An Easy Yoke, A Light Burden

Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    Recently we celebrated Father’s Day, and I received a number of Father’s Day greetings for my role as your spiritual father, for which I was very grateful.  While my responsibilities of caring for you may not be as concrete as the ways that fathers make sure (with their wife) that the kids are housed, clothed, and nourished, certainly the weight of my spiritual responsibilities to you, my spiritual children, are not lost.  By my actions and by my words, I either help you get to heaven or lead you farther away from heaven, even if you also have a certain responsibility towards your own spiritual formation.
    And as any father knows, children respond to different ways of parenting differently.  One child may just need “the look” to correct behavior, while another child needs a spanking at times.  One child may find encouragement in a parent challenging them to do better, while another child needs more tender care to bring out the best.  And this goes for you, my spiritual children, as well.  I often preach strongly, with challenges about avoiding sin and living the faith concretely in your life, not just saying you’re Catholic without any evidence to support that claim.  But today, rather than challenging, I do want to preach more gently, based upon the readings.  And even those who enjoy a challenge, sometimes need a break and a word of comfort.

Mural from Bethany, where Christ began his entry into Jerusalem 

    And what drew me to this approach today is how Christ comes to us: meekly.  Zechariah prophesies that the Dividic king will come to them, not with the pomp and circumstance of a military victor, but meekly.  He will not storm in on a gallant horse or with a chariot, but will ride a humble beast of burden.  We rightly associate this reading with Palm Sunday, as Jesus fulfills it, riding into His city, the City of David, on an ass.  And even though the people give Jesus an exuberant welcome, Jesus does not grand stand, but enters with the meekness of which Zechariah spoke.
    This entry finds commonality with the Incarnation, both as the Word became flesh in the womb of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and as the Word-Made-Flesh was born for us in Bethlehem.  While the Archangel Gabriel certainly has some pomp and circumstance, others did not know, at first, of Mary’s special role.  Gabriel simply appeared to Mary, and invited her to become the Mother of God, and it happened with Mary’s fiat, her yes.  No trumpet; no thunder; no proclamation from the heavens.  Simply the event.
    At Bethlehem, there were heavenly messengers, angels, telling the shepherds that the Messiah was born for them, but we have no indication that any one else really took notice or cared.  Our Lord came to us in a humble setting, in a cave, because there was no room at the inn.  And even with the angelic choirs, Christ came to us as a baby, as one utterly devoid of power or prestige.  His meekness demonstrated itself by His fragility, His smallness, His accessibility.  We didn’t have to grovel and beg to have an audience with the King of Kings.  He let us come to Him and approach Him as one like us in all things but sin.  
    And so Christ in the Gospel invites us to come to Him, not only to encounter Him, but to lay our worries, our troubles, our concerns upon Him.  He invites us to give Him our labors, and take His yoke upon our shoulders, because He is “meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves.  For [His] yoke is easy, and [His] burden light.”  
    So today, no strong words about avoiding sin, or spreading the Gospel by word and deed, or living in a way that provides enough evidence that you do, in fact, love God.  Simply an invitation to offer to Christ whatever heaviness weighs on your heart and mind.  Give to Him your anxiety about family, friends, or your job.  Give to God whatever labors give you fatigue, whatever areas of your life where you feel inadequate, and feel the embrace of the Father who knows you and loves you more than anyone else, even a spouse or parent, ever could.  
    In many areas of our life, we can feel like we just have to do things ourselves and we cannot ask for help.  When it comes to our life in Christ, it’s the exact opposite.  We should always ask God for His help, because we cannot live as disciples without God’s grace.  Anything good we can do only becomes possible with God.  As Christ says elsewhere, without Him we can do nothing.  And when we try to live as saints on our own power, our failures become tiring, and we can easily despair.  But, again, that’s not what God wants you to do.  He wants you to run to Him, even in your failures, and offer everything to Him who can transform even the worst failures in the greatest successes, as we see in Good Friday and Easter Sunday.  He wants you to unite your life in the bread and wine offered on this altar, and see God transform the different areas of your life, just as He transforms bread and wine into the Body and Blood of His Son, Jesus Christ.  
    Today, run to God the Father.  Approach Jesus, who remains meek for us so that we can approach Him.  Invite the Holy Spirit to give you a real sense of the love of God and His care for you in easing your burdens.  “See, your king shall come to you; a just savior is he, [and] meek.”  Take His yoke upon your shoulders, and you will find rest.  For His yoke is easy, and His burden light.

