigestion. But if we ignore them, if we fail to prepare, if we fail to change, we are unlikely to hear the words of Tiny Tim exclaiming: “God bless us, everyone!”

^{Second Sunday of Advent; December 10, 1995; Revised: December 5, 2010
Is 11:1-10; Rom 15:4-9; Mt 3:1-12}

On this Third Sunday of Advent I have a very important question for you: have you finished your Christmas shopping? Depending upon how you count them, there are only about ten shopping days until Christmas. We’re in the final countdown. Many of us can feel the pressure which usually comes when we have to work under a deadline. Unfortunately, for many people, Christmas, itself, has become a “deadline,” a time when everything has to come together, when what comes after the deadline is not as important as meeting the deadline, itself.

We all realize this should not be the case. Yet, year-after-year, we seem to look forward to the downtime that comes on December 26, rather than to the celebration of the birthday of the Christ Child on the 25th. For all of us who want to strive for what even our commercials call “the true meaning of Christmas,” I have three alternative questions to the one I raised about your Christmas shopping. The questions for today’s reflection are:
● What are you waiting for in life?
● What did you go out to the desert to see?
● Whom did Jesus come to heal?
You might prefer the one on Christmas shopping, but I’d suggest the three alternatives may carry us beyond looking at Christmas day as a deadline to be survived.

So, for the first question: what are you waiting for in life? The real reason for asking this question is because of a single theme we find in all three readings for today, the theme of patience. Our whole life seems to be a mix of patience and impatience, of waiting and hoping. Little girls have to wait until they are old enough to wear make-up and later on, to go out on dates. Little boys have to wait until they are old enough to trade in their toy cars for a real one. Parents have to wait-it-out while their kids grow beyond the terrible twos. And then, they wait for them to go off to school so they can have some free time, just as older parents can’t wait until their sons and daughters go off to college and the parents can really have some free time. And then they wait for them to get a job, which may be even more of a challenge than waiting for them to go to kindergarten or college.

We each wait for something, and while we wait, we hope we will be satisfied with what we finally get. Yet, much of the time we aren’t content when the waiting is over. We always seem to be waiting for something else. The man or woman without a job has to wait. They need to wait for a response to the resumes and applications they’ve sent out. They have to wait for telephone calls and interviews and call-backs. But people with jobs have to wait, too. How many people are there who have a job, but are not content with it? They have to wait for someone to leave in order for them to advance. Or the working situation is so bad all you can do is wait until the boss leaves and you can get another one.

In the days of John the Baptist, people waited for the same things. Slaves waited for the death of a terrible master and hoped the next one would be more kind. Husbands waited for a wife who would serve them and wives waited for husbands to protect them. (Well, maybe that has changed in 2000 years.) In days long ago, parents waited for their children to grow old enough to be of help to them. They waited for the same conditions we wait for today.

But in Israel they also waited for something we do not wait for. Or rather, for some One: the messiah, the savior. John the Baptist expected him at any moment. There was one man John thought might be the one he awaited. And so, he sent off his own followers to learn more about this man, the one called Jesus. In today’s Gospel we heard Jesus’ response to the disciples of John the Baptist. He gave the response Isaiah had prophesied for the messiah five-hundred years before: “then will the eyes of the blind be opened, the ears of the deaf be cleared; then will the lame leap like a stag; then the tongue of the dumb will sing.” This is what the disciples of John had seen. This is what they were to report back to him.

But then, Jesus turned to the crowds around him and asked them a question. What did you go out to the desert to see? Did you go out to find the expected? Did you go out to see a reed swaying in the wind? Did you go out to the wilderness to find a man dressed in royal purple when you know such a prince should be sought elsewhere?

These questions may be asked of us, today. When you now wait in the desert of your own making, do you wait for what you expect to find and, thereby, limit what might be out there? What the Lord might have in store for you. What did you go out to the desert to see? Did you go out to find what you knew ahead of time you could not find? When you, now, wait in the desert of your own making, do you wait for what you know you cannot find there and hope the Lord will grant you a special miracle? What did you go out to the desert to see? Did you go out to find someone who spoke for God and therefore had all the answers? Did you go out to find a prophet? When you wait in the desert of your own making, do you wait for someone else to tell you what God expects of you? Do you wait for someone else to solve your problems for you?

Or did you go out to the desert to find John, a simple man who waited with patience and who looked forward to the coming of his Lord. Are there, indeed, times when all we can do is wait patiently? Are we called at times to be like the desert, itself, the parched desert awaiting the rains, and following the rains, a cascade of flowers? The desert can do nothing but wait. Or the seed that the farmer plants? Can either the seed or the farmer hasten the winter and spring rains? Must both wait patiently?

It’s hard for most of us to wait patiently. We always need to be doing something. And that’s our problem right now as we wait for Christmas day. During Advent, we seem to be caught up in all the things we need to do before December 25. With buying and mailing presents to out-of-town friends and relatives. With mailing Christmas cards. With baking special goodies or making special gifts.

