Priesthood Promises

DECLARATION TO BE MADE PRIOR TO THE
RECEPTION OF SACRED ORDERS ACCORDING TO CANON 1036
OF THE 1983 CODE OF CANON LAW

     I the undersigned, Dominic Charles Petan, son of William and Josephine Petan, of the Diocese of Lafayette-in-Indiana, having presented my petition to the Bishop for receiving the Order of Presbyter, do now, as Sacred Ordination is at hand, having diligently weighed the matter before God, testify under oath that I am not motivated by any force or fear in receiving this Sacred Order but ask for it of my own free will and choice because I believe that I am truly called by God to do so.

     I assert that one and all of the duties flowing from this Sacred Order are fully known to me, which duties I willingly accept and propose with God's help to carry out most diligently all the days of my life.

     Especially I swear that I clearly understand the implication of the law of celibacy and that I freely embrace it and will keep it faithfully with God's help until the end of my life.

     Finally I faithfully swear that, according to the norms of the Sacred Canons, I shall obey most faithfully in all the matters which my superiors command and the discipline of the Church demands and that I am prepared to give a good example in word and deed, relying in the hope that I may be rewarded by God for receiving this Order.

     So I affirm, so profess, so I swear; so help me God and these holy Gospels which I touch with my hand.

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19 of my brother deacons and I made this promise before representatives of the Church (i.e. our seminary Rector) and the seminary community, along with oaths of faith and fidelity to the Church, as the last canonical step towards ordination to the priesthood.  Once I receive the formal "call to orders" from my bishop, there will be nothing formal standing in between me and ordination.

I'll just take this opportunity to thank all who have supported me over the last six years and have made it possible for me to be here at this time and in this place, ready to fulfill the good work that God has called me to.

Please join me in praising God for his abundant mercy!

Verso l'alto!

¿Cuan grande es el amor de Dios?

Ok kids, time to fire up your translators!  Here is my homily for the 4th Sunday in Lent.  It was written and given in Spanish to the Hispanic community of St. Joseph's parish in Dale, IN.  Enjoy!

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            Hace una semana y media que la lectura de la misa diaria narraba la historia de un hombre rico y un hombre pobre.  En esa historia, no se menciona el nombre del rico, pero, sabemos que el nombre del pobre era Lázaro.  Lázaro se sentaba enfrente de la puerta del rico y esperaba por las sobras de la mesa del rico para comer.  Lázaro era un leproso y hasta los perros venían a lamerle las llagas.  Después de algunos años, el rico y Lázaro murieron el mismo día.  El rico fue al infierno y Lázaro al “seno de Abraham.”  (El no pudo ir al cielo porque Jesús  no había venido a abrir la puerta del cielo.)  El rico vio a Lázaro en el seno de Abraham y le pidió que mandara a Lázaro a llevarle agua.  Abraham le respondió que no podía  porque había “un abismo tremendo” entre ellos, “de tal manera que los que quieran cruzar no pueden hacerlo.”  Y por esto, los sufrimientos del rico aumentaron.

            De igual manera, la primera lectura de hoy nos cuenta del destierro de los israelitas, fruto de sus abominaciones contra Dios. El salmo recuerda del duro destierro que los israelitas sufrieron en Babilonia y que se convirtió en un “abismo tremendo” imposible de ser cruzado para poder llegar a su tierra, Jerusalén.

            Quizá algunos de ustedes se sienten extranjeros en este país: o más bien, desterrados como los israelitas que fueron desterrados de Jerusalén.  Yo imagino que, a veces, ustedes sienten que hay un abismo tremendo entre aquí, el sur de Indiana, y su propio país. Pero, ustedes no están solos.  En verdad, todos somos desterrados.  Por medio del pecado, nuestros primeros padres, Adam y Eva, fueron desterrados del jardín de Edén y, por eso, fueron excluidos de la comunión con Dios.  Del mismo modo, nosotros nos alejamos de Dios y nos convertimos en desterrados, excluidos de la comunión con Dios por culpa de nuestros pecados.  Algunas veces, si los pecados son pequeños, nos separan de Dios sólo un poco.  A estos pecados se les llama “veniales.”  Otros, sin embargo, son grandes y crean un abismo tremendo entre Dios y nosotros; y nos parecen tan grandes que parece imposible cruzar este abismo.