"It is the Small Things"

Fourth Sunday of Advent

    Galadriel asks, “Mithrandir, why the halfling?”  “I do not know,” Gandalf replies.  “Saruman believes that it is only great power that can hold evil in check.  But that is not what I have found.  I found it is the small things, everyday deeds of ordinary folk, that keeps the darkness at bay.”  In the movie, “The Hobbit,” this is the exchange between Lady Galadriel, an Elven queen, and Gandalf, known to the Elves as Mithrandir, who is a wizard.  They know that a great, evil being, Sauron, is active again.  And yet, Gandalf seems very focused on Bilbo, who is a Hobbit, a halfling, who only begrudgingly acquiesced to Gandalf’s request and went on a quest with twelve dwarves to reclaim their home and treasure from a dragon.
    In our readings today, we hear about the small: Bethlehem, the Incarnate Christ, and the Blessed Virgin Mary.  Maybe Christ seems odd to have in a list of the small, but even Christ, in His Incarnation, became small, when compared to His Divine Nature.  But I’ll come back to that.
    First, Bethlehem.  Micah describes the little town as, “too small to be among the clans of Judah.”  Bethlehem means “House of Bread,” and had a long history in the Bible.  It was the burial place of Rachel, the wife of Jacob in the Book of Genesis; in the Book of Judges, Bethlehem was the home of a young Levite who served as an idol-worshipping priest, as well as the home of a concubine whose murder almost destroyed the Tribe of Benjamin; in the Book of Ruth, it is the home of Naomi, whose servant, Ruth, moved back with Naomi after they had left for Moab, and where Ruth married Boaz.  Boaz and Ruth gave birth to Obed, who was the grandfather of King David, who also came from Bethlehem.  After the Babylonians exiled the Davidic kings, it loses all fame, except in this passage from Micah, which is fulfilled when Christ is born in Bethlehem.  
    In our Gospel, we hear about the Blessed Virgin Mary, who, to us, seems anything but small.  But in her own time, she was not well known.  She was likely around fourteen years old at the time she conceived our Lord.  While she was from the family of King David, she had no power or prestige.  She was the daughter of an old couple Joachim and Anne, who had no other children.  She was, to everyone except God, a nobody.
    And even in the Letter to the Hebrews, the sacred author talks about Christ coming into the world in His Incarnation when He took on our human nature.  Even this was small, in its own way, because Jesus Christ, the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity, who created the universe and whom the heavens cannot contain, allowed Himself to be limited by our humanity, to do the will of the Father and reconcile us to God.  When comparing Jesus’ divinity and humanity, He did become rather small.
    But this is how God works.  St. Paul says in his first letter to the Corinthians, “God chose the weak of the world to shame the strong, and God chose the lowly and despised of the world, those who count for nothing, to reduce to nothing those who are something, so that no human being might boast before God.”  When great people do great things, they might think that it is them, not God, who accomplishes it.  When a weak or lowly or despised person does something great, they know that they could never have done it by themselves; they needed help from God.