We feel guilty if we don’t do all of this. With all this rushing about, it’s no wonder we’re tired of the Christmas season, and don’t want to hear one more carol. And yet, we seem to think we must be completely prepared to celebrate the birth of the Christ Child in another ten days. What we seem to forget is that the Christ Child will not be born in another ten days. We need to remember he was born some two thousand years ago. He is born within us each moment of our life. He is with us here and now. We need not wait for his coming ten days from now. He is here with us. He is Emmanuel. He is God with us.

Isaiah told us what to look for: the one who heals. And so I come to my third and last question: whom has Jesus come to heal? Sometimes, we tend to think Jesus has come to heal only those who are physically blind, or deaf, or lame, or mute. But rather than thinking about how he has come to heal others, perhaps, I need to reflect on how he has come to heal me while I wait. Rather than asking what must I do, what must I achieve or accomplish in the next ten days, or the next ten months or ten years for myself, my family, and my friends, perhaps, I need to ask myself: how has Jesus come to heal me, right now?

Rather than making judgements about others who might be blind, perhaps, I might consider how I am blind to the beauty around me. Perhaps, I should reflect not on the deafness of others, but how am I deaf to the words of love spoken to me right now by those around me. Rather than considering others who are mute, perhaps, I need to reflect on how I am unable to say “thank you” for what has been given to me. It’s not a question of others who are lame, but why can I not dance in joy and happiness for what God has already given me?

The readings for today have once more reminded me that I must wait with patience. There are times I must be accepting of what is. I need to see not the bad, but the good. When I go to the desert, I need to be open to what the Lord will provide, rather than to what I expect to find there.

And while I wait, there are times when I need to recall how he heals me of my blindness so I can see the beauty I now have. He heals me of my deafness so I can hear the love I now have. He heals me of my muteness so I can speak words of love to others. He heals me of my lameness so I can dance my joy and happiness.

The Kingdom is now and will come. The celebration of Christmas will come, but it is with us now. Today is the Third Sunday of Advent. In the old calendar it was called “rose Sunday,” because of the rose-colored or pink vestments worn on this day. It was also called “Gaudete Sunday” from the opening line of today’s Mass. The Latin word, gaudete, means “rejoice.” And this is what we are called to do and to be. Rejoice, our Lord has come.

And so, we are back where we began. Either you can think about all of the Christmas shopping you need to do, or you can ponder three other questions. What are you waiting for in life? What do you go out to the desert to see? And finally: how has Jesus come to heal you? Now!

^{Third Sunday of Advent; December 14, 1986
Is 35:1-6,10; Jas 5:7-10; Mt 11:2-11}

Today’s question is a very direct one: have you had any good dreams lately? After all, this is the season for dreams. Would this really be the holiday season if you didn’t hear Bing Crosby sing: I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas. Those of you with young children no doubt have been exposed to a Visit from St Nicholas where children dream of sugar plum fairies dancing in their heads? Some of a more artistic bent have had the pleasure of seeing and hearing the dreams of The Nutcracker Suite. And in one way or another, most of us have been exposed to A Christmas Carol and Ebenezer Scrooge’s dreams of Christmas past, present and future.

Yes, we know about dreams, those pleasant flights of fancy into unreal worlds of music and literature. But there are other kinds of dreams. Dreams spoken of by the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., when he said: “I have a dream …” His dream spoke of hopes, of ways to change the world. Yes, dreams can change the world.

In today’s Gospel for the Fourth and final Sunday of Advent, we heard about another dream. We heard about a man who, in fact, had several dreams which changed the world. Usually, during the season of Advent, we focus on Mary, but, perhaps, for a few moments we might reflect on Joseph, her husband. Joseph who was a dreamer, who can teach us about listening to God, and, perhaps, changing the world.

Jesus taught us everything we know about our heavenly Father, about Abba. Although he was divinely inspired to know such things, it’s not unreasonable to think Jesus must, also, have had some direct, first-hand experience of what an Abba, a dad, was like. It’s not unreasonable to believe Joseph, the foster- father of Jesus, had something to do with Jesus’ ideas about fatherhood, a subject we may not think about as much as we might in today’s world.¹

Our Gospel reading for this Sunday is taken from Matthew. The Nativity story in Matthew’s Gospel is really quite different from the one we hear about in Luke’s account, where the focus is on Mary, and shepherds, and angels singing praises to God. In Matthew, the story is about Joseph and his dreams.

In today’s reading, we heard how Mary was “betrothed” to Joseph. Often, we fail to recognize that being “betrothed” or “engaged” is very different today from what it was in Biblical times. Back then, the marriage rite consisted of two parts, the engagement, when the couple promised themselves to one another, and the wedding night, when the wedding contract was signed, and the couple began living together as husband and wife. Back then, the promise, itself, was as important, and as binding, as the contract of the wedding night. Once the promise was made, the two were considered to be married.

