Darkness and Light

First Sunday of Advent
    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.]  I don’t know about you, but during these winter days, I feel like it’s ten o’clock at night, based upon how dark it is outside, and then look at my watch and it’s only 7 p.m.  Others will mention how they long for the season when they don’t both go to work and return home in the dark.  

    Darkness is, however, a natural theme of Advent.  Not darkness for its own sake, but how the birth of Christ scattered the darkness.  We see it in the candles on our Advent wreath.  We will see it especially during our Rorate Coeli Mass on Saturday, which is held entirely in candlelight and with the growing light of the dawn.  Zechariah, the husband of St. Elizabeth and father of St. John the Baptist, notes in his canticle, that “the dawn from on high shall break upon us,” prophesying Christ as the light that makes the darkness flee away.
    And yet, our Lord’s words in the Gospel today may seem a bit dark.  He says that “on earth, nations will be in dismay….People will die of fright in anticipation of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”  Talk about dark.  Just as the light of prophecy ceased some hundreds of years before Christ came as an infant at Bethlehem, so the preparation for His return in glory will be a dark time with much tribulation.  Perhaps, whether for us as individuals, or even the way the world seems to be going now, we can identify, maybe not with dying of fright, but with a darkness that seems to have swept over much of the world, and even, in some ways, into the Church itself.
    I don’t know when the end will come, but it is coming, and that is a large part of what the Church prepares us for in Advent.  Not just between nations, but even the entire trajectory of our human race seems to be in the midst of a great battle between good and evil, truth and lies, love and hate.  

    While I was in Alabama, I had a chance to read a Catholic novel called The Sabbatical by Michael O’Brien.  It’s about an Oxford professor who gets involved with a family whom other mysterious, evil forces seek to destroy.  I certainly don’t want to give away the book, and I encourage you to read it if you’re looking for good, Catholic literature.  Towards the end of the book, there is a dialogue between an elderly wise priest, Fr. Turner, and the protagonist, Professor Owen Whitfield:
 

[Father Turner said,] “You have come through a great stress–and sorrow.  You are very tired, and you are asking yourself if all the effort of your life is useless.”
[Owen responds] “At times I do feel that.  Of course, I know it’s not true.  But the battle seems interminable, and the gathering forces of darkness go from victory to victory…the captive minds of a generation and those who rule them are now beyond numbering.”
“Minds can be illuminated.  Providence is ever at work.  Love does not abandon us.  He never abandons us.”
“It certainly feels like abandonment, and looks very much like it too.”
“The enemy taunts you, Owen….He insinuates in your heart that he is winning this war, and you wonder whether he is right.”
[…]
“I do feel defeated,” Owen admitted.
“That is the enemy’s provocation.  If you leave your station in the battle line, you break the line of defense and weaken the lines behind you.  But if you stand firm, if you hold your position, even though you do not understand its purpose or usefulness, when it comes time for the King to tell you what to do, you will be ready for it and you will be effective.”

I’m sure my reading of this dialogue doesn’t do it justice, but you can see how it aligns with our readings today.  And I imagine it speaks to some, if not all, of you, at least at one point of your life or another.
    So, what do we do?  How do we keep our station in this battle between light and darkness?  A battle, I might add, that has already been won, but in which the “minor” skirmishes are still being fought on the field until the fullness of victory comes forth.  Owen’s monologue illumines this point.  He says to himself:
 

You do the duty of the tasks at hand….You keep faith with your responsibilities and your vocation, and you love the souls you’ve brought into the world and the souls God brings into your life.  You work and you pray.  You try to turn everything into prayer, and you practice hope.  You keep your eyes trained on the true horizon.

Because the dawn is coming, the dawn that shall break from on high, the rising Son who is not an orb of burning gas, but God Himself who took on our human nature.  He is coming, and the time is now to prepare for that return.  It is like Gandalf coming with Éomer to relieve the beleaguered forces at Helms Deep: “Look to my coming at first light….At dawn, look to the East.”  The Lord will return and will forever put to flight the forces of darkness by the rising of His Light, the Light from Light, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit live and reign for ever and ever.  Amen.