Category: Homilies

There are classical questions and there are the kinds of strange questions I often ask at the beginning of my homilies.¹ Today I’m combining both types. I have a classic question which is also a strange one. It’s this: “Would a rose by any other name smell as sweet?” After all, “a rose is a rose” isn’t it? But what if a rose is not rose-colored, but is yellow like the rose of Texas? How can we have a “yellow” rose?

Yes, questions can be strange, as strange as the words making them up. Today’s Gospel begins with a question, a strange question. It was asked by a “scholar of the law” who wanted to put Jesus on the spot, who hoped to ridicule this wandering rabbi who had been making their religious leaders look like fools. No, this scholar was not a lawyer, not a man who prosecuted or defended criminals, but rather a scholar of Torah, the laws of Moses.

And so this scholar who knew the laws of Moses asked a question. Of the hundreds of laws handed down from the days of Moses, which is the greatest, which is the most important commandment? And Jesus replied there are, in fact, two joined laws, two commandments of the Lord God, that are more important than all of the others put together. And they are: “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind; and second, you shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

Love God, neighbor, self. Three individuals in a deep relationship of love. God – the other whom I cannot see. Neighbor – the other whom I can see. Self – the one who must relate to the community around me and above me. A community of saints, a community of blessed individuals. God. Neighbor. Me. A community which shares a communion, a gathering of individuals who share a oneness.

When we restate the beliefs of the first Christians, those beliefs summarized in the Creed of the Apostles, we say we believe in “the communion of saints,” a communion, a oneness, with those who live with us and those who have gone before us. A communion with those who have died and are with the Lord God, the saints of heaven who pray for us. A communion with those who have died and will be with the Lord God, the departed souls for whom we pray. And we, ourselves. We, who are prayed for and who pray for others.

As you leave Mass, today, each family, and each person here without a family living with them, should receive from the greeters at each door a copy of this booklet: Generations of Faith. This booklet is the first part of an ongoing effort, which is why there are holes punched in it, so you can gather them into a single binder. We hope this series will become a source for helping to transmit our living faith from one generation to the next, from one person to another. At first glance, it might appear we’ve put together just another coloring book or puzzle book for young children. But if you look more closely, you should find information that can make our adult beliefs come alive about our “Community of Saints.”

This is an especially good time of the liturgical year for us to think, and pray, about the transmittal of our faith and our ongoing love for God and for others. On Friday, November 1, we again celebrate the “Feast of All Saints,” the feast for all of our relatives and friends who are with God but have not been recognized in the official list, the official canon, of the saints of the church. At noon on Saturday, November 2, we’ll celebrate a Mass for the “Feast of All Souls,” the feast day for all of our friends and relatives who are on the “waiting list” to enter heaven, a waiting list that includes all of us, too.

We also hope you’ll enjoy participating in the culture of others who honor departed souls with special altars. Over the coming days, you’ll see examples of them in our narthex. We invite you to visit the walls of our saints, those on the official list, the ones who have been canonized, and those who are on the unofficial lists, the rest of us. We would welcome your family photos to be shown on our narthex wall during the month of November. Actually, these photos are pictures of models. No, not the ones who appear in fashion magazines, but more important, the ones St Paul spoke about two millennia ago to the Thessalonians, when he said: “… you became imitators of us and of the Lord, receiving the word in great affliction, with joy from the Holy Spirit, so that you became a model for all the believers …”

Yes, that is who saints are: the men and women who are the patrons, the guides, the models for what we do. All of them possess the joy of the Holy Spirit and are imitators, images, of Christ. They are models for all Christian believers. They are the ones who have passed the faith on from generation to generation, just as we are called to do.

At the same time, we also remember words have more than one meaning: we can, indeed, have a “yellow” rose. And so it is with “generation,” a word for all people who are of the same age. However, “generation” can also mean new growth, a new beginning. Generations of Faith, the title of this booklet, can mean a transmittal of faith from one age to another. It can also mean a new growth in faith, new beginnings for a faith which may still be a tiny mustard seed, but which can grow into a mighty tree. A tree with roots in the past, a sturdy trunk in the present, and branches reaching to the future. A tree that grows and flowers. A tree yielding fruit because of the love it receives. A love that begins with our own self. A love we share with our neighbors. A love we give to our God. A God who, from the time of the Exodus, has reminded us: “If you cry out to me, I will hear you, for I am compassionate.” A God who urges us to share this compassion with our neighbors, with all those who are destined to being saints.

^{Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary; October 27, 2002
Ex 22:20 -26; 1 Thess 1:5c-10; Mt 22:34-40}

1. _{^{The “Generations of Faith” is a national program for family faith formation. The parish staff, spearheading this program, requested that I give a “homily” to kick off the program. It was also to incorporate concepts relating to the coming November Holy Days: All Saints and All Souls. The cultural and parish events relating to these “days of the dead” were to be included in this teaching homily.}}

Today’s question is another “private” one, one you don’t need to answer out loud. My question is this: Are you tired of being “charitable?” Are you tired of being asked, once more, to support a good cause, to help out, once again, with financial support? Do you remember Christmas week last year? It seemed like the right thing, the only thing, to do – to give assistance to the victims of the tsunami in Southeast Asia. We saw its devastation on the nightly news and were moved to contribute as much as we could. Some even gave of their own, direct efforts and went off to Indonesia to provide aid to those who survived the massive wave covering their coast.

And then there was Katrina. New Orleans was so much closer to us. The immediate need for direct assistance through voluntary help and for indirect assistance through financial contributions was even more evident than it had been for those stricken thousands of miles away. And then there was Rita. Even closer to us, here in storm-ravaged East Texas. Now we were the evacuees, for a very long weekend. But once we had returned, we again made ourselves available to help others. Then there was the earthquake in Pakistan and the call for more help from volunteers and those who support them. And the floods in Guatemala in the wake of hurricane Stan. Now, there is Wilma in Mexico and heading toward Florida.

Tsunamis, hurricanes, earthquakes and flooding, with or without names, in Asia, in Europe or in New England. The threat of firestorms in California and the Pacific coast. And don’t forget the ongoing assistance agencies we’re encouraged to support: Diocesan Services Fund, Catholic Charities and next month’s Campaign for Human Development.¹

Is it any wonder I raise the question: Are you tired of being “charitable?” Especially when this 30th Sunday of the liturgical year has, once again, been designated as “Worldwide Mission Sunday,” a day when the so-called “second collection” is being taken up for the support of evangelization around the world. Our only comfort lies in the fact that this is not a new question. It was raised several thousand years ago, back in the days when the Book of Exodus was written.

In today’s first reading from that book we heard how the Israelites were reminded they must, once more, give support to the aliens in their own land as well as to widows and orphans. And don’t forget the poor and oppressed. The instructions given by the Lord God to Moses which he, in turn, imparted to the Israelites, said how they must help the strangers among them. And those who had no one else to protect them. Widows without husbands. Orphans without parents. And when they helped those in need, they must not require inordinate payback. They must not demand from the poor the clothes they wore to keep them warm at night.