            Aún así, Dios nunca nos abandonaba.  Su amor es indescriptiblemente  grande y por eso, su amor es suficiente para cubrir el abismo que separa a sus hijos de Él.  Dios, por su gran amor y compasión por los israelitas desterrados, inspiró a Ciro, rey de Persia, a restaurar el templo en Jerusalén de Judá.  Reflexionemos, hermanos y hermanas, en ¡cuán grande es el amor de Dios que envió a Jesús, su Único Hijo, para restaurarnos y para restablecer la comunión perdida en el jardín de Edén a causa del pecado de desobediencia!

            La cuaresma es un destierro espiritual de cuarenta días que nos ayuda a recordar lo mucho que esta comunión nos hace falta en esta tierra y lo mucho que Dios nos ama.  Así pues, la cuaresma nos llama a alejarnos del pecado y reintegrarnos a una comunión con Dios.  Por eso, los invito a reflexionar sobre las situaciones en su vida que los empujan a experimentar un destierro en sus vidas.  Entonces, mediten sobre el salmo ciento treinta y siete. Este salmo describe los sentimientos de dolor de los desterrados y esto puede ayudarles a reflexionar acerca de lo que significa ser desterrado de la comunión con Dios.  Y finalmente, busquen liberarse del pecado para abrazar el amor de Dios en Jesús Cristo: ese gran amor que cubre toda separación. Recuerden que la separación de Dios puede ser restituida por medio del sacramento de reconciliación, y así podemos encontrar ese gran amor de Dios.  Si hacemos todo esto, y ayudados por la gracia de esta misa, estaremos listos para descubrir de nuevo el gozo de la Pascua.

~ Dada en la parroquia de San José, Dale, IN: el 18 de Marzo, 2012.

Jesus turns over the familiar

Greetings friends!  Here is the homily that I preached this past weekend in Jeffersonville.  I am particularly sure that the Holy Spirit was directing this one because even though I had no contact with whoever it was that wrote the Prayers of the Faithful for the parishes at least half of them matched up almost perfectly with different aspects of my homily.  Praise God for that!

As always, if you have any feedback (positive and constructive) I'm happy to hear it!
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Homily: 3^rd Sunday of Lent – Cycle B

          Familiarity breeds contempt… at least that’s what the modern proverb says.  What this saying is, well, saying is that as we come to know someone more deeply, we realize just how much we actually don’t like that person; that is that with familiarity comes knowledge not just of the person’s attractive traits, but also of their more ugly ones (and we all have them, don’t we).  I think, in a certain sense, we can all see some truth in this saying.  But there’s another aspect of this saying that also carries some truth: that is, that familiarity also breeds complacency.

          We can see this in our daily routines.  If you’ve lived in Jeffersonville for some time, the landmarks that you used to notice as you went about your daily tasks—such as taking the kids to school, or making a run to the grocery store, or even just commuting to work—after a while just kind of fade into the landscape.  After years of living in this one place, you might even find that the features of your neighborhood no longer seem to register in your consciousness.

          This can happen with people, too.  Our co-workers, classmates, close friends, brothers and sisters, and even our spouses become so familiar to us and part of our daily routine, that the appreciation of how special they are to our lives is not something that enters our daily consciousnesses.  And so, while this familiarity doesn’t necessarily breed contempt, it does often breed complacency.

          In the first reading today, we heard the recounting of the Ten Commandments.  For many of us, I suspect that listening to these being read is kind of like making our daily commute: we were conscious that we began the trip, but when we got to our destination we weren’t quite sure how we got there.  In other words, the Ten Commandments are perhaps so familiar to us that they’ve become “part of the landscape” and no longer impact our daily consciousness.

          And this is nothing new.  The ancient Jews also fell into this trap.  They had the Law for many years and most people were very familiar with it and its demands.  Thus, following the precepts of the Law had become for them like our daily routine: nothing more than part of the daily landscape through which they had to navigate.  And this to the extent that they turned what is called the “Temple Cult”—that is, the sacrifices offered in the Temple both in homage of God and as an atonement for sins—into a business for profit.

          That’s when Jesus breaks into the scene and disrupts the familiar.  He saw the way that Satan had distorted the truth that the Law represented—that is, that it was a way for God’s chosen people to remain in “right relationship” with Him—and turned it into a Law of cold demands and business transactions.  Jesus saw that this had become so familiar to the people that they simply accepted it as the conditions for living as the People of God. By turning over the tables of the familiar, Jesus was hoping to reawaken in them an awareness of the true relationship that God had called them to.