    And, as we prepare for Christmas on Wednesday, that’s what God wants us to remember.  We could not, we cannot, save ourselves.  No amount of right living on our part could have ever bridged the gap between heaven and earth that Adam and Eve created when they disobeyed God and passed on their disobedience through original sin to us.  God had to save us.  Without Christ, we could not enter heaven, not even Abraham or Moses or King David.  All had sinned, and were deprived of the glory of God.  But God sent Jesus to save us, He whose name means “God saves,” and opened heaven not only for Abraham and Moses and King David, but also for us.  And even now that we are baptized, God gives us what we need to respond to that salvation.  Without the grace of God, we cannot do anything good even simply to cooperate with God’s salvation offered us through Christ.  The only thing that we can do without God’s grace is sin.  Every good thing requires God’s help.
    When we remember this, nothing can stop us, because nothing can stop God.  With God’s grace, Bethlehem became, not only the birthplace of a strong, human king, David, but the birthplace of the King of Kings, Jesus Christ.  With God’s grace, a young virgin who seemed to have nothing special about her became the Mother of the Redeemer.  Jesus Himself made Himself small so that He could attract us to Himself and save us by His invitation, rather than by force.  And we need only, by the grace that God gives us, respond to that invitation in order to enter the enteral home that God wants for us in heaven.  
    Some do believe that it is only the powerful that can keep evil at bay.  But, it is in the small ways that God defeats evil, with those who know of their smallness and yet rely on God.  May we cooperate, in our smallness, with the grace of God through small things, everyday deeds of we, ordinary folk, and so participate in Christ’s victory over sin and death.

The Shepherds

Nativity of the Lord: Mass at Night
    Merry Christmas!  As we assemble tonight to celebrate the birth of our God and Savior, Jesus Christ, we do so at the same, or at least a similar time, as the shepherds just outside of Bethlehem.  Luke records that the shepherds were “keeping the night watch over their flock.”  And yet, in the midst of the darkness, “the glory of the Lord shone around them” as they witnessed angels and heard one of the first proclamations of the beginning of the Gospel, that, “‘today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Christ and Lord.’”

Painting of the shepherds from Shepherds' Field in Bethlehem

    I started a tradition when I became a priest to add, each year of my priesthood, to a Fontanini nativity set.  In the first year I had to buy the basics, and besides Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus, and the angel, the only other figure who was included was a shepherd and two sheep.  There’s something about the shepherds that belongs at the heart of the nativity, just slightly behind the necessary figures of the Holy Family themselves.
    Perhaps part of their importance connects to how many times in the Old Testament God refers to shepherds.  Psalm 80 states, “O Shepherd of Israel, lend an ear, you who guide Joseph like a flock!  Seated upon the cherubim, shine forth.”  Probably one of the currently most popular psalms, 23, states, “The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I lack.”  God appoints Joshua, son of Nun, “that the Lord’s community may not be like sheep without a shepherd.”  God likewise calls David as the king to shepherd God’s people by ruling over them. 
    God also condemns bad shepherds.  In Jeremiah he states, “Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the flock of my pasture…I myself will gather the remnant from my flock…and bring them back to their folds.”  Through Ezekiel God says:
 

Woe to the shepherds of Israel who have been pasturing themselves!  […] I myself will search for my sheep and…I will bring them back to their own country and pasture them….In good pastures I will pasture them….I myself will pasture my sheep; I myself will give them rest…The lost I will search out, the strays I will bring back, the injured I will bind up, and the sick I will heal.

Shepherds hold an important place in the Old Testament, both as an image of God who cares for His people, and as a warning for those who have authority but do not exercise it well.
    Many have also noted that shepherds were poor.  They did not, beyond their flock, have much to their names.  They recognized their dependance on God, and relied on Him to provide for their livelihood.  And so it is the poor, those who not only lack material goods, but also who recognize their need for God, who first hear the message of the Gospel, and are drawn to worship the newborn king, “‘wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.’”
    Tonight the Lord invites us to come before Him like the shepherds, no matter what our adjusted gross income.  We come in our poverty of spirit, our recognition that we need God, and bow before the Shepherd of Israel, the one who leads us to good pastures, who rules over us, who seeks us out when we are lost, and places us upon His shoulders when we are injured.  As Psalm 100 states, “we are his people, the flock he shepherds.” 

