It’s A Wonderful Life!

          I spent Christmas with my family in the hospital . . . and it was wonderful!  A slew of voicemails and texts alerted me to a sudden change in our Christmas plans when I picked up my cellphone after the 4:00 Mass last night.  Unfortunately, my nephew Brian was being admitted to the hospital – the fifth time in as many months.  My heart sank.  No child should be in the hospital on Christmas.  Brian, my sister Cindy, my brother-in-law Dan and my nephew Jack must be crushed, I thought.  I was really upset, so I gave God a piece of my mind:  “How am I supposed to preach ‘the Good News’ for you when the news never seems to be very good?”  “How many times can I say, ‘I’m praying for you’ without it sounding like a hollow platitude that I’m reaching for when I have nothing better to say?”

          By the time I made it home from Mass, I learned from my sister Kerry that the plan to have Christmas brunch at Cindy’s house had changed.  Same time, different place.  “Bring what you were assigned to bring – we’re having Christmas at the hospital.”  And so we did – all 20 of us!  When we arrived at the hospital, the doctors hadn't yet figured out what was going on with Brian, so Brian was confined to his room.  We set up the food in the children’s play area down the hall and took turns rotating between the play room and Brian’s room.  Whenever we entered Brian’s room, everyone had to scrub up to our elbows and don hospital gowns, masks and gloves.  Everyone, that is, except for Brian and his immediate family (apparently, Brian had already been exposed to enough of their cooties).  They seemed to take unusual delight in watching the rest us struggle to distinguish a head hole from a sleeve in the less-than-hospitable hospital gowns.  I don’t think I've ever been so clean and well-wrapped in my life.  I felt like an Egyptian Pharaoh being prepared for the afterlife.

          Did I mention that it was wonderful?  Brian had a smile on his face all afternoon as he played Legos and iPod games with his brother and cousins.   Brian chuckled at his favorite Uncle Mike, who tried to convince him that he had saved his life by plugging in the IV pump when the low battery light went on (he’ll appreciate my quick thinking under pressure when he’s older).  We mingled; we ate; we told stories; and we laughed, especially at Mom's reaction to seeing What Does the Fox Say? on YouTube for the first time. We were warmly welcomed by the Santa hat-adorned Goryeb Children’s Hospital staff, who thanked us effusively for sharing our Christmas feast with them.  We learned that Santa was waiting for Brian in the Emergency Room when he was admitted last night, and that he woke to find two huge bags of gifts donated by Santa’s most generous hospital elves.  Brian was surrounded by a lot of loving and caring people, and it was wonderful. 

          Then it hit me. This is what Christmas is all about – being there for each other.  On Christmas, we celebrate the Incarnation of the Lord, the day that God humbled himself to share in our humanity.  God became man to be with us.   In our sickness, in our health, in our sorrow, in our joy, in our mourning and in our laughing, God is with us, with everyone, everywhere, all the time.  And God invites us to share in his divine life by being there for each other – visiting the sick, the imprisoned and the lonely; comforting those who mourn.  God calls on us to be with each other physically and spiritually through the ministry of presence and the ministry of prayer.  Our presence and our prayer coupled with the power of God can help make a wonderful, life-affirming experience out of any bad situation.  Now that’s something I can preach about.

          This past year has been tough on our family and friends.  Too many have been sick; too many have suffered loss.  I prayed to the Christ child for all of them today.  I prayed that they may know that through the Incarnation, God understands and shares in their suffering.  I prayed that they’ll know that God is always with them; and I prayed that they’ll know that I'm with them too.

          I attach, below, what may well be my favorite family Christmas picture of all time.  It’s my favorite not only because my brother Chris’s face is covered, but because this is what Christmas is all about. Underneath those masks are a lot of toothy, ear-to-ear smiles – we’re happy to be together; we’re happy to be there. I’m blessed with a family who gets the Good News, even when the news is not always very good.  Dan apologized for not being able to host Christmas in a better place, but there was no place I would've rather been.  I spent Christmas with my family in the hospital . . . and it was wonderful!

Christmas 2013

THE PROCLAMATION OF THE BIRTH OF CHRIST

Today, the twenty–fifth day of December, 
unknown ages from the time when God created the heavens and the earth 
 and then formed man and woman in his own image. 

Several thousand years after the flood, 
when God made the rainbow shine forth 
 as a sign of the covenant. 