          The zeal with which Jesus desired that the Temple—his Father’s house—be free from defilement is the same zeal that he has for our hearts.  He wants to turn over the tables of the familiar in our hearts and drive out any distorted images of self, of others, of God, and of what God asks of us so that we can once again see the beauty of the relationship he has called us to: both collectively as the People of God and individually as adopted sons and daughters.  Yet, unlike the Temple, Christ cannot just burst into our hearts and start turning things over.  God created us for freedom and for him to do so would violate that dignity.  And so this Lent—as he does throughout the year, but particularly in this holy season—Jesus calls us once again to open our hearts to him and to give him permission to shed light on anything in them that is unholy, that is untrue, and thus to drive them out, so as to purify his “temples of the Holy Spirit.”

          My brothers and sisters, if all we have done this Lent is take up our old familiar practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, then we have little more to hope for when we arrive at Easter Sunday than a feeling of relief for not having to maintain these disciplines any longer.  The challenge we have before us today is to make this Lent different by “opening wide the doors to Christ,” which was the clarion call of our late Holy Father, Bl. Pope John Paul II.  We do this by turning our gaze away from ourselves and towards others.  In prayer, we ask God to show us ways that we can overcome our sinful habits by turning towards our neighbor and offering a word of encouragement, a gentle correction when they need it, a helping hand in their difficulties, and a humble acknowledgement of how we’ve hurt them in the past that is accompanied by a sincere desire for forgiveness.  Then we return to God, offering him our successes and our (inevitable) failures and asking again for the grace to recognize our weaknesses and to trust in his help to overcome them.

          This work, of course, is uncomfortable.  It is uncomfortable because we have to give up our control to Christ and make ourselves vulnerable to him and to others.  But that’s ok, because, as our current Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI has said, “the world offers you comfort, but you were not made for comfort; rather you were made for greatness.”  My brothers and sisters, this Lent cannot be just about “sticking it out” to the end, but rather it must be about achieving the greatness we were made for.  And so, let Christ—the Christ we encounter here in the sacrifice we offer and in the meal we share—turn over the familiar in your hearts.  If you do so, then you will be truly ready to encounter anew the joy of Easter.

~ Given at Saint Augustine and Sacred Heart Parishes, Jeffersonville, IN - March 10^th-11^th, 2012

The importance of a touch

Here's my homily from this past weekend. Obviously, St. Terese has been working on my heart this week. There's a lot more that could be said about this, but I'll let the Holy Spirit fill all of that in for you.

By the way, I love it when you comment. Any feedback is always appreciated. May your week be blessed!

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~ Given at Sacred Heart and Saint Augustine Parishes, Jeffersonville, IN: February 11-12, 2012

One of the most indispensible parts, it seems, of any intimate relationship is touch. Parents touch their children regularly in order to show them their care and affection. A husband and wife will hug and kiss each other when they are coming and going or when they get up in the morning or go to bed at night, and various other times in between. Children who are best friends will walk side by side each with an arm around the other’s shoulder (“they’re ‘joined at the hip’” is the common expression). Grown men, sometimes less comfortable with more sensitive expressions of intimacy, will often slap their friends on the shoulder as a sign of camaraderie. And for young couples, holding hands is often the first expression of a growing affection. From the opposite standpoint, turning away from touch is often an indicator that intimacy has been broken or damaged, such as when a husband or a wife gives their spouse the “cold shoulder.”

As a matter of fact, in the Catholic Church we know this very well. We ritualize the intimacy of human touch in the sacraments, most poignantly in the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick. February 11, the feast of Our Lady of Lourdes, is designated in the Church as the “World Day for the Sick,” in which we remind ourselves of the special place that care for the sick and dying holds in the life of the Church. And in the Church’s sacrament for the sick, which is meant to be a spiritual strengthening for “one who has begun to be in danger due to sickness or old age,” human touch plays a prominent role, in the laying on of hands and the anointing with oil. And so again we see that, for humans, touch is important.

In the first reading today, we heard the instructions given to Moses and Aaron regarding how to handle a person afflicted with leprosy inside of the community. The ancient Hebrews were deeply concerned with maintaining a status of “ritual purity” before God because they believed that to present an offering to God when one was “impure” would taint also one’s offering and thus render it displeasing to God. Thus, the segregation of lepers (who were considered to have been afflicted because of some impurity) was intended to ensure that the rest of the community was kept safe from defilement through contact with them. As a result, the physical suffering of the leprous person was compounded by an emotional suffering as he or she was literally cut off from all human touch, and, thus, intimacy, for fear of making others unclean.