Door of Humility

    Poverty in spirit is an exercise in humility.  At the Basilica of the Nativity in Bethlehem, there is a door, which was added in the sixteenth century, that was built purposefully with small dimensions.  Practically, it kept people from bringing horses and cattle in the church.  But that was quickly theologized and the door was called the “Door of Humility,” because each person, no matter how rich or how poor, how powerful or how insignificant, had to bow down to be able to enter.  As we come before the Lord, we bow down in the presence of our God and King.  While not required, kneeling when we receive Holy Communion, is a beautiful expression of our humility and poverty in spirit as we receive the same Jesus who was born in Bethlehem in the Most Holy Sacrament of the Eucharist.  And during the Creed, we usually make a profound bow from the waist when we mention the Incarnation, but tonight, the day we came to know it happened, we genuflect, lowering our very bodies in each case which is meant to remind us to humble our souls as well. 
    Lastly, while not part of tonight’s Gospel passage or pericope, verse seventeen of this same chapter states, “When [the shepherds] saw [the infant lying in the manger], they made known the message that had been told them about this child.  All who heard it were amazed by what had been told them by the shepherds.”  This great celebration is not something that the shepherds could keep to themselves, nor should we be able to keep this great celebration to ourselves.  When we appreciate God as our shepherd; when we recognize the great humility that God first showed us by taking on our human flesh, with all its limitations and weakness, we should share that news with others.  So many celebrate Christmas, but they have forgotten what it means, beyond presents and big meals with family and friends.  Christmas, at its heart, is about the Lord, our Shepherd, seeking us out, and taking us upon His shoulders so that He can carry us to the verdant pastures of repose in heaven.  God did not have to do this.  God would not have lost anything in Himself if He had let us pay the price for our disobedience in Adam.  But so much did He love us, that He got rid of the bad shepherds who only cared for themselves, and shepherded us rightly, taking us to Himself in love and truth. 

    Tonight, may the lights of this great temple shine like the angels in the heavens.  May our celestial hymn of “Glory to God in the highest,” not only ring out in the ceilings of this church, but re-echo outside and in the witness of our lives, so that others may also come to adore our newborn King, and find the life that God desires for all His sheep.  

The Draw of a Baby

 Solemnity of the Nativity of the Lord–Vigil Mass
    Special Masses like the Sacred Tridduum, Easter, and Christmas, often have special rituals associated with them for priests.  At Holy Thursday and Good Friday we have special rites that remember the Lord’s institution of the Eucharist and the Priesthood, as well as His Passion.  At the Easter Vigil we hear the great hymn of the Exultet.  And tonight, at Christmas, we placed the baby Jesus in the creche for the first time this Christmas season.  There is something that is truly awesome (filling me with awe) when I take the baby Jesus and kneel down to put Him in the manger.
    There is something special about children.  Even the gruffest, stone-faced person can become a pile of mush in the presence of a baby.  Yes, babies are a lot of work, but their simply, loving presence can fill a room with warmth and joy.  And when a baby cries, everyone wants to make sure that the child is ok.  Mothers, in particular, seem to have special hearing when it comes to listening for the cries of a little one.