Twenty–one centuries from the time of Abraham and Sarah; 
thirteen centuries after Moses led the people of Israel 
 out of Egypt. 
Eleven hundred years from the time of Ruth and the Judges; 
one thousand years from the anointing of David as king; 
in the sixty–fifth week according to the prophecy of Daniel. 

In the one hundred and ninety–fourth Olympiad; 
the seven hundred and fifty–second year from the foundation 
 of the city of Rome. 

The forty–second year of the reign of Octavian Augustus; 
the whole world being at peace, 
Jesus Christ, eternal God and Son of the eternal Father, 
desiring to sanctify the world by his most merciful coming, 
being conceived by the Holy Spirit, 
and nine months having passed since his conception, 
was born in Bethlehem of Judea of the Virgin Mary. 

Today is the nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ according to the flesh.

Christmas Baking – A Spiritual Exercise

Aunt Bernie

          It all started with a Facebook posting by my cousin Teresa. Teresa had been baking Christmas cookies all day, so she proudly posted a picture of her work, giving full credit to her grandmother, my Great Aunt Bernie on my mother’s side. Then the comments came flooding in. Forty-two of them to be exact. Several cousins reminisced about Aunt Bernie’s Christmas cookies. I longed for her peanut butter cookies with the Hershey’s Kiss on top (still waiting, Teresa). Lenny recalled a walnut cake that was so good that he accused Aunt Bernie of putting illegal drugs in them. She didn't get it. Aunt Anne told a funny story about my Great Aunt Sadie’s chocolate cake, and remembered Aunt Bernie’s crocheted afghans. Several of us chimed in about how the afghans she made us are still going strong. I praised Aunt Bernie’s meringue cookies, but was reminded by my sister Kerry that they came from our Great Aunt Etta. Then we both sang the praises of Aunt Etta’s date nut bread. Who would have thought that a little Christmas baking would be such a powerful spiritual exercise?

            When I speak of spirituality, I’m talking about our connectedness with others, with the universe and with God. Our spirituality transcends time and space; it makes our past present and links us to the future. That’s why Christmas baking is a spiritual exercise. Teresa connected with her grandmother by baking her Christmas cookies. She connected with her cousins when she posted the picture of those cookies on Facebook. And in forty-two comments, we all connected with each other, with Aunt Bernie, Aunt Sadie and Aunt Etta. This wasn't simply an exercise of memory. It was a real connection with real people. It was a warm smile, soft chuckle, lump in the throat moment made possible by the inspiration of a loving God who connects us all. And it was wonderful!

          The spiritual exercise didn't end there for me, though. I just couldn't get Aunt Etta and her date nut bread out of my mind. Aunt Etta was one of my favorites. She was my grandmother’s sister on my father’s side. She had a tough life – she raised her siblings while her parents worked; she was unable to have children; she lost her husband early; and she had very little to live on. But she always had a smile and a funny story for us, and she gave great bear hugs. The only time I ever saw her cross was when another driver cut my father off near Seaside Heights. She rolled down the window of the car and yelled, “I hope your pigeons die!”  We didn't get it either, but it must have been bad: she apologized for being so harsh. We spent almost every Christmas with my grandmother and Aunt Etta, and she always brought the date nut bread. She used to cry when we gave her gifts because she could only afford to give us the date nut bread. She never understood how much we LOVED it. She gave me the recipe once when I was a teenager, but it looked too complicated for me, so I never made it. Now I had to have it.

Aunt Etta

          I checked my recipe file and asked my mother to check hers. Alas, it was gone. A quick check of the internet revealed, however, that the recipe was pretty common in the 1920s/30s, and most of the recipes were nearly the same. So I grabbed one that sounded closest to what I remembered rejecting so many years ago and gave it a try. The recipe was not complicated, but it took some effort to chop the sticky dates and stir the thick batter. Knowing that Aunt Etta made several of these each Christmas for her nieces and nephews, I was pretty impressed. The big test came this morning, though. I cut off a slice and gave it a good once over. It certainly looked like Aunt Etta’s date nut bread. A healthy sniff confirmed that it smelled like it too. But when I took a big bite, Aunt Etta came back to me. I saw her pretty smile; I heard her hearty laugh; and her big bear hug squeezed the breathe right out of me. It was Christmas . . . with Aunt Etta . . . if only for a moment.

