Homily: 1st Sunday of Advent – Cycle C
I don’t know
about all of you, but I am pretty tired.
I’ve been in my new roles for a little over a year now and have found
that all of the new work that I have taken on, along with the stresses that the
pandemic have brought upon us, and on top of the emotional stress that the
sudden deaths of two of my brother priests have brought upon me, has been a lot
of work. And I mean this in a very
literal, scientific sense: for work is energy expended over time and I know
that I have been expending a lot of energy over extended periods of time in the
last year or so.
I would guess
that it’s pretty safe to say, however, that I’m not the only one who is feeling
this way. Let me ask, how many here have
a new baby or grandchild? How many of
you have more than one child or grandchild under 7 years old that your taking
care of at home? How many of you have
moved sometime this year? How many have
either lost or switched jobs? And how
many of you are working and going to school at the same time? All of you, I know, are also dealing with the
stresses that the pandemic has brought upon us on top of whatever other stresses
with which you may be dealing in your lives.
Even if I didn’t mention part of your situation, I suspect that all of
us could identify some things in our lives that are causing us to expend a
great deal of energy: either just to keep up with our lives or, perhaps, to
cope with the stress of transitioning into something new in our lives. Regardless of what it is, all of us can
probably admit that we are feeling a bit worn down by it all: that we, too, are
tired.
As a result, I
think that a lot of us hope that we could come here and hear a word of
comfort. Perhaps we’ve come here hoping
that the Gospel reading for the day would be something like: “Well done, good
and faithful servant, come share in your master’s joy.” Instead, we walk into this season of Advent
and are greeted with an exhortation from Saint Paul saying, “The good that
you’ve already been doing, you should do more!”
Then, on top of that, Christ tells us to “be vigilant at all times,”
that is, not to take a break. And, as if
that wasn’t enough, he prefaces that statement by saying, “You know, everything
is actually going to get a lot worse before it gets better!” Thus, when we hear Christ’s instruction to
us—“Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy…”—it really doesn’t seem all
that helpful. And what we come to
realize is that our hearts, indeed, have become drowsy.
In many ways,
however, we are not unlike the ancient Israelites. For centuries, they waited for the
Messiah—the one promised them by God who would redeem them and free them from
all of their oppressors. Yet, their
hearts had become drowsy from waiting as they endured exile away from their
homeland, and then occupation of their homeland by foreign invaders after their
return. And so, even though God had sent
them prophets throughout these times to remind them of his promises—like the
prophet Jeremiah, from whom we heard in the first reading today—many of the
Israelites still failed to see in Jesus the coming of the One for whom they had
longed. ///
Perhaps to us it
seems as if Christ’s return is also
long delayed. And perhaps, therefore,
we’ve allowed our focus to drift away from our eternal destiny, our
anticipation of his coming to become dulled, and our discipline in prayer and
good works to lapse. In other words,
perhaps we, too, have allowed our hearts to become drowsy from the anxieties,
the worries, the stresses of our daily lives.
We’ve lost sight of the goal, it seems, and, thus, feel a bit lost. ///
At the end of
each calendar year, we all somewhat instinctively assess where we’ve been
throughout the year. For some, this is a
time of great anxiety as we look back at what we desired to accomplish in the
last year and see what remains undone.
For others, the stress comes from seeing how, though great efforts were
made, circumstances meant that there was little to show for it. Still for others, it is a time of despair
when we see that, through fear or lack of self-confidence, another year has
passed and we have not made any moves to improve a difficult situation in our
lives.
This is why the
Church, in her wisdom, guided by the Holy Spirit, gives us this season of
Advent at the end of the calendar year.
She knows how easy it is to get bogged down by the work of daily living
and so She offers us this season as a “wake-up call” and a reminder to us that
the promise of Christ’s second coming—the promise that there is something
greater yet to come—is still before us.
Advent, therefore, is the great season of detachment: of letting go of
those things that tie us to this world and its anxieties, lest we be caught off-guard,
cowering in fear after the days of tribulation, when Christ will come. It is also the season of remembering that we
can never accomplish our fulfillment alone: for Christ came to us specifically
because we could not effect our salvation on our own. Rather, we needed the help of Another—who is
God made man, born in a cave outside of Jerusalem.
Brothers and
sisters, our Christian faith tells us that we have been made for greatness and
that our work in this life is to strive for that greatness always. It also reminds us, however, that our ability
to reach the heights of that greatness is limited and that we can never achieve
it on our own. Advent is the season in
which we are reminded to rejoice, regardless; because in Advent—which,
literally translated, means “the arrival”—we remember that God himself has
come, in our human nature, in order to overcome our weaknesses, and that God
himself will come again to fulfill his promise to end our anxieties and to draw
us into himself: the place of our eternal rest.
And so, my
brothers and sisters, if your hearts have become drowsy, then let this be your
wake-up call. Because our hope, Jesus
Christ our Savior, is coming—and has already come—to relieve us and to lead us
home.
Given
at St. Joseph Parish: Delphi, IN – November 28th, 2021
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