    Tonight we celebrate our God-made-man, but not yet fully a man, but a little baby.  Mary and Joseph, who knew their child to be God must have had reactions to Jesus in two different ways.  On the one hand, Jesus was Mary’s child and in the paternal care of Joseph.  He was theirs, and depended on both of them for all of His needs.  In some ways He was like any other child, filling the Holy Family with joy and warmth, and yet also calling for their attention as He cried for whatever needs He had at each moment.  On the other hand, He was also God, and so took on special attention and adoration of Mary and Joseph.  
    To outsiders, too–the shepherds and maybe the neighbors in Bethlehem–Jesus must have drawn their attention.  Perhaps they didn’t quite recognize that Jesus was God, and yet He was a baby, who draws people in by their innocence and dependence.  And this is the genius of God: that in coming to us, God did not choose to become a powerful ruler with great strength; God did not appear as an angel full of light and power; God chose to become, in Jesus, a little baby, who depended others for His safety and basic needs.  He was vulnerable in the womb of the Blessed Virgin Mary at the Annunciation, and remained vulnerable especially throughout his childhood.  Did God choose to become a baby because He knew that we would be drawn by a little child, or are we drawn to little children because God wrote within our very being a desire for everyone who appears like the Christ-child?  In either case, God appeared to us not in strength, but in weakness; not in power, but in fragility; not as a grown warrior, but as a defenseless baby.
    Many saints have imagined themselves being at Bethlehem when Jesus was born.  Perhaps you have, too.  You have wondered what it would be like to hear the angels singing, “Glory to God in the highest” in the night sky over Bethlehem.  You have wondered what it would be like to go to the cave, where Jesus was born (though many of you probably think of the barn-like structure that St. Francis of Assisi made popular).  Perhaps you have imagined yourself standing next to Mary or Joseph, and maybe even asking to hold baby Jesus for a moment, and just looking at Him and smiling, as He smiles back to, or sleeps soundly in your arms, swaddled in a cloth.  
    But in this time of waiting for Christ to return, Christ is still vulnerable to us.  While He is King of kings and Lord of lords, reigning from His throne in heaven, He still does not force Himself on us in power, but waits for us to come to Him, to be filled with His joy, to listen for His voice.  And we are free to care for Him tenderly, to hear His voice, or to ignore Him and be deaf to His cries.
    I carried at this Mass in my arms an image of baby Jesus, small and fragile.  But I hold the true Jesus, not just an image, every time I celebrate Mass.  Each time I hold in my hands the sacred host, made the Body and Blood of Jesus through the power of the Holy Spirit and my ministry, unworthy though I am, I hold Jesus who was born for us in my hands, and He is vulnerable.  Each time I proclaim the Gospel, I hear Jesus’ cries of love for us as He shares who God the Father is, how much He loves us, and how beautiful the Kingdom of Heaven is, for those who are willing to follow Him.  
    And the same is true for everyone here.  God makes Himself vulnerable for you.  He cries out for you.  Each Sunday and Holyday He cries for us to come and spend time with Him, not to attend to His needs as much as to fulfill our own need for God, to fill the empty hole in our hearts that can only be satisfied by God.  Each Mass Jesus allows Himself to be received in the Eucharist, to be fragile on our tongue, or in our hands.  We can receive Jesus lovingly in a state of grace, if we are unaware of any serious sins that have separated us from God.  Each Mass Jesus speaks to us of how much He loves us, and how He desires us to live in accordance with His will, and not our own; to live in the light, and not in the darkness; to be people of peace and not of hatred, prejudice, and violence.  Jesus cries out to us to live according to His pattern of life, and not the selfish life that the world proclaims.  And we can heed His cries and His invitation, or we can ignore it.  We can care for Him with the way we live our lives, or we can abandon Him and pretend He doesn’t exist, or that He is not important to us.
    Tonight God draws us in, as a little child, innocent and vulnerable, as we celebrate Christmas.  Like a baby, God makes Himself small for us that we can approach Him and love Him.  We are invited to see the warmth and joy of the Christ-child’s face, and to listen attentively to His voice, not only today, but every day, week, and month of the year.  “What child is this /who laid to rest / on Mary’s lap is sleeping?”  “O come, let us adore him Christ the Lord!”

A Pilgrimage to Bethlehem

 

Manger Square

First Sunday of Advent
    One of the great blessings in my life is that I have been to the Holy Land three times: once as a seminarian, and twice as a priest.  And while the climax of the trip is the visit to the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre, where Jesus died, was buried, and rose from the dead, also one of the major stops is the Church of the Nativity of the Lord.  Like a lot of other holy sites, a church was built in Bethlehem at the site of the Lord’s birth during the reign of Emperor Constantine, after his mother, St. Helena, had traveled to the holy sites.  Like other churches built during that time, it was destroyed.  But, a new church was built, around 529.  Unlike other churches, that same church structure from 529, though built up with additions, still remains.  As we were told, one reason why this church survived where others didn’t was because when the Persians attacked in 614, they spared this church alone, because above the church entrance were three Persian-dressed men.  It’s important to recall that, at the Epiphany, we celebrate Magi, wise men from the east.  And what is east of Judea?  Persia.  
    The Church of the Nativity has always been busy each time I went.  You enter through a door that makes you bend over to enter, called the “Door of Humility,” since you have to lower yourself to enter.  Then, as the antechamber opens up to the main nave of the basilica, you see how long the line is, and how long it will take you to wait in line to see the place where Jesus was born.  As a seminarian, I think I waited two hours or so.  This last time I went, I think I only had to wait 45 minutes.  