          My date nut bread wasn't perfect (I think I overcooked it a little), but my time with Aunt Etta more than made up for it, and I thank God for that. I’m going to make another one and bring it (and Aunt Etta) to my sister’s house on Christmas. We’ll see then if it passes muster with my mother, brother and sisters. No doubt we’ll share stories with our children of Christmases past, and tell them all about Aunt Etta and her date nut bread. It will be wonderful. Who would have thought that a little Christmas baking would be such a powerful spiritual exercise?

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

When I was in diaconate formation, the final exam in our Christology class required us to analyze a Christmas carol and explain what it tells us about Christ and our faith.  It was an interesting assignment that really made me think about the real meaning of the songs I’ve sung by heart since childhood.  So with a nod to Sr. Kathleen Flanagan, S.C. (my Christology professor), I thought I’d blog about a few carols over the next couple of days.  On the occasion of the fourth Sunday of Advent, I’ll start with the ubiquitous (and seemingly only) Advent carol – O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.

Although I’m sure you know the words, I’ll reprint them here for your convenience:

O Come, O come, Emmanuel,

And ransom captive Israel,

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice!  Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

What do we learn from the words of this beautiful hymn?  Well the opening line takes us right to the prophesy of Isaiah that we read on this, the fourth Sunday of Advent:  “The Lord himself will give you this sign:  the virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel.”  (Isaiah 7:14)  This portion of Isaiah, which is believed to have been written in the late 8^th or early 7^th century BC, refers to the Assyrian captivity of Israel when the northern tribes of Israel were conquered and taken away by the Assyrians, never to be seen again.  In this passage, Isaiah announces the coming of the Messiah, the anointed one who will save Israel from its oppressors and institute eternal peace, the one who will be called Emmanuel, which means “God with us.”  So the opening line of this carol is a plaintive prayer, begging for the Messiah to come – for God to be with us – and ransom us from our captivity.

 

You may ask, “what do you mean us?”  Well, while the prophesy certainly is speaking of the ten tribes of Israel who were captured by the Assyrians, it also speaks to all of us all of the time.  “Israel” can be understood to mean all of God’s children, i.e., all of us, and our captivity refers to our enslavement to sin.  In sin, we separate ourselves from God and his Kingdom, so we mourn in lonely exile here.  Like the Israelites, we pray and wait for the Messiah to come and ransom us from sin and death.  

                Now let’s turn to what we mean by ransom.  To understand this term, we have to look at the legal concept of redemption – ransoming something or someone.  The Judeo-Christian understanding of redemption has its roots in a Jewish family practice of buying back lost goods or property or a person who was enslaved.[1]   Examples of this practice are found in Scripture in connection with the Jewish understanding that the first-born male belonged to God.  The Jews presented their first-born sons to the Lord on the fortieth day after birth and redeemed them by paying five silver shekels to the Temple priest.  (Numbers 18:16)  A passage from the Book of Ruth illustrates the practice of buying back one’s relative who is enslaved or indebted to others.  This passage suggests that a redeemer must possess at least three qualifications:  (1) the redeemer must be a close relative of the person to be redeemed; (2) the redeemer must have the means (financial or otherwise) to redeem; and (3) the redeemer must be willing to redeem.  (Ruth 4: 1-11).  Jews also associated the practice of redemption with God’s salvific activity, particularly in light of the salvation of the people of Israel from exile in Egypt and the Babylonian captivity.  For example, the Hebrew Scriptures refer to the children of Israel as the “redeemed of the Lord” after their release from the Babylonian captivity.  (Isaiah 35: 8-10)  So in the Judeo-Christian context, redemption came to be understood as “the work of God in delivering his people from spiritual bondage unto Himself.”[2] 

                That, of course, brings us to Jesus.  The New Testament professes God’s definitive salvific act in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.  Christians saw humanity as being enslaved by sin and death. But as Saint Anselm explained, “sin against an infinite God was infinitely wrong, and could not be satisfied or atoned for by mere finite human beings. . . .  Only the Son of God could perform such satisfaction, and he did so freely and lovingly sacrificing himself for us.”[3]  Jesus, the God-Man, satisfied all of the qualifications expected of a redeemer:  (1) as fully human, he shared fraternal kinship with all of humanity (John 1: 14 – “And the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us”); (2) as fully divine, he was able to ransom humanity from the infinite wrong of sin against God and the bonds of  death (Hebrews 9: 14 – “how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from dead works to worship the living God”); and (3) he willingly gave his life to redeem humankind (John 10: 18 – “No one takes[my life] from me, but I lay it down on my own”).

