Homily: 1st
Sunday of Advent – Cycle C
Racing, in any form, requires not only
speed and stamina, but also intelligence and good timing. Every competitive race has a defined distance
or time which the racers use to plan how they are going to run the race so as
to finish in front of everyone else.
While each individual racer’s strategy might differ (some will go strong
out of the gate to build a lead, others will hold back to save energy for the
final push), the goal, of course, is the same: to win the race by being up
front at the end.
Some of the most exciting races happen
when the race seems to be dominated by one racer who is then overcome by a
racer who didn’t seem to have the right stuff to win until the end. Horse racing is famous for this, am I
right? Arguably the most famous horse
race in America is the Kentucky Derby; and the most famous horse to race the
Kentucky Derby is Secretariat. Why is
Secretariat the most famous? Because in
1973 he made an incredible come-from-behind victory in the Kentucky Derby and
set the record for the fastest time ever in the Derby, a record which still stands
today.
Imagine, however, if, as the racers
approached the finish line, the organizers said “Keep going, we decided to
extend the race” or if, only halfway through the race, they said
“Surprise! The race ends here!” In other words, imagine if there was a race
in which the distance or time was not defined.
That would change everyone’s strategy, wouldn’t it? Basically, you would have to do everything in
your power to get to the front and stay up front, so that when the arbitrary
end of the race was announced, you’d have a shot at being the winner. And it doesn’t sound like a very fun or
exciting race either, does it?
Yet, in our Gospel reading today, as
we open the new liturgical year this first Sunday of Advent, Jesus is basically
telling us that this is what we are doing: running a race in which we do not
know when or where the end will occur.
First he describes what the end will look like: signs in the sun, the
moon, and the stars… roaring of the seas and its waves. Then he exhorts his disciples: “People and
nations will be in dismay, thinking it the end of the world (because that’s
what it will be). But it should not be
so with you! Be ready! You won’t know when that day will come, so
don’t get caught taking a rest or, worse yet, running a different, worldly race
altogether!” The implication he is
making is this: It doesn’t matter how well you had been running the race; if
you aren’t ready when the end of the race comes, you’ll lose. And so he warns them: “Beware that your
hearts do not become drowsy…”
Yet, if we take a look at our lives,
perhaps we’ll see that our hearts, indeed, have become drowsy “from carousing
and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life.” Just take a look at the madness that happens
in the “black Friday” sales. Anyone who
tackles another person to get a discounted TV has lost every sense that life is
a journey towards something beyond this world.
These are the ones who will be caught off-guard on the day that the Lord
comes, because their love is for this world, and not for the Lord of the world. These will be the ones who will be filled
with dismay on the day that the Lord comes.
This, of course, is nothing new. Saint Cyprian, a 3rd century
bishop in North Africa, warned his people about this same thing. In one of his sermons, he said:
“How
unreasonable it is to pray that God’s will be done, and then not promptly to
obey it when he calls us from this world!
Instead we struggle and resist like self-willed slaves and are brought
into the Lord’s presence with sorrow and lamentation, not freely consenting to
our departure, but constrained by necessity.
And yet we expect to be rewarded with heavenly honors by him to who we
come against our will! Why then do we
pray for the kingdom of heaven to come if this earthly bondage pleases us? What is the point of praying so often for its
early arrival if we would rather serve the devil here than reign with Christ?”
What
he is speaking about is how we allow our affection for the Lord to be
extinguished by giving our affection to the things of this world; so much so
that when the Lord calls us to him, we go only kicking and screaming, not
realizing that this (going to the Lord) was what we should have been longing
for all along. Then, facing the Lord, we
will sheepishly plead for the winner’s prize, even though we gave up on the
race.
It is because of this that the Church
gives us this season of Advent. It is a
season meant to help “wake-up” our hearts and remind us of the goal of our
running in the race: to be ready for the coming of Jesus—both the celebration
of his first coming, but also his imminent second coming. Although not specifically prescribed by the
Church, we should consider Advent to be a time of sacrifices, in which we
detach ourselves from the things of this world so that we are not dismayed when
the signs appear in the sun, the moon, and the stars; but rather stand erect
with our heads raised because our redemption will be at hand.
It’s touching, isn’t it, when we see
those images of service men and women returning home and seeing their families
for the first time in a long time.
Whether it is in an airport, a bus station, or in front of their home,
the sense of anticipation is tangible as you watch the family members looking
eagerly ahead, waiting to see their loved one.
And when they do, the run towards them and embrace them with abandon;
for the one that they longed for has returned to them. They remained steady in the race until the
day, perhaps unknown to them, that the race ended and so they received the
hoped-for reward. The question that
Advent puts before each of us is, “Am I ready to do the same when Jesus comes
again?”
My brothers and sisters, Advent is our
time to get ready for that day, so that we are not drawn, kicking and
screaming, before the Lord: sad because of what we must leave behind in order
to receive the infinite joys that God wants to give us. To do this we must pray; for in prayer we
come to know and, thus, to love the Lord more deeply (and it is love that will
send us running toward him on the day of his coming). We must also fast; for in fasting we detach
ourselves from the things of this world, so that there will be nothing holding
us back when he comes. And we must give
alms; for nothing demonstrates our detachment from the things of this world then
when we freely give of them to those in need.
(Sound a lot like Lent, doesn’t it?...)
Friends, the saddest come-from-behind
stories are the ones that never happen.
If you have become drowsy on this race towards the day of Jesus’ coming,
then please take this opportunity to wake-up and start running again. The Eucharist—Jesus’ ongoing presence with
us—is the life-giving bread that gives us strength to keep us running. May our communion with him propel us forward
to the day of redemption, when he will come again to bring us home.
Given
at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – November 28th & 29th,
2015
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