So, here we have a situation where Joseph learned the woman he had married was pregnant. And he knew he was not the father. As a righteous man, one who understood the Laws of God as laid down by Moses, Joseph had the right to divorce his new wife. Back in those days, a Jewish husband could divorce his wife by giving her a statement of his intentions, either publicly in front of a rabbinical court or privately so the woman would not be subject to public shame. This is what Joseph planned to do, before he had the fateful dream in which God revealed to him that the child his wife carried had been conceived by the Holy Spirit and would be called “Emmanuel: God is with us.”

We often say how wonderful it is that Mary said “yes” to the angel Gabriel. And without downgrading her “yes,” I believe it’s also wonderful Joseph said “yes” to his angel. When Joseph said “yes,” when Joseph said he would become the foster-father for the Son of God, what kind of a model did he become for Jesus and for us? What can we imagine about this man called Joseph?

First of all, he was one who listened intently to what God had to say and then he acted upon what God told him. St Paul in today’s Second Reading speaks of “the obedience of faith.” Joseph exhibits this “obedient faith.” The word “obedient” comes from a Latin word which means “to hear keenly and to act upon what is heard.” Joseph was an obedient man. In his dream he heard the message, he believed it and, most importantly, he acted upon it.

This was not the only time Joseph heard the angel of God in his dreams. At least three more times, according to the Gospel of Matthew, Joseph heard an angelic voice in his dreams. Shortly after the birth of his foster-son, he heard the message that Herod wanted to harm the boy, and the family should flee. Without apparent hesitation, Joseph packed up his family and left for Egypt, where they stayed until God spoke to him in a third dream.

In this third dream, the angel told Joseph it was safe to return to Judea. But what if Joseph had said, “No, I’d rather stay in Egypt. I have a pretty good carpentry shop here, I’d rather stay.” But once again, Joseph listened to God and returned to Judea. He took a risk and was willing to change. Then, once back in Judea, in another dream, Joseph was warned he should not settle there but rather go on to Galilee, a foreign place where he was not known.² Once more Joseph was willing to listen to God and start anew.

Yes, each time Joseph was obedient to the message of God. Each time he was willing to take a risk and move on. Perhaps, this is something Joseph taught Jesus, the ability to take a risk, to move on, to begin anew.

The remaining Gospel stories tell us little directly about this man called Joseph. But what do you imagine him to be like? How does Jesus describe Abba, his father, and other fathers? Recall for a moment the story of the prodigal son. A story of a father who forgives. A story of a father who is so much in love with his son that he looks for his return and goes running with abandonment to meet him on the road.

Think for a moment about Jesus’ question: “What father would give his son a snake when he asks for fish or a scorpion when he asks for an egg?” Jesus knew, first-hand, a good father is constantly interested in the well-fare of his son and would not try to deceive him or harm him in any way. This question about snakes and fish and scorpions and eggs is reported by Luke, who also tells us of another time when Joseph played an important role in the life of a young Jesus. It would seem Joseph was able, in modern terms, to “cut him some slack.” On the trip to Jerusalem when Jesus was a young teenager, Joseph allowed Jesus freedom to learn on his own, to make his own human mistakes, if you will. And yet, when he was found, Mary was able to say: “Your father and I have been looking for you with great anxiety.”

We know Joseph was a carpenter. We surmise, in his early years, Jesus followed this trade as well. Is it difficult to see the two of them working together in that woodshop? A carpenter, back then, was a very respected craftsman and businessman. It was from Joseph that Jesus learned to work with his hands. It was from Joseph that he learned about “fair trade” practices and about helping others.

From his foster-father, Jesus learned the traditions of his people, their psalms and stories. From the friends of Joseph, Jesus learned about pottery, about sowing seeds, about tending sheep. It was from Joseph that Jesus learned about the love of a father for his child. The father who takes risks for the welfare of his family. The father who teaches him what it is to be fully alive. The father who teaches him to listen intently and act upon the words of Abba.

Two thousand years ago, a gentle carpenter had dreams. He listened to the voice of God and put aside what others might say about him. He followed the vision of his dreams and not the prompting of the society around him. He gave his love to a foster-son. What dreams do you dream this day? What dreams have words to which you listen with obedient faith? What dreams of yours can change the world? What love do you give to the foster-son of Joseph, the Son of God?