                We sing this hymn during Advent for a reason:  Advent is the time when we wait in joyful expectation for the Messiah to come and redeem us.  Faith that Emmanuel shall come to us brings with it great hope and great joy, and so our hymn ends with a resounding proclamation:  Rejoice! Rejoice!

Click here to listen to O Come, O Come, Emmanuel performed by Pentatonix.

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[1]. Brennan Hill, Jesus the Christ (Mystic: Twenty-Third Publications, 1996), 232.

[2]. “Redemption,” in The Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. David Noel Freedman (New York: Doubleday, 1992), 5:654.

[3]. Brennan R. Hill, Exploring Catholic Theology: God, Jesus, Church and Sacraments (Mystic: Twenty-Third Publications, 2006), 172.

Rejoice in the Lord, Always!

I'm not preaching this weekend, but thought I'd share my Homily from Gaudete Sunday 2011.

 

        I feel the need to address the white elephant in the room.  Or maybe I should say the pink elephant in the room.  Now before someone writes a letter to the Bishop, I am well aware that the proper name for this liturgical color is rose.  But let’s face it – it’s pink.  Sugar and spice and everything nice – PINK.  I’ve never considered myself one of those men who looks good in pink.  I’m not one of those rugged, swarthy types who can wear a pink shirt with a hot pink tie and still look like you won’t want to mess with me in a dark alley.  Just look at me!   But pink, or rose if you prefer, is the Church’s symbol for joy.  So I dutifully wear these vestments because we have a lot to be joyful about.

          Today is Gaudete Sunday, the day the church lifts its head from the penitential mood of Advent to take a peek at the star that led the Magi to the Manger.  Today we are called to “Rejoice in the Lord Always,”[1] to celebrate the Coming of the Lord with joyful anticipation.  And in today’s Gospel we learn why – the prophecy is fulfilled; the blind see; the deaf hear; the lame walk; the lepers are cleansed and the good news is preached to the poor.  We learn that Jesus is the Messiah.  We learn that we are destined for an eternal life of joy.

          That’s a lot to be happy about.  You’d think we’d be doing cartwheels in the aisles.  So why aren't we?  Well, life runs roughshod over us sometimes.  And when we get all tangled up in the problems of life, we overlook the joy.  Do you remember Jacob Marley from A Christmas Carol?   He was a miserable Spirit because he never rejoiced in life.  Listen to his words as he explains what he missed out on when Scrooge reminds him that he was always a good business man:

Business! . . . ‘Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. . . . Why did I walk through crowds of fellow beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to the blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode?  Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me!”[2]

Jacob Marley never rejoiced because he never did anything for anyone.   Jacob Marley learned too late that “joy’s soul lies in the doing.”[3]  And today’s Gospel tells us just that.  Jesus doesn't define himself as the Messiah by telling us who he is – he shows us what he’s done.   Jesus lived the corporal works of mercy – he lived a life filled with great joy. 

          The joy of doing is all around us, right here in our parish.  Did you know that we have a prison ministry that visits the women at the Edna Mahan Correctional Facility right here in our own parish?  Did you know that we have a ministry that helps stock food pantries for the poor, and a ministry that cooks for the homebound?  Did you know that we have a social justice ministry that delivers clothes and other household needs to the poor?  Did you know we have a bereavement ministry that supports those who grieve?  Did you know that we have a team of Eucharistic ministers who bring the Blessed Sacrament to the two nursing homes in our parish and to the sick and homebound?  Did you know that the wonderful people who support these ministries are some of the most joy-filled people I know?  There’s a connection here.

          The joy is in the doing – I learned that lesson myself this past week.   Last week was a tough week for me on many accounts.  It certainly didn't feel like the “Hap- Hap- Happiest Season of All” to me; I think I would have slapped Johnny Mathis if I had to hear that song one more time.  So to top it off, the due date for turning in my Angel Patrol gifts was fast approaching, and I hadn't bought a thing.  For those who may not be familiar with it, Angel Patrol is one of the local programs where you buy gifts from a needy family’s wish list to help make their holiday a little brighter.  My family has made it a tradition for the past few years, but Ebenezer Scrooge here didn't have the time and was in no mood to play Santa Claus. 