In today’s reading from the Gospel of Mark, we find a leper who was so moved by faith in Christ’s power to heal him that he completely disregarded the rules regarding the segregation of lepers and approached Jesus in order to beg him for healing. Jesus knew well the purity laws and what he would have to go through if he touched this man. He also knew that he would not have to touch this man in order to heal him of his leprosy. He knew that a simple word would effect the cure. Yet, he saw more than a physical ailment in this man. He saw the emotional suffering of shame and humiliation that comes from being cut off from one’s community and knew that more than just a word was needed to make him whole again. Thus, the Gospel tells us that Jesus was“moved with pity” and that he first touched the man before he pronounced his words of healing. No, it wasn’t the touch that healed the man of his leprosy, Christ’s word alone was sufficient. It was the touch, however, that made him feel human, connected again with the community that was his life.

Of course it’s easy to see modern day examples of leprosy in our own society. We simply need to look at those who have been marginalized and pushed“outside the camp” of our daily living so as not to defile our efforts to live a pure life. It would also be easy to remind ourselves of our duty to respond to these individuals as Jesus did by reaching out to them, touching them, helping them to find healing and inviting them to join the community once again. What is not so easy for us is to look inwardly, at ourselves, in order to discover the spiritual leprosy of sin that afflicts each of us.

St. Bede, in commenting on this passage, has said: “This man prostrated himself on the ground, as a sign of humility and shame, to teach each of us to be ashamed of the stains of his [or her own] life. But shame should not prevent us from confessing: the leper showed his wound and begged for healing.” St. Terese of Liseux has said that shame for our sins should never prevent us from reaching out to Jesus. In fact, she has said, our increasing awareness of and shame for our sins should make us reach out all the more desperately to him, because the more we acknowledge our sinfulness, the more we openly show our wounds to Jesus, the more, in a sense, attractive we are to him, to his mercy, and thus he is more moved to touch us and to heal us.

My brothers and sisters, the trick to living the Christian life is not just in reaching out to the marginalized in our society, the modern-day lepers with “outward” afflictions. Rather, the trick is being able to first recognize our own afflictions, our own leprosy, and having the courage—or rather the faith—to throw ourselves down before God, before Jesus, and beg for his mercy.

As his Body, the Church, Jesus wants us to be his hands in this world, bringing his healing touch to those who need it. He wants his hands to be pure, however. And so, as we seek to extend Christ’s ministry of mercy to those around us, let us acknowledge also our need for healing, let us seek out the sacrament of reconciliation and open ourselves to each other so that we may share each other’s burdens. And let us give thanks, as we do here today, for Christ’s saving mercy, so that we may go forth from this place making known the good things he has done for us.

+Pax+

Are you small enough?

I know, I know... I spent nearly a month in Italy and not a word about it, but I have no problem dropping another homily on you all... Let's just say that it's been a whirlwind getting back in to the swing of things.  Soon... I hope.  For now, this is what I have.

Peace!

Homily for Thursday of the 5th week of Ordinary Time.  Given in the Saint Thomas Aquinas Chapel at Saint Meinrad Seminary and School of Theology, February 9th, 2012.
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(See Mark 7:24-30)

          One of the seemingly sinister things about cancer is that oftentimes the person who has it doesn’t know that he or she is sick until it is almost too late.  The one who doesn’t realize that he or she has cancer finds no reason to seek healing.  Once a person discovers the affliction, however, and acknowledges just how sick he or she is, he or she often wastes no time seeking out the most highly-reputed physician around, hoping to find a cure.

          In our Gospel readings this week, we see both sides of this story being played out in relation to Jesus, the divine physician.  In Genesaret, the sick begged to be carried out into the market places and laid in the streets just so that they might have a chance to touch the tassel of Jesus’ cloak and perhaps be healed.  These, of course, were those who sicknesses had manifested themselves outwardly, thus driving them to recognize their need for Christ and his healing.  On the other hand, we saw how the Pharisees had failed to recognize any need for Christ and his healing, relying instead on blind adherence to the letter of the Law even though a spiritual cancer was silently destroying them on the inside.