^{Fourth Sunday of Advent; December 24, 1989, December 20, 1998, and December 19, 2004 (revised)
Is 7:10-14; Rom 1:1-7; Mt 1:18-24}

1. ^{A special paragraph was inserted in the revision for 1998. In preparation for the Third Millennium Pope John Paul II had designated the liturgical year of 1998-1999 as the year to celebrate “God, the Father.” Other years were devoted to “God, the Son” and “God, the Holy Spirit.” The 1998 homily included: “And so, as we begin this liturgical year of the Fatherhood of God, perhaps it’s not unreasonable for us, and especially for us men who are fathers, to look more closely at this man called Joseph.}
2. ^{While Luke’s Gospel has Mary receiving her angel in Nazareth of Galilee, Matthew’s account has the couple residing in a house in Bethlehem, Joseph’s native town. It would appear Joseph planned to return to Bethlehem of Judea, but the angel caused him to journey on to Nazareth of Galilee, a foreign territory for the family.}

Today is the Feast of the Holy Family, the day when we recall in a special way the relationship of Jesus, Mary and Joseph. It’s a day for celebrating family relationships. And so I’d like to welcome all of you who are spending the holidays here with your own family and friends and have chosen to be here, today, with our parish family of Christ the Good Shepherd. This celebration prompts me to ask a very simple question for today. It’s a question combining Scripture and what you learned in your elementary catechism. So, are you ready? Today’s question is: what is the Fourth Commandment? The Fourth one of the Ten, that is. Yes, it’s: “honor thy mother and father.” But if you really want to give a complete answer, you need to add the second half, the part which gives the results of honoring your father and mother. The complete commandment is: “honor thy mother and father that your days may be long in the land which the Lord your God gives you.”

So, while the first part of the Fourth Commandment is appropriate for our celebration of the Feast of the Holy Family, the second part reminds us the Ten Commandments are related to the Exodus experience. Once more, we recall how Moses led God’s Chosen Ones out of Egypt and into the Promised Land, the land the Lord your God gives you.

Today’s reading, taken from the Gospel of Matthew, reminds us, once more, of the Exodus and of Moses, himself. During this liturgical year, we’ll be hearing a lot of readings from the Gospel of Matthew. So it might be appropriate to be reminded how much the Gospel of Matthew focuses on Jesus as the “new Moses,” the one who was predicted by the prophets as being the Messiah who would be greater than Moses, himself.

Just as the Old Testament tells how Pharaoh wanted to kill the infant Moses and how innocent, Israelite children lost their lives because of Moses, Matthew in his New Testament, tells how Herod threatened to kill the infant Jesus and how other innocent, Israelite children lost their own lives because of Jesus. In today’s story we heard how Joseph, in order to protect Jesus from that threat, took Mary and Jesus to Egypt. And later, how Jesus came out of Egypt, just as Moses came out of Egypt. We, also, know from Matthew’s Gospel about other dreams of Joseph and how these dreams protected his foster-son.

Last week I spoke about Joseph, the dreamer of the New Testament and how his dreams changed the world. Joseph, the foster-father of Jesus had many dreams, just as another Joseph, one of his own ancestors, had his own dreams many years before. It was because of this previous Jospeh’s own dreams that he led his eleven brothers and his father Jacob into the land of Egypt in the first place. There the Hebrew people lived until Moses brought them back to the Promised Land.

The Hebrew writings of the Old Testament have many such stories about families and family relationships. These same scriptures, also, have many proverbs, many short sayings, about family life. We heard several of them in our First Reading from the book of Sirach in which the sage wrote: “God sets a father in honor over his children; a mother’s authority he confirms over her sons.”

Which brings me back to that Fourth Commandment: “honor they mother and father.” And this commandment prompts me to raise several other questions. First, who do we, in fact, honor? Second, why do we honor someone? And, perhaps, more importantly: why should we honor someone? It seems, at least in recent years, we tend not to honor our parents very much. Our TV sitcoms and many of our movies tend to make parents into jokes, people not to be taken seriously. And if parents represent so called “authority figures,” it might be said we tend not to honor any other authority figures either.

Rather than honor others for who they are, we seem to honor people for what they accomplish, what they do, no matter what kind of people they may be. As teenagers, we give praise and honor to singers who rap out explosive messages even when these messages hold minimal respect for anyone. As young adults, we give praise and honor to athletes who score high regardless of what else they do with the rest of their lives. As adults, we give praise and honor to entrepreneurs and business leaders who give us the best bang for the buck, regardless of what effect their actions may have on the quality of our lives or how honest they may be.

On the other hand, why should we honor people? What qualities should a person worthy of honor possess? Perhaps, it’s time for us to pay heed to the qualities that St Paul gave for God’s chosen ones, the ones God wants for his very own, the ones who live in God’s company, God’s holy family. St Paul told the Colossians, and he tells us, these qualities are: “Heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.” They include “bearing with one another and forgiving one another.”

“Forgiving one another.” Perhaps, this season is, once again, the season for us to remember just why there is a Christmas, why God became incarnated. Why Jesus, the Son of God, was born into this human world. It is again time to remember God gave us His Son to bring us his forgiveness, forgiveness for the errors of humanity going back to the creation of Adam and Eve. It is again time to remember God sent us the new Adam to redeem us, to save us, to forgive us. It is again time to remember God asks us, each one of us, to forgive others, we who are His children.