          So I ran out to the store with my list and started shopping frazzled and frustrated.  And then I was overcome by an emotion I didn't expect.  It wasn't joy – that would make this homily much too easy for you.  It was sadness.  It broke my heart to think of a single mother who couldn't afford even the basics for her daughter.  It humbled me to think of the humility it must have taken for that mother to ask a stranger to help buy presents for her daughter.  My attitude changed – I had a strong sense of purpose.  But I still wasn’t feeling very joyful.  Hang in there, you know it’s coming.  The joy came when I dropped the presents off at the YMCA.  The joy came when I saw the hundreds – yes HUNDREDS – of gifts lining the walls, covering the tables and desks, blocking the walkways and stuffing the corners.  The joy of giving was all around me - literally.  Knowing that I live in such a loving, giving community pulled me right out of my own little funk and gave me great joy.

          I admit that I smiled when I put on these vestments this morning.  Not because I look like a big piece of Bazooka bubble gum.  I smiled because they reminded me of the joy they symbolize.  They reminded me of the joy I receive from my role here as servant.  But most importantly, they reminded me of you.  They reminded me of the loving and caring community that you are.  They reminded me of how you bring Christ to me – how you open my eyes and ears, how you heal me and how you bring the good news to me.  They reminded me that I have every reason to “Rejoice in the Lord – Always!”

Click here for today's readings:  Isaiah 35: 1-6a, 10; James 5: 7-10; Matthew 11: 2-11.

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[1] Philippians 4: 4.  Gaudete Sunday is named after the first word of the Latin Introit to today’s Mass – “Gaudete in Dominum Semper” – “Rejoice in the Lord Always.”

[2] Dickens, Charles, A Christmas Carol (Ann Arbor, Borders Classics, 2003) at 17.

[3] Shakespeare, William, Troilus and Cressida, Act 1, Scene 2.

A Little Child Shall Lead Them

Last Friday night, the Town of Clinton hosted its annual Christmas parade.  What were they thinking?!  It was pouring rain!  Not mist, not quaint, little raindrops – buckets, barrels, Noah-build-the-Ark kind of rain.  Imagine being sprayed in the face (and everywhere else) with a hose, and the nozzle is set on full force.  Then imagine the air temperature and the water temperature hovering just this side of freezing.  Now you get the picture.  And there I was, right in the middle of it.

And why was I there?  Well, Immaculate Conception School creates a float of the Nativity for the parade each year, and our Eighth graders play all of the roles.  This year, my eighth grade daughter was honored to play the Blessed Virgin Mary, and you certainly can’t have the Nativity without the BVM.   As a side note, with her own twist on the Annunciation, my daughter informed my wife and me that she was playing Mary by saying, “Oh, by the way, I’m pregnant . . . with Jesus!”  She lost me at “pregnant.”   Anyway, the parade must go on – and so it did.

 

Because all of the roads were closed around the staging area and the parade route, I had to walk my daughter to the float to drop her off.  Once we got there, I had two choices – walk back about a mile in the rain to our car (did I mention that it was pouring rain?), or walk alongside the float in the rain (again, pouring rain).  I then had the great idea that I could ride in the nice, warm truck that pulled the float.  So I eagerly tapped on the window thinking that these nice parishioners surely would let the Deacon ride in the truck.  Alas, I was summarily informed that “there was no room in the truck.”  Now I know how Mary and Joseph felt.

 

About that time, a thoroughly drenched music teacher asked if I wanted to ride on the float.  At this point, I thought, why not?  Riding in the rain beats walking in the rain.  So I grabbed a plastic bag to sit on and took my place in front of the stable among the angels, the Magi the shepherds and two very dedicated teachers.  The stable had a nice little roof over it – I never thought a stable could look so inviting.  I’m somewhat embarrassed to say that I was ticked off that my daughter was nice and dry in the stable while I was out in the open getting soaked.  I briefly contemplated snatching the blue robes from her and playing the Virgin Mary myself, but decided that stealing the clothes off Mary's back wasn't the example I should set on a parochial school float at a Christmas parade.  I later learned, though, that the roof leaked and, without walls, the stable provided no shelter against the horizontal sheets of rain.  It made me feel better that the Holy Family couldn't even catch a break on this night!