Door of Humility

    The line leads to a descending stair case, again, where one has to bow down to go through the archway above the opening, towards the Grotto of the Nativity, where Jesus was born.  At the location, in a small chapel, there is a silver star surrounded with a Latin inscription: Hic De Maria Virgine Maria Jesus Christus Natus Est, which means, Here, of the Virgin Mary, Jesus Christ was Born.  Across from there is the Grotto of the Manger, where Mary laid Jesus down to sleep after giving birth.  
    Why do I mention this church and my experiences?  Not only to highlight that it’s my intent to lead another pilgrimage to the Holy Land in 2022, but because I remember that wait.  At first you start praying, maybe a rosary, especially the third joyful mystery of the Nativity of the Lord.  And you’re trying to stay quiet (because otherwise the Orthodox monks will shush you), but eventually you want to talk a little bit.  There’s lots to see as you wait, as some of the columns still have saints painted on them.  There are mosaics from earlier times beneath the current floor, which you can see through plexiglass-covered openings in the floor.  Everyone wants to get in as soon as possible, so the idea of the line is basically morphed into a clump of people as you get closer (which does get precarious on uneven and semi-circularly shaped descending stairs).  There are icons everywhere, as most of the Church is controlled by the Orthodox Patriarchate of Jerusalem.  And the smells oscillate between the beautiful aroma of incense which is used in the Orthodox prayers, and the less than beautiful scent of BO of pilgrims who have been in the heat, or from other cultures who may have other approaches to deodorant.  But, through it all, you’re waiting to get to the cave, the niche where Jesus was born (we Latins tend to think of the creche, due to St. Francis of Assisi).  

Place where Jesus was born

    

So this Advent, we’re on our way to the cave.  We’re waiting, not only for our celebration of Christmas, but for Jesus to return, not as a babe but as a victorious King.  Jesus tells us to watch, because we don’t know when it will happen.  As we go on our way to Bethlehem, our celebration of Christmas, the first step in is always humility.  We cannot make our way to the cave, to Jesus’ birth, unless we humble ourselves before God.  If we try to get there with our pride, we won’t be able to enter in to encounter God.
    There will be times, on our way to the cave, when we know we want to pray, and there will be times when we are tempted to stop watching and waiting, and put our minds on something else.  As we go our minds will sometimes be lifted with the smoke of the incense into the heavens.  And sometimes we’ll be brought quickly back to earth by smells that are all to earthly, and not divine.  
    On our way to the cave, it’s important to recognize, as we heard the Prophet Isaiah say in our first reason, that part of the reason we don’t watch so well is because of our sins.  We miss seeing God because our sins have grabbed our attention.  So let’s confess our sins to the Lord, and ask for His mercy, confident in His love for us.  And having received the mercy of God, may we, with St. Paul, give thanks to God, who has given us His grace to become more and more like Him, who became like us in all things but sin.  
    Today we start our pilgrimage to Bethlehem.  Our path is humility, prayer, contrition, and patience.  It may take us a while, sometimes it may seem like a very long time, but we’ll get there.  And if we are ready, watchful in prayer, then as we celebrate God-with-us at Christmas, and as we watch and wait for Jesus to return, we will find such joy at seeing the star, Jesus, the Morning Star, who will return to inaugurate the day that never ends.  Venite, adoremus–Come, let us adore!