Yes, today is the Feast of the Holy Family, the day on which we recall the special relationship of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, a day to recall that we are to honor our own parents and our own families. Although it is the day to remember that the original Holy Family consisted of a child, a mother and a foster-father. It is, also, the day to recognize that a holy family may consist of a single parent with a single child or several children. A holy family can be guided by a foster-parent, by grandparents or by other relatives. Today, we, also, need to acknowledge that a holy family includes those who are single, both those who have not married and those who are widowed.

A true holy family consists of all individual children of God, his children who seek a relationship of “heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience” with all of the other children of God, all who are brothers and sisters under “our Father,” a Father to whom we pray that He will forgive us as we forgive others, for it is in this forgiveness that we give honor to one another and together become His Holy Family.

^{Feast of the Holy Family; December 30, 2001; December 26, 2004 (revised)
Sir 3:2-6, 12-14; Col 3:12-21; Mt 2:13-15, 19 -23}

Today is the feast day of the Holy Family, the Sunday between the celebration of the Nativity, the Incarnation of our God, and of the Solemnity of Mary, the Mother of God. Today, the Sunday between Christmas and New Year’s is a day of celebration for Jesus, Mary and Joseph as a family, the Holy Family. The question for today is a short one, but not an easy one to answer. What is “a holy family?” Yes, that’s the question: not what is “The Holy Family,” but rather, what is A holy family?

Is it a holy family when a teenage mother gives birth to a child and her husband is not the father? Is it a holy family when the husband hears voices at night, in his dreams, and forces his wife and foster-child to move to a foreign country? Is it a holy family when they try to return home, only to find the husband’s dreams say they must live in a city in a strange part of the country, because the central government is still out to get them? Is it a holy family when the husband dies and leaves his beloved wife in the care of a son, who shortly, thereafter, leaves her alone so he can wander the countryside with his buddies and teach them they should all live as free as lilies of the field or birds of the air? Is it a holy family when his ever-suffering, ever-loving mother sees him thrown into jail and hung, naked on a cross, accused of being an enemy of the state and a blasphemer of God? If any of this happened today, we would say this was an extremely dysfunctional family and urge them to seek counseling. Well, a holy family is, indeed, all that I’ve just outlined, and more, much more.

But before we take a look at what makes up a holy family, perhaps we should look at what makes up a “family,” itself. First of all, a family can be composed of the classical mother, father and “two point three children,” although I’ve seldom seen a “point three child” in any of the shopping malls I visit. A family can also have a single parent (mother or father) with one or more kids. A family can have birth children, adopted children, foster children or no children. A family can have stepparents and half-brothers or half-sisters. A family can have grandparents raising their grandchildren with their own child seldom in sight. In fact, there can, also, be families without even parents or grandparents or aunts and uncles around. There are some who work in an occupation where the members call one another “family” and really mean it. We can be part of a “family of Christ the Good Shepherd.” Or we can be part of the family of humanity. From time to time, we even hear about a “family of nations.” So, then, what is a family? A family is a set of relationships, not relatives. Not those linked to you by blood or marriage but by relationships, a union of hearts and souls.

And so, what is the opposite of a family? Could it be possible that the opposite of “family” is “loneliness?” A lack of relationships, a life of shattered relationships? Loneliness may be a strange thing to think about at this time of year, a time of the year when all of the TV commercials and songs have been reminding us of being together with those we love and who love us. But, for some, the Christmas season can be the loneliest time of the year. This may be especially true this year, when so many people we know have been deployed to Iraq, or Afghanistan, or to other parts of this war-torn, embattled world.

For the past several weeks, we may have tried to escape this loneliness and hide our concerns about others, by pouring ourselves into holiday activities, parties and shopping, writing cards and e-mails. Baking goodies. Hanging lights, and decorating trees. But now it’s all over. Christmas Day has, once again, come and gone. And we ask ourselves, “Was it all worth it?” Is there more joy today, four or five days after Christmas, after the day we celebrated the birth of the Christ Child, than there was the day before Christmas?

Has a lack of joy, a slight depression, already set in? Do we detect an edge of loneliness on the horizon? Could it be that this mist of loneliness is a manifestation of our need to be loved, a need to feel special? Is this loneliness the result of a lack of relationships in our lives? To see what I mean, let’s take a closer look at today’s readings.

In that First Reading from Sirach, we heard how we should make our parents feel special. We don’t often, in our roles as children, whether we are 6, 16, or 46, reflect on how we need to honor our parents, to assure them of our love for them. And yet our reading reminds us: “God sets a father in honor over his children, a mother’s authority he confirms over her sons. Whoever reveres his father will live a long life; he who obeys his father brings comfort to his mother. – Kindness to a father will not be forgotten.”

In today’s world, there are many who live longer than in prior times. Today, there is the so-called “sandwich generation,” who have obligations not only for their young children but, also, for their aging parents. There are both the “young” and the “not young” who crave positive relationships. No matter what years have passed or are to come, every one of us wants to be loved. We want to feel special.