As you can tell, I wasn't feeling very Christmassy.  I was cold; I was wet; and my heart was nothing less than two sizes too small.  But when the parade began (15 minutes late, I’ll add), a miracle happened.  Our children started singing Christmas Carols.  They waved to the spectators and shouted, “Merry Christmas!” at the top of their lungs to anyone and everyone who could hear them.  No complaints, no whining.  Just Christmas.  And what did I do?  I sang right along with them.  It was beautiful.  It was inspiring.  It was sacred.

 

So with a tip of the hat to Dr. Seuss, I dedicate this Ode to those wonderful students, their devoted teachers and the selfless volunteers who helped out (OK, even to the ones who wouldn't let me in the truck):

Every child on that float, the tall and the small,

Continued to sing as rain pelted them all.

It hadn't stopped Christmas from coming!

It came!

Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And the Deacon, his behind so wet in a puddle,

Sat puzzling and puzzling, his brain all a-muddle.

It came without fires, nor eggnog nor rum,

It came with rain soaking him through to the bum.

And he puzzled two hours, till his puzzler was sore.

Then the Deacon remembered what he’d heard before.

Christmas just started in small Bethlehem,

                                    But continues this day ‘cause a little child leads them.

Time to Wake Up!

          [Click here for the Sounding of Reveille]  

          With that piercing sound, Frank Meyer announced to his four sleeping children that it was time to wake up.  Perhaps his method was a bit unorthodox, but I can assure you, it was effective.  I wonder if my father looked to John the Baptist as a role model.  John’s methods were certainly unorthodox, and his message was the same:  It’s time to wake up.

 

          In our Gospel passage we greet John the Baptist – the voice of one crying out in the desert.  John calls us to prepare the way of the Lord. Clearly, “[s]omething is afoot; the hidden energies of history are at work.  A mystery is unfolding.”[1]  What is this great mystery?  Nothing less than the Kingdom of God!  And as our readings tell us, God’s Kingdom is worth preparing for:  Our Psalm tells us that at the coming of the Kingdom, justice will flourish, and we’ll experience the fullness of peace forever; and the passage from Isaiah tells us that there shall be no harm or ruin – that the wolf shall be the guest of the lamb and the leopard shall lie down with the kid.  Eternal peace and justice:  that sounds pretty good to me.  So how do we prepare for it?  Well, we repent.

          The Greek word that’s mostly commonly translated as “repent” in the Bible is metanoia.  But metanoia has a broader meaning than simply “repent.”  “The term carries the double connotation of changing your mind and your behavior.  It signals a need to go beyond your present mindset and allow a new mindset to drive new actions.”[2]  Another way to think of it is “conversion.”  Through John, God calls us to a conversion of mind and to a conversion of heart.  And this is a big deal.  “God became man to turn creatures into sons [and daughters]:  not simply to produce better people of the old kind but to produce a new kind of person.  It is not like teaching a horse to jump better and better but like turning a horse into a winged creature.”[3]  Repentance, metanoia, opens our hearts to the will of God and enables us to soar to lofty new heights.

 

          So how do we experience metanoia?  Well, metanoia starts with waking up.  It begins with self-awareness.  All of us have something or some things in our lives that hold us back – things that stop us from living the fullness of God’s Kingdom here and now.  “John the Baptist knows that the way to the garden of human flourishing is through the desert of self-confrontation.”[4]  We have to identify and confront the things that are holding us back, the things that keep us from enjoying the fullness of God’s Kingdom.  Is it our egos, grudges, jealously, resentment?  We need to look deep inside and find them.  Only then can we move onto the next stage of metanoia:  self-adjustment.

          Once we've identified the ties that bind us, we need to free ourselves from them.  Perhaps that means we need to let go of our jealousy and be grateful for the many gifts we have.  Maybe we need to forgive someone who has wronged us, even if the other person doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.  Or maybe we need to accept that we treat people more like objects than as children of God.  We all know that confronting our shortcomings isn't always easy and it isn't pleasant.  But it’s necessary if we really want to change our minds and our behavior – if we really want metanoia.

          Lastly, metanoia involves opening ourselves to the will of God.  By challenging the Pharisees and Sadducees to produce good fruit as evidence of their repentance, John the Baptist makes it abundantly clear that our conversion will be complete when we open our hearts to do God’s will.  The produce of a heart open to God’s will is good fruit because when we open our hearts to God’s will, justice will flourish, and we will experience the fullness of peace.