Nave of the Church of the Nativity

Humble Moses

Fourth Sunday of Advent

There is a meme that I recently saw on Facebook.  It is a picture of a person writing at a desk (probably supposed to be Moses), and it says, “‘Moses was more humble than any other person on earth’, by Moses.”  What it references is Numbers 12:3, which reads, “Now the man Moses was very humble, more than anyone else on earth,” along with the tradition that Moses himself composed the first five books of the Bible…including the Book of Numbers. 

Our first reading an our Gospel focus specifically on humility.  In the first reading we heard about Bethlehem, who is so small, and yet will be the place from which comes the ruler in Israel, the ruler “whose origin is from of old, from ancient times.”  Bethlehem was the City of King David, which is why Joseph and Mary had to travel back there during the census, since both Joseph and Mary were of the house of David.  But it had long since lost its notoriety, and was a place of no importance.  Still, God chose that place for His co-eternal Son to be born, from two parents who were very poor, who had next to nothing.

Our Gospel, too, talks about the Blessed Mother’s visit to Elizabeth.  Now, I’ve never been pregnant, but I’m not sure, if I were pregnant, that I would walk from Nazareth to Ein Kerem, a distance of 80 miles, to see my cousin, who was also pregnant.  However, Elizabeth was old, and it was out of love and concern that Mary did not think about her own needs, but went to take care of her family member.  Mary does not bask in the fact that she is the Mother of God (remember that life starts at conception, not birth!).  She does not let this great honor go to her head.  She focuses on the needs of others, and does as a pregnant woman what others may not have done without a child in the womb.

I’m sure we’ve all heard lots about humility.  Often times it gets confused with abasement, with lowering oneself.  And maybe that’s because our general trend is puffing ourselves up.  But humility is primarily concerned with the truth about ourselves, not with making ourselves less than we are.  Humility is thinking neither less nor more than we truly are.  And in not thinking more of ourselves than we are, in not holding on to what we want to believe we are, we open our hands to receive who we are from God.  Humility allows us to not try to take our identity, certainly not from what others say, but from the one who created us, from God, who knows who we are better than we do ourselves.

Bethlehem didn’t try to put on heirs.  It didn’t advertise itself as a center of power (that would have been Jerusalem).  But God chose it to be the place where the Messiah would be born.  Mary, though she was of the house of David, did not act as if she was supposed to be a queen.  And yet, because she became the Mother of God, truly became the Queen Mother of Heaven and Earth.  Humility allowed more honors than either of them could have achieved if they would have sought after honors and privilege themselves.

That approach to life is hard for us.  And it certainly doesn’t mean that we don’t use our gifts and talents to better the areas in which we live, work, etc.  That’s false humility, not recognizing the gifts that we have, burying our talents.  But it also doesn’t mean that we seek after power and notoriety.  We strive to be the best mother, father, daughter, or son that we can be, but when we do something well, we don’t have to proclaim it to the world.  We strive to be the best boss or best employee that we can be, but we don’t do it so that we are noticed by corporate or by our boss, we do it because it helps the company and the people that the company serves.  We strive to be the best student we can be, but we don’t have to brag to our friends that we got an A.  It’s not bad to be happy about those things, and maybe even to share then with close friends and family.  But it’s not about what others think of us.  It’s about how God thinks of us. 

Pride so often closes our hands to what God wants to give us.  God wants to give us every good gift that we need for our salvation.  God never holds something back from us that we need, because He is our loving Father.  And yet, in our pride, we close our hands to hold on to the lesser gifts that we think we need, that gives us passing pleasure.  And because of that, we might miss out on opportunities that God desires for us.  In these last couple of days of Advent, may we rediscover the gift of humility, which opens our lives us to the great things that God wants for us.  May we have the trust in God to let Him exalt us, rather than trying to exalt ourselves.

God Chooses Hobbits

Fourth Sunday of Advent

            I have now seen “The Hobbit” two times since it’s release on Friday.  While there have been a number of criticisms, I found myself enjoying the movie and its presentation of the classic book by J.R.R. Tolkien.  Certainly some license was taken; that always happens with movies.