          While the Syrophoenician woman in today’s Gospel approaches Jesus seeking healing for her daughter, who was afflicted by an evil spirit, we see that it isn’t until she acknowledges her own spiritual depravity, that is, her own exclusion from the chosen people and her lack of any claim to Jesus’ help, that Jesus is moved to respond.  It’s as if her humility was so unexpected that it moved Jesus to pity and made him bend to her request.

          St. Terese of Liseux has said that if it seems as if God is ignoring us it’s not because we’re too small for him to take notice, but rather that we haven’t become small enough to move him to respond.  So often we come before Him seeking help for others who seemingly are more afflicted than we are.  Yet, we fail to acknowledge our own depravity—that is, our own need for Christ’s healing—when we approach him.  We need only to approach him from a place of truth, however, a place in which we acknowledge our brokenness and constant need for his mercy, in order to find him “defeated” also by our humility and moved to act on our behalf.

          And so as we approach this altar of grace today, may the acknowledgement of our “smallness” before God lead us to find his healing mercy, both in our lives and in the lives of those for whom we pray.

Have you gotten your wings?

Here's the homily I preached this past Sunday for the 4th Sunday of Advent.  I am now officially ready to start Christmas shopping :)  I hope you all have a blessed week in preparation for the great celebration!
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“Look Daddy!  Teacher says, every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings.”  “That's right, that's right.  Attaboy, Clarence.”

            I would guess that more than a few of us could probably name the film that this line comes from.  For those who may not be able to, it is a line from the end of the movie It’s A Wonderful Life.  It’s A Wonderful Life is a classic film for the holidays that tells the story of George Bailey who, after building a successful life in small-town America, falls on hard times and on Christmas Eve has become so depressed that he believes that life in general would have been better without him.  As he stands on a bridge, ready to throw himself into icy waters, an angel intervenes to show George what life would have been like without him.  This “assignment” for the angel was a test that would prove whether or not the angel was ready to “get his wings.”  Hopefully, I won’t ruin the plot too badly for you by telling you that the angel, Clarence, was successful in his task of making George realize just how valuable his life had been, and so at the end of the film, when a bell rings, the little girl quotes her teacher and George realizes that Clarence indeed has made it.

            Now, the word “angel” comes from the Greek word “angelos,” which means “messenger,” “envoy,” or “one that announces.”  And so the irony of the movie, which is mostly—and, I would say, rightly—overlooked, is that Clarence achieves his full-fledged angel status by doing exactly what it is that angels do: bringing a message of hope to George, reminding him that his life was truly valued by the people around him and, at least implicitly, by God.  Angels are sent to carry important messages from God.

            Of course, the most important messages are going to be sent with the most important messengers.  Therefore, we see that it is Gabriel, an archangel, who is sent to carry God’s most important message to Mary.  For it was Gabriel who was sent to Zechariah, Elizabeth’s husband, to announce the conception of John the Baptist and it is also thought to be Gabriel who spoke from the tomb of Jesus, announcing that “the one they were looking for was no longer there; but that he was risen.”  Scholars have argued that this evidence indicates that Gabriel is indeed the “archangel of archangels.”  Yet, it is not his particular abilities that make him great, but rather it is the greatness of the message that he carries that sets him apart.

            Gabriel’s message, as we’ve heard in today’s Gospel reading, is that the beginning of the fullness of time is at hand.  He is announcing that, after generations of waiting, the Promised One of God is about to appear.  You know, the amazing thing about the annunciation is that so many things had to line up for it to happen.  Kind of like a supernatural game of chess, God had been waiting for all of the pieces to line up so that he could enact his perfect plan for the salvation of mankind.  Ever since the first sin of Adam and Eve, God had been moving among us, revealing himself and his plan for the salvation of man to us and encouraging us to learn to walk in his ways.  He waited as our sinful inclinations caused us to drift away from his plan and then he waited as his grace slowly led us back into it, so that, in his perfect timing, his favored one, Mary, could be born free of sin by an extraordinary act of grace and thus be ready to receive the message that the angel Gabriel would bring to her on that glorious day.