And why should they be so charitable to those less fortunate? Was it out of fear that they might end up the same way? That the Lord God would send them the same afflictions, if they did not come to the assistance of those who were now afflicted. Perhaps. After all, isn’t this why some of us do what we are supposed to do, out of fear our own luck will run out if we don’t. We fear God will punish us for not being charitable to others. Or are we to be charitable out of trust, rather than because of fear of retribution?

Today’s gospel records what Jesus had to say on the matter. A scholar of the law, a scholar who knew what the teachings given by the Lord God to Moses, the Torah, had to say, this scholar asked Jesus what was the greatest of all the laws of God. And Jesus responded: “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment. The second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments.”

Love God completely with all of your very being, with all that is you, yourself, with your heart, your very body, with your soul, the internal life bestowed upon you, and with your mind, the thoughts which lead you to God. All of these are to be given to the Lord God in love. And then – love your neighbor in the same way.

Jesus also gave his disciples, and us, a New Law, one not directly found in Torah, but rather, a new covenant, a new law. A law which says: “Love one another as I have loved you.” And how did Jesus love his disciples? How does he love us? Completely. Unconditionally. Without any reservation. With complete forgiveness. Without tying any of our current actions with past actions. He loves us in the present moment, just as we are now.

Yes, he desires that we change, for his first instruction in his public ministry, after all, was: “Repent, change your lives, for the Kingdom of God is at hand. Reform your actions, for the Reign of God begins now.” Saint Paul understood these words when he wrote to the Thessalonians, those who made up one of the first Christian communities he established, what we heard in today’s letter. He told them, as he tells us: “… you became imitators of … the Lord, receiving the word in great affliction, with joy from the Holy Spirit, so that you became a model for all the believers … For from you the word of the Lord has sounded forth, not only [here] but in every place your faith in God has gone forth …”

This is what we are still called to do, and to be. To receive the word. To be a model for others. To send forth the word to others through our ministry to them. This is what Worldwide Mission Sunday is about. To hear the word. To speak the word not only with our lips but also with our hands. To send forth the word through our actions. To be a model for others.

In many of his writings, Pope John Paul spoke of the “new evangelization,” the new spreading of the good news, for this, of course, is what evangelization means. Spreading the good news, the gospel message: “Love one another as I have loved you.”

Loving, being “charitable” without ceasing, not because it is something I do because I expect something in return for my help. But rather, because I have received the complete Love of Christ and must share that love with others: every way I can, any time I can, any place I can. I’m to share it with those in India and in Pakistan. Those in Guatemala and Latin America. Those in Louisiana, Mississippi and East Texas. Those in Houston. Those in my neighborhood. Those in my family. On this Worldwide Mission Sunday, we are once again challenged to go forth with Love, with continued Charity, with the words: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

^{Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary; October 23, 2005 (Worldwide Mission Sunday)
Ex 22:20-26; 1 Thess 1:5c-10; Mt 22:34-40}

1. _{^{Originally, October 23, 2005, was to have had a homily on Campaign for Human Development. However Worldwide Mission Sunday was added and the CHD shifted to the end of November: Feast of Christ the King. This sentence replaced the one originally written: “Add to that: the cost of gasoline and the projection of increased bills for electricity and natural gas … along with building supplies.” I think the original line is “stronger” but since the weekly bulletin had a pre-scheduled insert for the CHD, the substitution sentence made more immediate sense. I did not want the congregation to wonder if I had gotten my “second collections” confused.}}

Over the last twenty-five years of giving homilies, I’ve asked you probably hundreds of questions. And although I have another one for you today, I do not expect you to answer it either out loud or by a show of hands. However, it’s a question I hope you’re able to answer for yourself. The question is this: After some two or three years of a national presidential campaign, are you ready to vote ten days from now?

Here’s an even more important question for you. Again, I do not want an explicit response, no show of hands. And the question is this: Will you be able to live with the results of the millions of fellow citizens who will be voting a week from Tuesday? It appears it’s, again, going to be a very contested race. A close race. Once more, our nation seems to be about equally divided on who should lead us and much of the rest of the world for the next four years.

The stakes are high, but they always have been high. However, given what is happening throughout the world in economics and in military actions these stakes may be higher than ever. Because the results of this election will bear directly on so many people, there is another question which also needs to be addressed. No matter who is elected in November 2008, can we, as a nation, respond with civility? I fully believe the answer to this question influences our destiny as a nation.

Civility. The ability to interact in our society with consideration for other members of our society. The ability to get along with one another, even when we disagree with the beliefs or behaviors of other people. Civility. Civilized. Citizen. Words which go back to the formation of the city-states of Greece and the ancient world, when families of people first gathered together for their mutual welfare.

History speaks of the need for laws, for basic rules to guide our ancestors who came together in these first communities. History speaks of the Laws given by God for the welfare of God’s people. Torah. The Law. The Way of humankind. Some two thousand years ago, a scholar of that Law, attempted to test the Son of God concerning which of the hundreds of laws is the greatest of all of God’s commandments. Jesus responded with the sacred words of the “Shema,” the holy prayer recited each morning by every believing Israelite. The prayer which begins: “Hear, O Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord alone! Therefore, you shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, and with all your soul and with all your mind.” And to these words, he added others from the Book of Leviticus: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” He then concluded with the words: “The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments.”

A few moments ago, we heard this passage as recorded by Saint Matthew. However, many of us, in our own minds, thought of the additional lines from the Gospel according to Saint Luke, where Jesus elaborated on who is this so-called “neighbor” that I am to love as I do myself. Every one of us is familiar with the story of the “Good Samaritan,” the one least expected by an Israelite to offer help to a wounded Jew. There is certainly no reason for me to retell the story now.

However, I wonder if, should Jesus tell this story to us today, if he might replace the “Good Samaritan” with the character of a “Good Republican” or a “Good Democrat?” Might he use a “Good Right-Wing Conservative” or a “Good Left-Wing Liberal.” For this, of course, is what Jesus meant, the neighbor we are to love is the one we would least want to love, the one least lovable because of the stereotypes we hold in our hearts and minds. The ones we must treat as brothers and sisters even though we do not agree with what they might believe or how they might behave.

Loving such a neighbor means I must eliminate my stereotypes. I must treat each person as an individual who has good intentions for all of us, even if these intentions are not the same as mine. I am not to vilify my neighbor as being evil or as an enemy. I am to accept my neighbor as another child of God.