Saint Paul once again gives advice on how to accomplish this. He wrote in a letter to the Colossians these instructions for their Christian relationships. “Brothers and Sisters: Put on, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving one another if one has a grievance against another; as the Lord has forgiven you, so must you also do.” Saint Paul’s words apply not only to the Colossians, but, also, to everyone who wants to be part of “a holy family.” They apply to men and women, to boys and girls, to parents and children. To those who are married and those who are not.

All of us are to have relationships built on compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. And most importantly, we are to forgive one another as Christ, himself, has forgiven us. It is through forgiveness that loneliness is overcome. It is in a lack of forgiveness of others, and even of the events of the world, itself, that we are isolated from one another, from the world, from ourselves, and even, at times, from God.

We build our own walls between us and others. We block off the relationships which can make us a holy family, a family living together with God as our Father. Perhaps, it was even necessary for Mary to forgive Joseph what she might have thought was a great imposition, to flee from Bethlehem to Egypt and then to return to the strangeness of Galilee. Perhaps, she even needed to forgive Jesus when he left her to go about his true Father’s business of proclaiming the coming of the kingdom of God. Certainly her son, hanging on that cross, forgave those who tortured and murdered him. It is through such acts of forgiveness that we forge our own relationships with one another.

Perhaps, now, today, as we await the coming of a New Year, we can resolve to reestablish our relationships with one another and to overcome our loneliness. Perhaps, now, today, instead of fleeing our circumstances because of the visions we dream, we can entertain other dreams of hope and encouragement, and act upon these new visions. Perhaps, now, today, we can also resolve to “ … do, in word or in deed … everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” Perhaps, now, today, we, too, can begin our new life as “a holy family.”

^{Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph; December 30, 2007
Sir 3:2-6, 12-14; Col 3:12 – 17 (short form); Mt 2:13-15, 19-23}

Here we are at the beginning of a new year. So, I suppose the question I could ask is: How many of your New Year’s Resolutions have you already broken? On the other hand, you may be among those who do not need to make any resolutions for the new year. Perhaps, you have nothing which needs to be changed. And if you believe you are in this group, you may want to ask your spouse or your friends (or even your kids) if they agree to just how perfect you are now.

However, the majority of us, I believe, would say we’re not in that group. Most of us would probably admit there is something we need to change about ourselves. Some of us might even have the problem of being too hard on ourselves. We might believe there is very little we like about ourselves, just about everything needs to be changed. We might feel we are not worthy about anything. Today’s readings deal with this basic question. The question about being worthy. The question: am I “good enough?”

Our first reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah talks about a person who doesn’t sound very worthy about anything. Here we have someone who apparently doesn’t have the strength to finish breaking a stick that has already been bent out of shape. Someone who cannot finish blowing out a candle with a wick that is already merely a smoking ash. And yet, Isaiah reminds us that this one who appears to be so inconsequential will, in fact, establish justice on the earth.

In our second reading from the Acts of the Apostles we hear Peter’s words to Cornelius and his family. You may recall Cornelius was a Roman centurion, a military man of some might and means, who lived with his extended household in Caesarea. Here was Peter visiting the home of a non-Jew who did not follow the dietary laws of the Jews nor any other of their practices. On the surface, Cornelius and his family were unlikely candidates for this new, Christian, religion. Yet, Peter was able to proclaim, “In truth, I see that God shows no partiality. Rather, in every nation whoever fears him and acts uprightly is acceptable to him.” Centurion Cornelius and his family were seen to be worthy to become followers of Christ.

In our Gospel reading we hear how John the Baptist, himself, questioned whether he was good enough, worthy enough to baptize Jesus. John thought Jesus should be baptizing him. However, Jesus reminded John that what must be done to fulfill God’s will, must, indeed, be done. It is God who sees John is worthy enough to accomplish what God wants accomplished.

And what about us? Are we worthy to accomplish what God wants each one of us to accomplish? Yes, there are times when I believe I’m not good enough, worthy enough to do what I know God is calling me to do. And when these times occur I remember that I am worthy, not because of what I’ve done in the past, but, rather, because of what God has done for me.

I remember we all become worthy because of our baptism. We become worthy through the waters of baptism. We become worthy through the anointing with the oils of baptism. At every baptism we are reminded that we are anointed: priest, prophet and king. Here on this first Sunday of the New Year, when we celebrate the Baptism of the Lord, we are called to remember just what it means to be anointed as priest, prophet and king.

What does it mean to be anointed as a “king?” We know ancient kings were anointed with oil as a symbol of their power and new royalty. But what was to be the outcome of this power, this proclamation of being royalty? The first demand placed upon the king was to be the protector of his people. To protect them from outside invasions. To protect them from hunger and famine. To see to their general welfare. And yes, there were kings who failed. Those who did not see to the protection of their people. Those who mistreated their people. Those who did not show justice and mercy to those put under their care and trust. Yet a rue king was anointed as the Protector of his people.

And through our baptism we, too, are called to be a Protector for all who are under our care and trust. We are to protect them from attacks by those who try to render them powerless. We are to help them gain the basic needs for life, itself. By our baptism we are anointed as the protector of the poor, the oppressed and the marginalized.