            The angels, too, waited anxiously for God’s perfect plan to come to fruition.  And so when it came time for this great message of the Incarnation to be delivered to Mary, the angel Gabriel arrived in haste to deliver it.  When he greeted her, Gabriel did not do so as if his message was some sort of subpoena proclaiming that she must comply with God’s will.  Rather, his greeting came with an acknowledgement of her sublime dignity as one highly regarded by God.  Mary, on her part, received the message with surprise, unaware of the dignity that God had bestowed upon her.  And while certainly the message that God’s only Son was to become man and be born of Mary is the primary message that Gabriel carried, it seems also that he carried a secondary message of significant importance: “O lowly handmaiden of the Lord.  Rejoice!  You have been highly regarded by God.”  This angel, who already knows the blessing of being regarded by God, was eager to bring this message of great joy to Mary.  And so we see that the message itself is a blessing, a blessing that opens the door for an even more abundant blessing: the Word become flesh in Mary’s womb.

            In many ways, we are experiencing another time of waiting, much like the ancient Hebrews experienced as they were waiting for the coming of the Messiah.  Christ, the promised one of God, has come and has brought us salvation through his life, death, and resurrection.  He ascended into heaven and waits now, until the fullness of time comes to completion—that is, until all of the pieces of God’s wonderfully mysterious plan come into place—when he will come again to usher in a new heaven and a new earth and to call his chosen ones home.  This anticipation of his coming is what we have been remembering in these past three weeks of Advent.  As we turn now and focus our attention on our remembrance and celebration of Christ’s first coming, we find ourselves with a perfect opportunity to cooperate in putting into place those pieces that will lead to Christ’s second coming.

            You see, part of our calling as Christians is, in some sense, to be angels of the Lord.  There are many people around us who have never heard the message that Mary received from the angel Gabriel: that they are highly regarded by God.  Yet, I suspect that every day we are given the opportunity to give that very message to someone.  In the book of Genesis, it tells us that “God looked at all he had made and said, ‘It is very good.’”  Therefore, in a special way, because each of us is made in the image and likeness of God, God looks on us with favor and invites us to all to receive a message similar to the one Gabriel carried to Mary: “Hail, favored one!  God desires to dwell in you, if only you would let him.”  Now, I don’t believe that I exaggerate when I say that each and every day God gives us a chance to say to someone, “You are important here.  Your life matters, because God has a beautiful plan for your life.”  Perhaps even now we are aware of someone who needs to hear that message.  If so, then I invite you to make a commitment right now to carry that message to them this week.  If not, then I invite you to pray this week that God will reveal to you who he wants you to bring this message to, the joyful message of Emmanuel, God with us, in this coming week.  And when you feel the prompting of the Holy Spirit—in other words, when you feel moved to share this message with someone that you encounter this week—I encourage you to respond just like Mary did: Fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum, Let it be done to me according to your Word.

            My sisters and brothers, as we complete our preparations to celebrate our remembrance of the coming of Christ—that is, as we prepare not only our homes, but our hearts as well—let us also heed our call to be angels of God’s mercy to those around us.  If we do, perhaps then on Christmas Day a bell will ring also for each one of us.

~ Given at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church, Carmel, IN. – December 18, 2011.

Are you "tired" of Christmas already?

Hey Folks!  Here's the homily I preached for the second Sunday of Advent at my ministry parishes in Jeffersonville, IN.  I have many, many more things to say about the much maligned season of Advent, but this is all I can bear to write now.  May God bless your Advent season with joy-filled expectation (instead of resentment) of Christmas!
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~ Given at Saint Augustine and Sacred Heart parishes, Jeffersonville, IN – December 3^rd & 4^th, 2011.

          Last Saturday marked the end of the liturgical year.  In the Gospel reading for the Mass of the day on that last day of the Church year, Jesus is quoted as saying, “Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life….” (Luke 21:34) It’s no accident that that particular reading is read on the last day of the Church liturgical year.  After 34 weeks of Ordinary Time—when we focus on growing spiritually and morally in the context of our daily lives—the Church realizes that most of us probably do have hearts that have “become drowsy”—perhaps from drunkenness and carousing, but most likely from the anxieties of daily life.  And so there is a certain genius on the Church’s part to place that reading right on the cusp of the new liturgical year.  It reminds us that perhaps our hearts have become drowsy and then it ushers us right into Advent, a season designed to help “wake us up.”

          Our first reading today from the prophet Isaiah is a beautiful reading—full of awe and wonder.  While the reader did a great job reading it, I think it would require a method actor to really convey the joy-filled expectation that these words express.  Listen to some of these again:

Comfort, give comfort to my people,

 says your God.

 Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and proclaim to her

 that her service is at an end,

her guilt is expiated…

And still further:

…Go up on to a high mountain,

 Zion, herald of glad tidings;

 cry out at the top of your voice,

 Jerusalem, herald of good news!

 Fear not to cry out

 and say to the cities of Judah:

 Here is your God! 

These are words of great joy and expectation and are simply wonderful to ponder.  Perhaps, however, we are unable to see the joy that these words convey, at least not in our current situation.  Perhaps, even after one week of Advent, our hearts are still drowsy—tired, weary, and numb—from the anxieties of our daily lives.  Of course, one need not look farther than the newspaper to understand why: violence and drug use continue to escalate in our cities and neighborhoods, jobs continue to be scarce and an economic recovery continues to be lethargic, national politics remains, it seems, disconnected from the daily struggles of individuals and families, and there are countless other reasons as well.  And so no, it’s not surprising that our hearts may have become drowsy and we are unable to relate to the awe and wonder expressed in today’s first reading.

          Yet, when we listen to the Gospel reading, we see that the Jews living during Jesus’ time also seemed to be struggling with the same problem.  Now, the Gospel of Mark is notoriously slim on narrative details and so we’ll have to read between the lines a little bit to see that their hearts were also drowsy and in need of awakening.  The Gospel begins by quoting our reading from the prophet Isaiah and then essentially equates it with John’s proclamation in the desert, calling for a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.  The Gospel states that “people of the whole Judean countryside and all the inhabitants of Jerusalem were going out to him.”  In other words, the whole Jewish nation heard of John’s proclamation and began to come to him to be baptized.  Perhaps many of them were reluctant at first, unable to see the “awe” in the awe-filled proclamation that John was making.  Eventually, perhaps, through the witness of seeing others go out to the Jordan River or of speaking with others who returned from there, these reluctant ones could see that their hearts indeed had become drowsy waiting for the coming of God that Isaiah had promised.  With “hearts awake,” however, they could experience the joy-filled expectation that the coming promised by the prophet was now at hand.

          And so we encounter these readings here today in this season of Advent for the same purpose: to call us to recognize the drowsiness of our own hearts so that we too may awaken to the experience of joy-filled expectation for the second-coming of Jesus.  Just like those ancient Jews, it feels like Christ’s promised return is long-delayed, but when we recognize—as Saint Peter reminds us our second reading today—that “with the Lord one day is like a thousand years and a thousand years like one day,” it makes it easier to see that Jesus’ delay is, ultimately, for our benefit.  Christ wishes that all of us should come to repentance, as Saint Peter reminds us, and so every second that he delays—which is as nothing to him—is a gift of opportunity for us to wake up our drowsy hearts, so as to be ready when he comes.

          My sisters and brothers, Jesus did not tell his disciples to “beware that their hearts not become drowsy” because he is an exacting master, demanding strict discipline so as to never sin.  Rather, he was instructing them—and so us through the preservation of his words in the Gospels—to remain vigilant so that they would not be asleep and miss out on the joy of witnessing his return in glory.  My sisters and brothers, this is what the season of Advent is doing for us.  It’s as if the season itself is saying, “Take comfort, for this time of suffering is at an end and the time for Christ’s return is near!”  If it hasn’t done this for you yet, then I encourage you to spend time praying with these readings in this coming week and to ask God to awaken in your heart a joy-filled expectation for his coming.

          And if it has?  Well, I think the Gospel then shows us what to do.  All of the people from the Judean countryside and the city-dwellers of Jerusalem came out to John to receive the baptism of repentance and to acknowledge their sins—to “make straight a path” in their hearts for the coming of the long-awaited Messiah, the one Isaiah promised.  We too, then, are called to repent and acknowledge our sins.  For the fully-initiated, that means the sacrament of reconciliation—confession—and it is why the Church encourages all Catholics to celebrate this sacrament during the season of Advent.  As we hear the readings reminding us of how the ancient Jews prepared the way of the Lord in their hearts at the sound of John’s proclamation, so we too are called to prepare a pathway for Christ to come into our hearts by reconciling with both God and our neighbor through the sacrament of confession.

          Friends, beware that yours hearts do not become drowsy from the oversaturation of “Christmas Spirit” that the world outside of these walls is drowning you in.  Rather, use this time of Advent to prepare well your heart for Christ’s second coming and the best gift you will receive on Christmas day may very well be the joy of the Lord in your heart.