This has never been easy to do. Jesus knew this. Surely, he recalled the words contained in the Book of Exodus that we heard in our first reading for today. “Thus says the LORD: ‘You shall not molest or oppress an alien, for you were once aliens yourselves in the land of Egypt. You shall not wrong any widow or orphan.’” Did not the prophets say that we are all the same? Did they not say we journey together in an unknown land. We are as unprotected, as alone as anyone without a spouse, without parents. But nevertheless, the LORD is compassionate to all who cry out to Him.

In a short time, we will learn whom we have elected to lead us in a very troubled nation and world. We all hope whoever is chosen by the people will be a leader capable of guiding us through a bewildering period in our history. But whoever is elected by the people, let us hope we can set aside the anger and passions of the past and work together in our common journey. Perhaps, it is then we can put into practice words based upon Saint Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians and become imitators of the Lord … receiving the word in great affliction and … with joy from the Holy Spirit … become a model for all …

^{30th Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 26, 2008
Ex 22:20-26; 1 Thess 1:5c-10; Mt 22:34-40}

Have you ever wanted to be a celebrity? When you walk into Greenspoint¹, would you like to have people whisper, “Hey, isn’t she the movie star who just won an academy award?” Or “Isn’t that the guy who made the wining touchdown for the Oilers last week?” Even if you might want more privacy than most movie stars or athletes get, wouldn’t it be great if everyone recognized your outstanding talents and gave you the respect and adulation you really deserve? I think it was Andy Warhol who said everyone would be a celebrity for fifteen minutes. Have you ever asked yourself when your own “fifteen minutes” would come?

Even if you don’t think you want all of the hoopla and problems that come with being a celebrity, a large part of U.S. industry is geared to the idea you really want to be mistaken for one. Much of our advertising exists on the premise you want to be seen as being among the “rich and famous.” All you need to do is buy a pair of “Air Jordans” to be mistaken for a star basketball player. Or wear “Jordach” jeans and be mistaken for a young movie star. You, too, can become just like a celebrity, if you would only drive the “right car,” wear the “right perfume,” or use the “right mouthwash.” It all boils down to the view all you need to do is “such and such” and you, too, can become perfect, well-known and respected, in short, a celebrity.

The advice is not new. Jesus referred to it some two-thousand years ago. There were those in the Jewish community back then who thought all you had to do was wear the right clothes, attend the right parties, sit in the right seats and have the right title. If you did all of this, you, too, would be known as being perfect. Jesus went on to say, however, there was more to being “perfect” than that. This is what the focus for today’s reflection is: we need to practice what we preach.

To begin today’s reflection, however, we might take a brief look at the Pharisees. Sometimes we seem to think that “Pharisee” is a synonym for “hypocrite,” that all Pharisees said one thing and did another. This is really unfair, not only to the Pharisees but, really, to all of the Jews who came later. So, I’d like to talk for a few minutes about early Christian history.

I think most of you realize the Gospel accounts were written sometime between 70 and 100 A.D., that is, about fifty years or so after the death and resurrection of Christ. It was a difficult time for the early Christians. Many of them had expected Jesus would return in his Second Coming before now. He hadn’t, and so there was a concern that those who had known him during his life on earth might die and succeeding generations would not know anything about him. Obviously, the oral tradition had to be written down so it could be preserved without any change.

But why now? Oral tradition had served the Jewish community very well for more than a thousand years. The Pentateuch, the first five books of the Hebrew scriptures, had been committed to memory and transmitted orally from generation to generation. Couldn’t the teachings of Jesus be retained in the same way? They could until about 70 A.D. It was in this year the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed by the Romans. The Jewish priests, who had led the temple services, who had preserved the oral Pentateuch, were killed by the Romans. Worship in the Temple no longer existed.

A group of Jews, however, was allowed to establish a school, a yeshiva, in a town along the coast. The ones who sought refuge in this town were the Pharisees. The task they undertook was to write down their notes on the interpretation of Torah. The notes were called the “Mishnah.” This written Torah and a later elaboration of the notes, the “Gamarra,” became what is now the “Talmud,” the written interpretation of the law, the Torah. The worship, which was once conducted in the Temple in Jerusalem, was now focused on the synagogue and the home.

And what were the followers of Christ doing? The same thing, formulating and writing down the teachings of Jesus. Without a temple in which to gather and preach, the Apostles and their Jewish followers needed their own alternatives. They met in their own homes and in their own synagogues. Most bible scholars believe that although Jesus probably did not agree with everything the Pharisees did, most of the invective found in the Gospel of Matthew is more a reflection of how Matthew’s community felt about the Pharisees than what Jesus, himself, felt about them.

The Pharisees where much like us. They were well-educated, upper-middle-class Jews who wanted to preserve the word of God. They wanted to be perfect. They thought it was humanly possible to be perfect. The problem is some of them did not practice what they preached. At the beginning of today’s reading from Matthew, we hear these words: “The scribes and the pharisees have succeeded Moses as teachers; therefore, do everything and observe everything they tell you.” It goes on to say: ” … but do not follow their example. Their words are bold but their deeds are few.” It then goes on to describe how some of the Pharisees dressed in public.

Phylacteries were worn by every pious male Jew. They were small, leather boxes which contained parchment with scriptural passages written on them. The boxes were bound on with leather straps, one on the inside of the left arm, the other on the forehead, as a constant reminder of the law, of Torah. At the same time, Jewish men wore prayer shawls with fringes at the four corners. The 613 fringes were to remind them of the 613 laws contained in Torah. Evidently there were some Pharisees who thought that by wearing larger phylacteries or having longer fringes on their prayer shawls, they would appear to be more pious. But before you think this is a strange way to behave, some of you may remember back to the time when Catholic women would prefer to wear a full mantilla instead of a small prayer cap when they entered a church, otherwise some women might think them to be disrespectful.

So much for history. What does all of this have to do with today? Is Jesus not reminding us of three related facts: First of all, it’s not what you wear that makes you perfect. Second, it’s not what fancy titles you have that make you better than anyone else. And third, it’s not what you merely say, but rather what you do that matters more in life.

Most parents would agree kids learn more by what they see than by what they are told. You can’t teach respect for others without being respectful of the rights of others. You can’t speak for the equality of ethnic minorities if you keep on telling racist jokes. You can’t promote peaceful solutions to problems, if your first and last response to every problem is anger. You can’t talk about living a simple life and be a conspicuous consumer. You can’t tell others you respect fidelity in marriage if you support movies and television which suggest extramarital affairs are acceptable ways of life. You can’t convince others to celebrate a Liturgy, if you act as if it’s merely an obligation which is satisfied if you’re present during only the so-called “important parts” of the Mass.

By now most of us have probably seen a public service commercial on television summarizing it as well as anything else might. It’s the one where the father asks his son where he learned about doing drugs, and the son’s response, “From you, Dad.” Each one of us is called to teach through our example, by what we do rather than merely by what we say.