 

God’s will is simple.  It’s love:  love of God and love of neighbor.  There’s no shortage of opportunities to do God’s will because there’s shortage of opportunities to love our neighbor, to help people who need help around the world and in our own community.  Right here in our parish you can help us build a home and a classroom in Haiti, you can provide food and school supplies for orphans in Colombia, you can adopt a local family from our giving tree, or you can donate food and clothing to our social concerns pantry, and that’s just a few of the many charitable services we support.  Metanoia allows us to “know the truth of loving both God and neighbor.”[5]

          You know, just two days ago we were reminded of a wonderful example of metanoia with the death of Nelson Mandela.  Mandela lived a life of violence before he was imprisoned for conspiracy to overthrow the government.  But 27 years in prison was quite a wake-up call for Nelson Mandela.  Reflecting on the day he was released from prison, Mandela said, “As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn't leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I’d still be in prison.”  By loosing the chains of his ego, Mandela was free to take up the yoke of justice and peace; he opened himself to the will of God and ushered in an era of forgiveness, justice and peace in South Africa.  Now that’s conversion, and by the grace of God, we can all do it.

          During Advent we prepare for the coming of the Messiah into the world, and we prepare to accept him as he seeks to come into our lives.  That’s John the Baptist’s message to us.  But in order to prepare, we need to repent; we need metanoia.  You know, the sages tell us to repent exactly one day before we die.  How do we know it’s the day before we die?  Exactly![6]  The time is now!   It’s time to wake up.

Click here for the readings for the Second Sunday of Advent, December 8, 2013

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[1] John Shea, The Spiritual Wisdom of the Gospels for Christian Preachers and Teachers:  On Earth as it is in Heaven, Year A (Collegeville, Liturgical Press, 2004) at 30.

[2] Id.

[3] C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (San Francisco, Harper Collins, 2001) at 216.

[4] Shea at 31.

[5] Shea at 36.

[6] Mitch Albom, Have a Little Faith (New York, Hyperion, 2009) at 212-213.

Wait for it . . .

About a month ago, just after Halloween, I went shopping for some desperately needed shirts and pants.  I went to a local clothing store and quickly got down to business picking out and trying on clothes.  As I was checking out, the clerk packed up my merchandise in a Christmas-themed bag.  I was shocked.  Christmas already?  The clerk was even more shocked at my reaction:  “Haven’t you noticed the Christmas carols that have been playing the whole time you've been shopping?”  I hadn't noticed, and with those words I suddenly realized that the store was decked with boughs of artificial holly and a five foot diameter Christmas wreath.  Christmas had sprung up all around me, and I hadn't even noticed.

I love Christmas – I love Christmas carols and Christmas cards; I love midnight Mass and mistletoe; I love Santa Claus (though I could do without the Elf on the Shelf – creepy) and Saint Nicholas; and I especially love rejoicing in the Good News that the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us.  But I also love waiting for Christmas.

    

Advent is the four-week liturgical season of joyful waiting.  During this season, we prepare ourselves spiritually for Christ’s birth and for his Second Coming at the end of time.  Christmas is a big deal (and the Second Coming of Christ will be a really big deal, trust me), so it’s worth preparing for; it’s worth waiting for.  Advent helps me change my state of mind from my ordinary cares to supernatural concerns – from the secular to the sacred.  Advent helps me appreciate how special Christmas is and how blessed I am.

    

My family has its own Advent traditions.  We light the Advent wreath before dinner on Sunday evenings and read passages from Isaiah foretelling the coming of the Messiah.  We tag a tree at a local Christmas tree farm, but don’t pick it up until closer to Christmas.  We set up the Crèche, but wait until Christmas to place the Christ-child and the angel in the stable.  In short, we prepare for Christmas, and we wait for it.

          As for me, I try to make time to do some spiritual reading and works of charity during Advent (C.S. Lewis’ Miracles and United Way’s Holiday Hands program this year).  Like everyone else, I’ll also be doing my Christmas shopping, sending holiday cards, going to school Christmas concerts and participating in all sorts of Christmas events and holiday parties.  I’m not a Scrooge who refuses to do anything Christmassy until Christmas actually arrives.  But first and foremost, I celebrate Advent.  I believe in Advent.  I need Advent because I need to notice that Christmas is coming.  I need to wait for it.