We are also anointed as a prophet. Prophets were called by God to speak on his behalf. They were to remind all those who heard the prophet, all those who witnessed his actions. And of what did they remind the people? Prophets reminded them about what God desired of them. These prophets reminded their people about the covenant God had made with them and their ancestors. A covenant of unconditional love. A covenant which stated Yahweh would be their one and only God and they would be his people. A covenant which included the obligation to love one another as well as to listen to his Word. Prophets were anointed to be the memory of the love of God and to bring this memory of his love to a new life for his people.

And through our baptism, we, too, are anointed as Prophets to accomplish the same task, to remind others of God’s unconditional love for us and our unconditional love for God and for others. We are anointed as prophets to make God’s love manifest in this world, to show forth God’s love for us through our own love for one another.

As we are anointed as Protector and Prophet through our baptism, we are also anointed as Priest. What is the nature of being a priest? A priest is one called to be set aside, to no longer be part of a secular, routine life. And yet, at the same moment, a priest is one who is called to act in the world for the people of the world. One who lives in a daily acknowledgment that the reign of God has already begun. A priest is one who blesses others and calls for God to bless us. He is the one who takes common bread and wine and, through his prayers and blessings, he asks the Holy Spirt to change these common materials into the divine body and blood of Christ.

We too, through our baptism are anointed as priests to act in this world on behalf of God. We are to recognize we, too, are called forth from a merely secular world in order to act on God’s behalf in helping others to go beyond the daily world which consumes us. We are to pray not only for ourselves but more important, for others. Each day, we are to take the common elements of our lives and through prayer and the help of the Holy Spirit change these mundane actions into holy events.

Each one of us, through our sacrament of baptism, has been anointed Priest, Prophet and Protector. Through our baptism, each one of us was, indeed, made “good enough” to become a priest, prophet and protector. Following the words of the prophet Isaiah,
● Each one of us is called to open the eyes of the blind … the blind who do not see the beauty of God surrounding them.
● Each one of us is called to bring out prisoners from confinement … prisoners confined by chains of injustice and poverty
● Each one of us is called to free from the dungeon those who live in darkness … the darkness of despair and lack of hope.

When John baptized Jesus some two thousand years ago, a voice from heaven was heard. Today, as we begin a New Year with resolutions to change our lives, with resolutions to live out our Baptismal call of being anointed as priest, prophet, and king, may each one of us hear similar words: “This is my beloved child, with whom I am well pleased.”

^{Baptism of the Lord; January 13, 2008
Is 42: 1-4, 6-7; Acts 10:34-38; Mt 3:13-17}

Today’s question may come under the heading of “religious education.” This Sunday is called “the Second Sunday of Ordinary time.” So, my question is: What is “ordinary time?” Most Catholics who attend mass regularly, especially here at Christ the Good Shepherd, recognize there are major seasons during the liturgical year, seasons like Advent, which begins the year. And Christmastide, which ended on the Sunday after the Epiphany, that is, the day of the celebration of “the Baptism of the Lord.” Later there will be Lent, the Easter Triduum, and the Easter season which ends with Pentecost.

And many know the rest of the year is “ordinary time,” the season when our vestments are green. But why is it called “ordinary?” Does it just mean it’s sort of “regular,” that there is nothing “special” about it? Some people would agree with such a definition. But the real reason for calling this “the Second Sunday of Ordinary time” is “mathematical” rather than philosophical.

Do you recall, in high school math, you learned the “counting” numbers like 1, 2 and 3 are called “cardinal” numbers? And what about numbers such as “first,” “second,” and “third?” Well, they’re called “ordinary” numbers. So, the Sundays which are numbered as first, second, third, etc. are called “ordinary” Sundays and these “ordinary” Sundays make up Ordinary time. So, this weekend is the Second Sunday of Ordinary time. This season extends (this year) through February 21, which is the seventh Sunday of Ordinary time. The first Sunday of Lent comes next. And after Pentecost, until Advent, the Sundays will, once again, be numbered.

But what does all of this “religious education” about the liturgical year, have to do with today’s Gospel reading and the focus for today’s homily? The answer for this is another question for you: How do you find Christ in “ordinary” time? For many of us, it’s easier to be close to God and to Jesus during the special seasons of the year, during Advent, Christmas, Lent and Easter. It, also, seems to be less difficult to be with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit during special moments in our lives, moments of beginnings like at weddings or births, or even at sad times of endings, such as divorce or death. But what about during the regular days, the “ordinary” days of our lives? Well, we’re not alone in our problem of finding Christ in the ordinary days. John the Baptist had his own problem, which is not all that different from ours. To see what I mean, let’s take a closer look at today’s Gospel reading.