I’m reminded of this when I think back to my ordination to the Diaconate. At the conclusion of the ordination rite, the Bishop presents the “Book of the Gospels” to the newly ordained minister and says: “Receive the Gospel of Christ, whose herald you are. Believe what you read, Teach what you believe, and Practice what you teach.” It seems to me these words are relevant to all of us and not only to those ordained by a Bishop. Believe what you read. Teach what you believe. Practice what you teach.

A few minutes ago, I asked if you would like to be a celebrity. Many of you might not like the disadvantages of being in the public spot light, yet would appreciate having the honor and respect associated with the rich and famous. Well, Jesus, has a more difficult question for you. How would you like to be known as “a humble servant”?

An old children’s nursery rhyme gives us several occupational choices: “richman, poorman, beggerman, thief; doctor, lawyer, Indian chief.” Our Lord, it seems, gives us only one occupation, only one calling, as he reminds us: “whoever exalts himself shall be humbled, but whoever humbles himself shall be exalted.” The choice is up to you: celebrity or servant.

^{Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary; November 4, 1990
Mal 1:14b-2:2b, 8-10; 1 Thess 2:7-9,13; Mt 23:1-12}

1. ^{_{Time does change references! In 1990 the major, local mall was Greenspoint. It is now abandoned. Willowbrook may have taken its place. The Oilers moved to Tennessee and have been replaced in Houston by the Texans. Air Jordans and Jordach still exist.}}

Today’s question is for those of us who can remember back to our childhood and the stories we heard when we were children. I’m not sure you’ll know the answers if you’re not familiar with those old fairytales or those early Disney re-creations of them. Actually, my question has two parts. It’s this: How did all of those old children’s stories begin? And how did they end? What were the first words we heard that told us this was going to be another classic bedtime story? “Once upon a time …”

Yes, these were the words signaling were about to enter a world of fantasy and wonder as we went off to sleep. I’m not sure modern, children’s stories still use them. But back when I was a child (many, many years ago) every bedtime story began with those words. And what were the last words children heard, that is, if they stayed awake for the whole story? “And they lived happily ever after. The End.”

Yes, every story had a “happy ending.” And every movie back then, had a “Hollywood Ending.” No matter what tragedies occurred along the way, there was always a “happy ending,” a “Hollywood Ending.” We grew to expect it. We were disturbed if there were no “happy ending.” Somehow we felt cheated. Or at least a little puzzled.

Which may also be the result of hearing today’s gospel story. It doesn’t have a “happy ending.” There are those five women left standing outside a locked door and hearing the Bridegroom, the Lord, saying: “I do not know you.” Basically, they’re out in the dark with a cold brush-off. And why?

Is it because their friends wouldn’t lend them some extra oil for their lamps? They missed out on a great midnight party, because they weren’t there when the doors were locked to keep out any gate crashers. They believed it really wasn’t their fault. They were the victims of false friendship! But, then, we’re reminded of other words from our childhood. Words which are still current. The words of the Boy Scout motto: “Be prepared.”

Yes, these are the words I associate with the Boy Scouts’ motto: “Be prepared.” But if you goggle the words “Be prepared,” as I did out of curiosity, you’ll find that, out of the fifty-eight-million-two-hundred-thousand hits, only one-hundred-seventy-three-thousand refer to the Boy Scouts! Twice as many, some three-hundred-eighty-three-thousand, associate “Be Prepared” with the song Uncle Scar sings in The Lion King! So much for modern children’s stories! But you must admit, even Lion King has its happy, Hollywood, ending.

And that’s what we want. What we desire. No matter how bad things are, we want them to work out so that everyone can live “happily ever after.” The early Christians wanted the same result: to live “happily ever after.” They inquired about the “end days,” the eschaton, when Christ would come back to unite them with him in heaven so that they could all “live happily ever after.”

The residents of Thessalonica in Greece were especially concerned. They were concerned because many of their friends had already died, and Christ had not yet returned. They were distraught that his return might be further delayed, and others would “fall asleep” and miss the reunion with him in heaven. And so Saint Paul wrote to them the words we heard in today’s second reading: “We do not want you to be unaware … about those who have fallen asleep, so that you may not grieve like the rest, who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose, so too will God, through Jesus, bring with him those who have fallen asleep. Indeed, we tell you this, on the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will surely not precede those who have fallen asleep.” Then Paul goes on to tell the Thessalonians the “dead who believed in Christ” will rise and be reunited with him and the living. Together, all will be united with God.

The early Christians also found encouragement in the words of the Book of Wisdom we heard in today’s first reading. For them, and for us, “Wisdom,” or “Sophia,” was identified as an alternate name, a feminine name, for the Holy Spirit. And so, they heard the words we listened to a few minutes ago as: “[The Holy Spirit] is readily perceived by those who love her and found by those who seek her. … whoever watches for her at dawn shall not be disappointed, for he shall find her sitting by his gate. For taking thought of wisdom is the perfection of prudence, and whoever for her sake keeps vigil shall quickly be free from care”

As the liturgical year draws to a close and we are urged to reflect on both the closing of the year and the closing of our earthly lives, we, too, are to remember the Holy Spirit seeks us, as we seek the Holy Spirit. But in this vigil, in this waiting, we are to take “prudence.” Prudence, foresight, forethought: virtues which are, at times, in short supply in our modern life, yet ones we are called to employ, especially as we wait for the Second Coming of Christ.

Today’s parable story indicates that, although all ten virgins waited for the bridegroom and, because of the delay in his coming, all ten fell asleep, only half of them were well prepared to greet him with sufficient light, with sufficient effort, to be able to see him and be with him for the rejoicing to follow. The other five were less diligent. They had been given the same opportunities as the others, but had not taken advantage of them.
The bridegroom came. Half of the waiting women were absent. They had waited too long to replenish their supply of oil. Their own light was not kept burning for his return.

Perhaps, today’s story is to remind us we need to continue to be prudent, to be prepared. It is insufficient for us to have merely a good beginning. The ending is just as important. How many of us have begun a diet but have not stayed with it? How many of us have begun an exercise regimen, but fallen away when we realized we had to do it every day?

But more important, perhaps: How many of us have begun to pray, but fell away from the practice when we got involved with other events we deemed to be more important. How many of us have began to volunteer our time for charity, but then been sidetracked by other practices, other priorities? How many of us have said we would devote more effort to those actions we knew we should undertake to follow the Lord more closely, but never got around to starting them? After all, there is always tomorrow. I can start then. I really have other, more important things to do right now. And so it goes. “Once upon a time … I still wanted … to live happily ever after. The End.”

^{Thirty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time; November 6, 2005
Wis 6:12-16; 1 Thess 4:13-18; Mt 25:1-13}

Once upon a time there was a king who had a son whose name was Joshua¹. Both the king and the prince loved their people very much. To show how much they loved the people, the king sent the prince to visit them. Every day, Joshua went down from the royal palace on the high mountain where they lived to the village in the valley. He spent all day with the people. The people loved the king and the prince very much.