            At one point, as the dwarves are discussing the drawbacks to having a burglar who has never burgled before, Gandalf mentions that Smaug, the evil dragon, will not recognize the smell of a Hobbit like he will of a dwarf.  Plus, Gandalf mentions, the Hobbit is small and will not attract much attention. 

            Now, it’s no secret that Tolkien was a Catholic.  He was a very devout Catholic.  And he permeated his writing with a Catholic worldview and Catholic theology.  I don’t know if he meant to compare Gandalf with God (in fact, I think scholars relate the wizards more to archangels), but we see in our readings today that God also uses the small to accomplish his work, those who will not attract much attention.

            Our first reading mentions the smallness of the city of Bethlehem of the Tribe of Judah.  It is too small to “be among the clans of Judah,” and yet “from you shall come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel; whose origin is from of old, from ancient times.”  God doesn’t choose the large city of Jerusalem to bring forth the Messiah, but the little town of Bethlehem.

            And in choosing Mary to be the Mother of God, it is not a famous personage, or a grand queen in the secular sense, but a quiet, humble maiden in a small, quiet town.  And in the Gospel passage today where we hear about the Visitation of the Blessed Mother to her cousin Elizabeth, it is two, small people, not noticed by the world, who recognize the coming, the Advent, of the Messiah.  In fact, even the littlest one, St. John the Baptist in the womb of his mother, leaps for joy in the presence of the God whom John will later point out as the Lamb of God.

            How much does our society tell us that we shouldn’t be small and unnoticed.  We have TV shows whose aim it is to take people from being unknown to being stars of music.  YouTube is full of people, including, sadly, children, who do stupid stuff just to get their 15 minutes of fame.  So many of us desire to be “big time.”  We want to be famous and well known.  The more Facebook friends or followers on Twitter we have, the better.

            In the midst of this, God doesn’t say that it’s wrong to be well known.  But He wants to make us well known, rather than us try to slingshot our way into notoriety.  Bethlehem wasn’t waging a campaign like, “Who Wants to be the City of the Messiah.”  Mary did not try to posture so that she could be the one that God chose as the Mother of the Messiah.  It was all about simply doing the will of God, and letting God make them known.

            In fact, Mary knows that she will be very well known.  After this passage, she prays the words that the Church has echoed down throughout the ages: “From this day all generations will call me blessed.”  But why will Mary be blessed?  Because “the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is His Name.”  God is the agent of Mary’s blessing and notoriety.  And the same has happened with so many of the saints.

            Look at our first pope, St. Peter: I’m quite sure that, sitting in his boat on the Sea of Galilee, he wasn’t dreaming of leading the disciples of the Messiah and being the one to speak for Christ in a unique way.  Or St. Augustine of Hippo in the 5^th Century: as a believer in two powers, one of good, one of evil, in his youth, the last thing he had on his mind was being one of the most prolific theologians the Catholic Church has ever seen.  Or St. Thomas Aquinas: in writing his Summary of Theology for beginners, his Summa Theologiae, he probably never dreamed that a later pope would require his teaching to be part of the curriculum in Catholic seminaries.  Or St. Kateri Tekakwitha: as she was exiled from her New York village of Native Americans because she had embraced the Catholic faith, she probably never dreamed that centuries later she would be added to the list of saints who called America their home.  Or Bl. Teresa of Calcutta: I’m sure that as she was picking up dying people with rotting bodies in India she did not anticipate the fame she would have while still alive, let alone after her death.  Or even those still working on being saints, like Pope Benedict XVI, or Timothy Cardinal Dolan or Francis Cardinal George: in the small towns in which they grew up, I’m willing to bet that none of them dreamed of having the large responsibility in governing the Church that God has given them today. 

            It is not for us to work on being famous, or being well known.  We are called to be faithful to God and serve Him by serving His People with the gifts and talents that God has given to us.  If we do that, then we will be known by the only Persons who really matter: the Persons of the Blessed Trinity.  And if God recognizes us because we have configured our life to the image of His Son, then we will join the ranks of the truly famous, the lives truly worth celebrating, the lives of the saints.