In today’s reading, we have John the Baptist and his own disciples once more gathered together. John has been baptizing in the Jordan River all of those who came seeking repentance in preparation for the coming of the Messiah, the Savior of Israel. John has been telling the Pharisees and others he, himself, is not the Messiah. He says this “Anointed One,” this “Chosen One,” will come later and baptize them, not with water, but with the Holy Spirit. As the sacrificial Lamb of God, this man will take away the sins of the world.

John probably knew all “about” Jesus. Some would maintain he probably knew Jesus, personally. After all, according to the stories we heard just before Christmas, John was the son of Elizabeth, a kinswoman of Jesus’ mother, Mary. So, in some way the two Men were cousins. Although it is possible two cousins might grow up without ever seeing one another, such a case is unlikely in a small country like Israel, especially with a culture emphasizing the extended family. So, it’s likely John and Jesus were well acquainted. But it’s apparent John did not recognize that his cousin, Jesus, was the Messiah. Not until the day when the two met at the River Jordan. In today’s Gospel we read, “John gave this testimony also: ‘I saw the spirit descend like a dove from the sky, and it came to rest on him. But I did not recognize him. The one who sent me to baptize with water told me, ‘when you see the spirit descend and rest on someone, it is he who is to baptize with the holy spirit.’ Now I have seen for myself and have testified, ‘this is God’s chosen one.’” And so, it took a very special occurrence, the dove descending from heaven, for John to recognize Jesus is the Messiah, the Chosen One of God.

But then what? Did John never have any doubts after that? Or was John the Baptist like many of us? We who accept Jesus as the Christ, the Son of God, at special moments in our life, but then fall into doubt during the ordinary days of our life. It seems John did have his reservations. There is the story in the Gospels of both Matthew and Luke of how John sends his own followers, his own disciples, to Jesus to ask, “Are you ‘he who is to come’ or do we look for another?”

This occurred during a low point in John’s life. According to Matthew’s Gospel, John was in prison when he sent his disciples to Jesus with their questions. Here, now, was the man who once testified that he, himself, had seen the spirit descend upon Jesus so that, having seen for himself, he could proclaim, “Behold the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world” and “this is God’s chosen one!”

But, now, he seems to be doubting what he had one observed and, so, he sends his disciples, once more, to question Jesus. And what answer did Jesus give to John’s disciples? He said: “Go back and report to John what you hear and see: the blind recover their sight, cripples walk, lepers are cured, the deaf hear, dead men are raised to life, and the poor have the good news preached to them.”

Is this not how we, too, recognize Jesus is the Son of God, by his healing actions in our lives? We seem to be closest to him when we are healed. When we have recovered our spiritual sight and lost our spiritual deafness. When we are no longer outcasts, but restored to the life of the community. When we are raised from our crippling sins and returned to the full life of grace. When we hear the “good news,” the Kingdom of God is at hand.

How does this occur to us today? How do we recognize Christ in our daily lives? Do we recognize him by some sort of miracle or special sign? The answer, I believe is both “yes” and “no.” There may be no special, observable miracles for us. A visible dove does not appear, but there is another kind of miracle. The miracle of Christian love. The miracle of Christian help. The miracle of the presence of Christ in others, in those we meet. The healing of a spouse saying, “I forgive you and I love you.” The healing of a child saying, “I’m sorry for what I’ve done and I will change.” The healing of a person saying, “I know you can use some help now, so, this is what I’m going to do.” The healing of a community saying, “we recognize what we have been doing has been harmful to others, so, this is how we’re going to correct our actions.” We find Jesus the Christ and his healing powers in the ordinary miracles of life around us. We find Jesus the Christ in the ordinary people we meet and who make a difference in our lives.

But in this meeting there is a challenge. If I hope to meet the Christ in “others,” who is the Christ for “others” to meet? In the final analysis, each one of us must be Christ-like in what each one of us does, in what each one of us says. In order to hear the good news, I am called to proclaim the good news to others. To proclaim the news not only in what I say and how I say it, but, more important, to live it out in what I do for others. To find Christ in others, I must be Christ to others.

And this is how we are to find him during the ordinary days of our lives, the days which are not part of some special time of celebration. During the days when we seem to be just numbering the hours, just marking time. These ordinary days are still days of opportunity, days when we need to hear with newly opened ears, the words from today’s reading from the prophet Isaiah: “I will make you a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.”

^{Second Sunday in Ordinary Time; January 17, 1993
Is 49: 3,5-6; 1 Cor 1: 1-3; Jn 1:29-34}

1. ^{Some might say Pentecost is followed by Trinity Sunday and by Corpus Christi, now called “Body and Blood of Christ Sunday” and that the counting for Ordinary Sundays does not begin until the Sunday after “Body and Blood of Christ Sunday.” However, the weekdays of Ordinary Time resume on the Monday after Pentecost, having started the Monday after “The Baptism of the Lord.” Indeed, Christmastide liturgically includes “The Baptism of the Lord Sunday,” but for many of us “old-timers” the Christmas season ends with Epiphany! Otherwise, what happened to the “First” Sunday in Ordinary Time?}