Now one day the king had a wonderful idea. He said he would have a birthday party for Joshua in the castle and invite all of his friends from the village. Joshua agreed this would be a splendid idea. He liked celebrations. Whenever he went down to the village, he would join the people in singing and dancing. He sometimes wanted to stay all night at parties in the village. But he knew his father, the king, wanted him to be home before dark. When the king told Joshua there would be a birthday party in the castle, the young prince asked his father if his friends could stay overnight. His father said they could. In fact he agreed they could stay in the castle as long as they wanted to, since they had all been such good friends of his son.

The next morning, Joshua went running down the path from the castle to the village. He leaped over the rocks on the road and turned somersaults on the grass. He rushed up to his friends to tell them about the party. When he told them, they were very happy too. They shouted and hugged him.

But then a strange thing happened. Suddenly the merriment stopped. Joshua’s friends got very quiet. Some of them even started to cry. The young prince was very surprised. He didn’t know what had upset his friends so much. Finally, one of his friends told him.

His friend told Joshua how much everyone loved him. But they could not come to his birthday party. Even though the king had been a very good king, the people in the village were still very poor. His friend told the young prince they couldn’t go to a birthday party without a gift. And because they were so poor, they couldn’t bring a gift fit for a prince. In reply, Joshua said they didn’t have to give him any presents. But his friends said it just wouldn’t be right to go to a birthday party without a present.

The prince was very sad. He walked up the long path to the castle. Now he didn’t turn somersaults on the grass. He didn’t jump over the rocks on the road. In fact, with tears in his eyes, he even stumbled over some of them. When he returned to the castle, he told his father what had happened. How his friends, at first, were very happy to be invited to a party. And then how sad they were, because they could not give him any presents. So they would not come.

Now the king, too, became very sad. He also liked celebrations. The king wondered what he should do. He thought and thought. And then he had a wonderful idea. He knew it would work. And this is what he did.

That very night, after all the villagers were sound asleep, the king sent his messengers down to the village. The messengers carried sacks with them. In each sack there were special things. Some bags had pieces of lumber, and nails, and glue, and paint for making toys. Some bags had flour and sugar and butter and fruit for baking pies and cakes. Some bags had cloth and thread and buttons and ribbons for sewing fancy clothes. The messengers left a sack outside the house of each of Joshua’s friends. And inside of every bag was an invitation to his birthday party.

The next morning when the people awoke, they found the sacks. They took the sacks into their houses and opened them. They were very surprised to find the invitations from the king. They were even more surprised when they found the other things inside of the bag. Do you know what the people did next?

They started right away to make toys with the lumber, and nails, and glue, and paint. Others immediately began to bake pies and cakes with the flour and sugar and butter and fruit. And some started to sew fancy clothes with the cloth and thread and buttons and ribbons. Each one tried to make the best present possible. Some didn’t succeed too well. The wheels they made for the wagons weren’t quite round. The pies were a little burned. The sleeves on the shirts were of different lengths. But each one had tried … except …

Except there were some who thought they couldn’t make anything from the lumber or the flour or the cloth they found in the bag. Some of them just tied the string on the bag and put it on a shelf. They were afraid to take any risks. They thought if they failed to make the very best gift possible, the king would be angry and so they did nothing at all.

Finally the day came for the birthday party. Bright and early, Joshua’s friends took their sacks and began the trip to the castle. In each bag there was a present. Some were very beautiful. Some were just so-so. And yes, some of the bags still had the lumber and nails or the flour and sugar or the cloth and ribbons left by the messengers.

For the past few days, Joshua had not been down to the village. He had been very sad, because his friends said they were not going to come to the party. So, when he heard the laughing and shouting of his friends as they climbed up the path to the castle, he was very surprised. And then he was very happy. Now there would be a great celebration and, once it started, he knew it would never end.

Now as the people had been climbing the mountain, they, too, were looking forward to the party. And the ones who had made gifts for the prince showed them to everyone else. There had been oohs and ahhs of delight when they saw the gifts. But the people who had not made any gifts carried their bags tightly closed behind their backs. They knew they had not tried to make any presents, but they hoped the king would take back the lumber and nails, the flour and sugar, and the cloth and ribbons and be pleased they had not misused them.

The king and prince who were watching from the top of the castle were overdosed that the people were sharing the gifts as they climbed upwards. The king had heard how well some of them had been doing. He was eager to see the results.

He was very pleased with the wagons with perfect wheels and the sweet-smelling pies and cakes and the fancy clothes. And when he saw the wagons with wheels not quite round, or the pies and cakes that were a little burned, or the clothes that didn’t look quite right, he smiled at their makers and waved them through the door into the castle. He knew these friends had tried to make the best gift possible from what they had been given.

Finally, there was left only the group of people clutching unopened bags behind their backs. The king looked at them sadly. One after another, they opened their sacks. He saw in each bag, the unused lumber and the flour and the cloth his messengers had left with them. He knew in his heart how these people had been afraid to risk using what he had so freely given them. Slowly, he shook his head and closed the door. From inside the castle came the sounds of singing and laughing. The never-ending celebration had begun.

But outside the only sound was that of shuffling feet. The people who were unwilling to risk using what had been given to them by the king returned to the village in the valley. All the way back, they heard the sounds of the celebration. They hoped that someday the king would send out his messengers again. Perhaps, then, they, too, would be willing to try to use what the king would give them. Perhaps, it was not too late to try.

In the meantime, the friends of Joshua who had turned their gifts from the king into presents for the young prince continued to celebrate his birthday in the castle and lived there happily ever-after.

^{Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary; November 18, 1984; November 17, 1996 (revised)
Prov 31:10-13; 1 Thess 5:1-6; Mt 25:14-30}

1. _{^{A children’s homily about the use of God’s gifts, our talents.}}

My question for you today deals with psychology. In the past, many people were interested in philosophy or theology, but today it would appear there are more pop-psychologists than there are pop-philosophers or pop-theologians. So, here’s my question: What is meant by the “fight or flight” syndrome? How many of you have heard this term before?

Yes, a lot of people have heard of this so-called “fight or flight” syndrome. It usually means that when we encounter something we fear, we respond by either fighting back against the fear or running away from it. We can respond to our stress with a positive response like fighting back and taking an active response, or we can respond with a negative process such as running away. And we need not run away by using our feet. No, we can sometimes escape by merely closing down, by curling up in a ball and hoping the threat ignores us. So, maybe, another way to put it is – under a fearful attack we’re either active, we fight back – or we’re passive, we run away, we hide, we withdraw.

,,,,,,,,By the way, since I’ve asked a question about psychology, I have another one¹. As you might know, every group has a patron saint. My question is: Who is the patron saint for psychologists? In case you didn’t know, the patron saint of psychologists is “St Imulus.” And if you don’t know why St Imulus is their patron saint, you might spell out his name! Yes, it’s S..T..I..M..U..L..U..S. And now you know why I begin my homilies with questions rather than with jokes as some preachers do. But yes, today’s readings do involve a “stimulus” … something that strikes us as being new and different, something that demands a response from us. ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Today’s readings involve something we may fear and, therefore, demands a response. This “something” is a phrase or a concept we hear from time to time but one we might not really understand. This concept occurs in both our first reading and in today’s gospel. Although it’s not explicit in Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians we heard in our second reading, the concept is very much a part of his thinking about the return of Christ, about the second coming of Christ the Lord.

The Latin term for this important concept or phrase is “Timor Domini.” It is one of the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit. You may recall that the first of these Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit is “Wisdom” or “Sapientia.” The list ends with this “Timor Domini.” The usual translation for this Latin philosophical or theological term is “Fear of the Lord.”

Yes, the usual meaning for timor is given as the English word “fear.” So, “Timor Domini” would be “fear of the Lord.” But the word timor also means “awe, veneration, or reverence” as well as “apprehension, anxiety or “fear.” “Timor Domini” may be the feeling you get when you see a huge flash of lightening followed immediately by a very loud clap of thunder. Do you react with fear or with awe?

The final chapter of the Book of Proverbs, from which today’s first reading is taken, uses this phrase. On the surface, we might assume the passage is about an ideal wife or, at least an ideal one from the point of her husband, since we hear all about how she does all of the work around the house. But did we really listen to the conclusion of this passage from the Book of Proverbs: “… the woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Give her a reward for her labors, and let her works praise her at the city gates.” It might also be helpful to recall that the first chapter of the Book of Proverbs has the quotation: “Fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and discipline.”

So, yes, “fear of the Lord” – this beginning of knowledge – may not designate a negative response. Rather, it’s merely a recognition that we humans stand in awe and reverence before the majesty of our God, that this response is the first step in our wisdom about who God is, who we are, and what should be the relationship between us.

We’ve been hearing about this relationship as we complete this liturgical year and begin to enter into the new one with the start of Advent a mere two weeks from now. As we complete this annual cycle, we may be puzzled by what we have been hearing. We wonder how these scriptures fit into what we, today, believe should be how Christians are expected to act.

Last week, we heard the words of the gospel of Matthew concerning the return of the bridegroom, the one we associate with Christ, and the ten women who waited for him. We heard how five of them were unwilling to share the oil for the lamps they carried as they waited for his return. This certainly does not seem to be a Christian virtue – this lack of sharing. Yet, the bridegroom accepts the actions of the five prudent women and excludes the five foolish ones who had not been appropriately prepared for his return.

And today, we heard the story of the master who, before leaving, gives to three of his servants different amounts of his vast wealth. The amount mentioned in today’s story is often said to be the equivalent of an annual wage. In other words, the first servant received funds that would be worth five years of his salary. Even the third man, was given an amount equivalent to what he would earn for an entire year.

Evidently, the Master gave each one an amount he thought the servant deserved. He left no specific instructions about what to do with the money. Yet, the servants believed he had certain expectations of how they might be “responsible” custodians of the funds he left with them. However, we, ourselves, might be puzzled by his response to their actions.

The returning master praised and rewarded those who had traded wisely and increased the amount of funds they had been given. But the third one – who had not increased his talents but had buried them in the earth and now wanted to give them back at the same level he had received them – this servant was chastised and, in fact, was punished for his lack of effort.

Why had the third servant done what he did? The third servant said that he knew his master was demanding and, out of fear, he buried the treasure so he could return it in the same condition it was when he had received it.

Each of the three servants had his own “timor domini,” his own “fear of the Lord,” his own understanding regarding the awe and reverence owed to the Master and what the Master expected of them. The ones who had a positive awe or fear of their Lord and Master and waited for his return with positive actions, received even more from him. The foolish one, who had a negative fear of the Lord, failed to do anything more with what had been given to him by his Master before leaving on a journey.

We, too, await the return of our Lord and Master who has gone on a journey. We, too, expect he will return at an unknown time. We, too, await the homecoming of the bridegroom who will come in the middle of the night when darkness surrounds us. In these instances, we can await his return either actively or passively. The stress of our waiting can lead us to “fight,” to do what is necessary – not only to be prepared for his return but also, to multiply the gifts, the talents, he gave us before he departed from our sight. The stress of our waiting can also lead us to “flight,” to be foolish in how we wait and be unprepared for his return, to be passive in our waiting and accomplish nothing new with what he has given us. Instead, we will repay him without any increase, without any personal action on our part.

The Thessalonians of the time of Paul also expected the return of the Lord. In fact, their expectation was that he might return at the next moment. During this waiting period, no matter how short or long it might be, Paul encouraged them with the reminder: “…. all of you are children of the light and children of the day. We are not of the night or of darkness. Therefore, let us not sleep as the rest do, but let us stay alert and sober.”

As we approach the end of this liturgical year, or as we might approach the end time, itself, let us have our own positive response to our “fear of the Lord,” our awe and reverence for the one who will return. It is our choice to work on behalf of our Lord and Master, or to sit back and hope for his mercy rather than for his justice.

^{33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time; November 13, 2011
Prov 31:10-13, 19-20, 30-31; 1 Thess 5:1-6; Mt 25:14-30}

1. _{^{The segment re “St Imulus” was included only for the Saturday, 5:30 pm mass. No one realized it was a joke; they took me seriously. It was omitted from the Sunday homilies and transitional lines had to be inserted.}}

Today we celebrate the feast called Christ the King, here on this last Sunday of the liturgical year. Next week is the beginning of Advent. But before we begin to prepare for the celebration of the Incarnation of our God, the Church calls us to wrap up the current year, to take stock of our lives, to see where we’ve been and where we hope to go. For the past several weeks, our Sunday readings have reminded us of the “end times,” the completion of God’s kingdom on earth and the continuation of this kingdom with him in heaven.

Today’s readings continue this theme of a final judgement, when the Son of Man will separate all of us into two groups, depending not upon his own, royal whims but rather upon our own past actions, what we have done and what we have failed to do. And so, here at the close of one liturgical year and the opening of the door to the next, it is, indeed, appropriate for us to reflect on what Christ our King asks of us.

Christ our King. It is a strange king we follow. He comes to us, not in the form of a royal, fairytale king, but rather in the role of a shepherd. In our first reading from the 34th chapter of the book of the prophet Ezekiel, we heard about a particular shepherd, one who said, “I, myself, will pasture my sheep; I, myself, will give them rest, says the Lord God.”

I wonder how often some of us have read this line from Ezekiel. Actually, we’re given the opportunity every time we enter our church, every time we pass the statue of Christ the Good Shepherd in our courtyard. Yes, this quotation appears around the base of that statue. But a lot of people hurry by and don’t stop to look at our Good Shepherd. There may be several who merely glance at him but have not really looked at him and allowed him to look at them. I would encourage you to do that, to really look at this image of our Christ the King who comes to us as a Good Shepherd. Because if you really look, you might become part of a very personal experience.

If you look at this statue from almost any angle, it’s very impressive. If you walk around it and read the quotation from Ezekiel, you see the figure of Christ the Good Shepherd from every side. But if you look closely, there is something strange about him. Where is Christ looking? At first, you suspect it’s probably at the sheep he’s about to pick up. But then from the side views you can see he’s looking off into space. There is sort of a dreamy, otherworld, contemplative look on his face. But what happens when you stand directly in front of him? Not off to one side or the other. Not some distance away from the figure. But right there, at the foot of the Good Shepherd.

When you stand in that exact spot and look up directly into his face, Jesus looks straight back into your eyes. If you move a little to either side, the effect is not the same. Unlike in some pictures or statues, the eyes don’t seem to follow you, as you move. Instead, you need to go one-on-one with our Christ the Good Shepherd. You need to stand directly at his feet and look into his face, as he looks back at you and only you.

Perhaps, Sister Mary Peter Tremonte, who created our statue, perhaps she, in some artistic miracle, has caught the gaze of how Christ our King will look at each one of us when he asks his questions about how we have followed him. Those questions raised in today’s Gospel reading – about: feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, comforting the ill and the imprisoned.

We’ve heard these questions many times before, here in church and in the world outside these doors. We will hear them especially at this time of the year, when we gather this week to celebrate our national day of Thanksgiving, when we count our blessings and are asked to share with those less fortunate.

In one way or another, we will hear these questions during the four following weeks of Advent and in our preparation for Christmas. As we think about buying gifts and preparing holiday food, we will be asked to feed the hungry, cloth the naked, give shelter to the homeless, the young and the old. We will hear the litany of all those who are “marginalized,” all those on the outside of our circle who need our assistance. And many of us will respond in one way or another. Respond with our time and with our labor. Or with our contributions of funds and material support. Or with our prayers. For the next month, we will attend to the needs of others through group-organized and personal actions. Or we will stand aside and feel guilty that we have not done anything, or we’ve done too little.

Many of us will try to become part of the flock of sheep on the right hand of God, rather than be in the bleating group of goats on his left. And that is good. That is what we are called to do. But I wonder: is there not something else? Something that can be done by everyone. Something that can be done by those who lack enough time or money for helping with organized charities.

Here at Christ the Good Shepherd, as in other religious communities, we’ve taken an active interest in caring for the homeless. But at the same time, and without any decrease in these organized efforts, I wonder about those who might be called the “homeless who live in our homes,” those who are our friends in the neighborhood, our colleagues at work, our companions in school.

Are there any of these who are hungry for a kind word instead of a complaint, who need to be filled by praise, rather than criticism? Do we know those who are dry in spirit, who thirst for spiritual drink but who are ignored because we are too busy doing good work rather than being present to another’s tears? Are there those, young or old around us, who are naked in their loneliness and need to be wrapped in the warmth of an embrace or a gentle hug? How many do we pass by, unnoticed, who are imprisoned by addictions, all those habitual actions which cut them off from others and from realizing their full potential?

Sometimes it seems easier to be part of an organized effort that reaches out to the known homeless and the visible outcasts than it is to comfort those next to us. As a giving people we provide relief to those devastated by earthquake, fire and flood. And this is good. But what about those shaken and trembling in their loss of faith? Those burned by the flames of an intolerant boss or teacher? Those flooded with too many daily problems of missed buses and incomplete homework?

Yes, there are the big things in life that demand our attention. But there are the little things as well. Perhaps, we cannot all be missionaries in Africa or peacemakers in central America or the Middle East. It may be difficult to work in a soup kitchen or travel the streets of Houston as part of an outreach program, although many in Good Shepherd are called to these actions.

In the final analysis, it is up to each one of us to decide what we must do to help others: be they the hungry poor or the hungry rich. Each one of us must stand, alone, before Christ the King and answer his questions. Perhaps, in the meantime, each one of us also needs to stand at the feet of Christ the Good Shepherd, look into his face and recall it is his desire for each one of us to join with him when the Lord God says, “The lost I will seek out, the strayed I will bring back, the injured I will bind up, the sick I will heal – shepherding them rightly.”

^{Christ the King; November 21, 1993; November 24, 2002 (revised)
Ezek 34:11-12, 15-17; 1 Cor 15:20-26, 28; Mt 25:31-46}

Today we celebrate the Feast called Christ the King, here on this last Sunday of the liturgical year. Next week is the beginning of Advent. But before we begin to prepare for the celebration of the Incarnation of our God, the Church calls us to wrap up the current year, to take stock of our lives, to see where we’ve been and where we hope to go. For the past several weeks our Sunday readings have reminded us of the “end times,” the completion of God’s kingdom on earth and the continuation of this kingdom with him in heaven.

Today’s readings continue this theme of a final judgement, when the Son of Man will separate all of us into two groups, depending not upon his own, royal whims but rather upon our own past actions: what we have done and what we have failed to do. And so, here at the close of one liturgical year and the opening of the door to the next, it is, indeed, appropriate for us to reflect on what Christ our King asks of us.

He is a strange king that we follow. For he comes to us, not in the form of a royal, fairytale king, but rather in the role of a shepherd. In our first reading from the 34th chapter of the book of the prophet Ezekiel, we heard about a particular shepherd, one who said, “I, myself, will pasture my sheep; I, myself, will give them rest, says the Lord God. “

Some of you may be wondering why I’ve not asked my usual question. Well, for those of you who are patiently waiting, here is my question: Where do we find this quotation from the prophet Ezekiel? Where do many of us see it every week, if not every day? Yes, it’s the inscription engraved around the base of the statue in our plaza. This is the founding motto of our parish of Christ the Good Shepherd: “I, myself, will pasture my sheep; I, myself, will give them rest, says the Lord God.”

But the real question for today, and for every day, is: How does our Lord God do this? How does he, himself, pasture his sheep? How does he care for them, give them rest? The answer of course is: through us, through the living Body of Christ. That’s the general answer. There are specific answers. There are specific ways in which we, ourselves, tend his flocks on his behalf. One particular way is through the Catholic Campaign for Human Development.

Some of you may know about the CCHD. But there is one among us who knows a lot more about the assistance given to others through this agency of our Archdiocese. This is Pat Hancock. Many of you know that Pat is, at present, a candidate for ordination to the Permanent Diaconate. Yes, in about fourteen months or so, Pat will be a Deacon here at Christ the Good Shepherd. When that happens, I’m not sure how you’ll refer to the two of us. One possibility, I suppose, is Old Pat and Young Pat. Or maybe Pat-C and Pat-H, although I can see how those names would degenerate into “Patsy” and “Patch.”

But no matter what you call us, I’m looking forward to the “other Pat” joining us on a regular basis. In the meantime, as part of his training for the Diaconate, Pat has been assigned to work with the Catholic Campaign for Human Development. He now has some reflections to share with us on this important way in which all of us are called to serve Christ the King as we share in his work as fellow shepherds who pasture his sheep, who give them rest. Here, now, is our deacon-candidate: Pat Hancock.

^{Christ the King; November 20, 2005 (Catholic Campaign for Human Development)
Ezek 34:11-12.15-17; 1 Cor 15:20-26. 28; Mt25:31-46}

(The “instructions” for this homily state: “Sit down after reading the Gospel and silently recite three “Our Fathers” before returning to the ambo and beginning today’s homily!)

Ok … the question is: how did you feel while waiting for the homily to begin? Yes, I made you wait before beginning today’s homily. It really wasn’t that long. It was the length of time for me to pray the Our Father three times: about a minute, about the length of time for a single commercial on television. (If there is such a thing as a single commercial on television!)

So, how did you feel? Were you puzzled? You knew, of course, that someone was scheduled to give the homily. But who was it? Or were you anxious? Did you say to yourself: Has someone goofed? Or were you annoyed? Did you mutter to yourself … or the person next to you: Why can’t they get on with it? Time’s going by and I have a lot to do? Or were you accepting of the situation? Did you make use of the relative peace and quiet to let the words of the gospel sink in?

As you realize, today marks the beginning of the Advent season for the new liturgical year. We speak of Advent as being a time of waiting – waiting for Christmas and the celebration of the birth of the Christ-child. We also realize that Advent is the time to remind us that what we should really be waiting for is the Return of the Risen Christ, the Second Coming of our Lord. And so, at the outset of this period of liturgical waiting, I wanted you to experience the condition of waiting, even if it lasted for less than sixty seconds. I wanted you to see how you are personally attuned to either active waiting – or passive waiting.

Few of us enjoy “passive” waiting. It makes many of us “up tight.” It’s probably a result of our American culture and our training. We are trained to be “active” waiters: to do something, anything, while we are waiting. Waiting, after all, is that interval of transition between the present and the future; from the certainty of the present to the uncertainty of the future.

The difficulty we have in waiting might be even harder today – when the present, itself, contains great economic uncertainty and we wait for improvements – or for even greater disasters in the days and months to come. There are even some who see, in our current crises, a view of the end-days of the world, itself. For some, this is a time for fear that great harm will come to us. For others, it is a time for courage that safety and salvation are on the horizon.

The feelings we experience today are no different than those of the Israelites in the time of Isaiah. The Israelites had just returned from the dark days of the Babylonian captivity to a Jerusalem where the Temple had been destroyed. They hoped that the Messiah would come in great power and might to destroy their enemies and restore the glory of Israel. They proclaimed, in the words of Isaiah we heard a few minutes ago: “Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down, with the mountains quaking before you, while you wrought awesome deeds … such as they had not heard of from of old.”

Yet others heard Isaiah’s concluding words: “… O Lord, you are our father; we are the clay, and you are the potter: we are the work of your hands.” They remembered that the loving Father, the creating potter, does not destroy what he has made; but rather shapes his creation into beautiful and useful vessels into which may be poured the gifts of water and wine. They are the ones who realize that the Lord, our father, does not bring about change through destruction but by the loving reworking of the clay. Yes, we realize that change is always present. We also realize that Advent is always present … that our Lord will come again.

In today’s Gospel we heard the words spoken by Jesus the Christ, who reminds us that the Master will, indeed, return, but no one will know the hour of his return. Today, on this first Sunday of Advent, we again hear his instruction: “Be watchful! Be alert! You do not know when the time will come.” He then goes on and gives his disciples further instructions. He tells them that they should be active waiters, and not passive ones. That when the master leaves his home “… he places his servants in charge, each with his own work …”

Jesus, it seems, realizes it is difficult to wait passively. Instead, we need to wait actively. The question then becomes: how should I wait actively? Most of our training for active waiting has been to use distractions to give the appearance of being in control. Each of us, it seems, wants to be in control of the situation of waiting, even though “waiting” is that time when we are not in control. Waiting is precisely the time when I am not able to control the outcome.

Just what are the usual distractions that accompany our waiting? What are the false controls we attempt to use in our lives? A major one for many of us is – noise. We get home from work and turn on the television, not to watch a program but to have background noise. We get home from work and turn on the television … not to watch a program but to have background noise. We get in the car and turn on the radio. We jog with an I-pod plugged into our ears. We wait in line at the grocery store, and we listen to someone else on our cell phone. We use noise as a distraction while we wait for “reality” to catch up with us.

We also use “virtual reality” as a distraction while we wait; although a better name for it might be “violence.” We watch newscasts and are fascinated with the destruction brought on by earthquakes, storms, crashes and crimes. We are amused by the antics of “James Bond” or of “World Wrestling Entertainment.” Our children pass the time with the distraction of video games and computer surfing.

Despite our current economic limits, some try to gain a false control through the distraction of consumerism. We are encouraged to buy the latest electronic gadgets: Blackberries for surfing the web as well as for taking photos. We are urged to replace our old-fashioned TV with an HDTV that will function after February 2009.

We tend to use all of these distractions (and others) to give us the appearance of being in control as our world goes spinning outward with ever increasing centrifugal force. Our secular world wants us to actively wait for the future with the distractions afforded by noise, violence and consumerism.

However, for Christians who recognize that our real future is the Advent of our Lord, the Return of the Master, there are other ways to wait actively for his Coming. In place of the distraction of noise, there is the silence in which we hear the voice of God and the whispered needs of others. In place of the distraction of violence, there is the tranquility found in the presence of God, in the presence of those we love, and who love us. In place of the distraction of consumerism, there is the simplicity of a lifestyle that allows us to share God’s gifts with others. In place of the distraction of doing busywork and being torn apart, there is the focusing and knitting together of our lives through reflection, meditation and contemplation.

Yes, Advent is a time of waiting, a time for active waiting, but an active waiting devoid of secular distractions. Advent is a time for preparation for the return of our Master. Advent is a time to recognize, once more, that as much as each of us wants to be in control, only the Lord, who is the potter of our clay-filled lives, is really in control. Advent allows us the time to be watchful; to be alert for the changes in our lives and the coming of our Lord. And most importantly, as we begin this Advent, we once again have the opportunity to realize that Advent is not just a season, not merely four weeks in the liturgical year – but rather Advent is our Way of Life.

^{First Sunday of Advent: November 29, 1999; revised: November 30,2008
Is 63:16b-17, 19b:64:2b-7; 1 Cor 1:3-9; Mk 13: 33-37}