Running to Meet Christ

First Sunday of Advent

           

Well, here we are again.  We are at the dawn of a new liturgical year, a new year of grace.  In our faith we have certainly had a big year: Pope Benedict XVI declared this past year a Year of Faith, which has just ended; Bishop Boyea declared this past year a Year of Prayer, which will end on 9 December at the Cathedral with Mass at 6 p.m.; Pope Benedict XVI resigned from being pope, the first time this had happened in centuries; the Holy Spirit, through the College of Cardinals, elected Pope Francis to be the new Vicar of Christ.  In our own families there have probably been momentous events: new life with the birth of a child or grandchild; the hope of eternal life with the death of a loved one; graduations, retirements, etc.  Whatever has happened, it has been quite a year!

            In this new liturgical year, I want to shift my focus a little bit in the homilies I preach.  Last year I tried to focus on the gift of faith and spreading the Gospel.  That certainly will still come up in my homilies, as it is a perennial aspect of our faith.  But this year I want to focus more on the prayers that I say in your name during the Mass as a way of encouraging us to participate more fully in the Divine Mysteries in which we partake, and challenging us to take that participation outside the doors of this church.

            We are probably now used to the new translations.  Some of us may not like them; that’s fair.  I personally love them, because I see in them the beauty which is contained in the mother tongue of our church: Latin.  The form of the prayer is much more deprecatory, that is, it does not treat God as an equal, but addresses Him as the Almighty, and takes the position of one who is a servant of God.  They are filled with Biblical language, and are sometimes taken from the words of our earliest saints.  For the most part, they are not long, but are very Roman in style: nobly simple. 

            Our Collect, what some refer to as the Opening Prayer, states: “Grant your faithful, we pray, almighty God, the resolve to run forth to meet your Christ with righteous deeds at his coming, so that, gathered at his right hand, they may be worthy to possess the heavenly Kingdom.”  As Advent is a time focused on preparing for Christ in His three comings—long ago as an infant at Bethlehem, at the end of time when the Kingdom of God is established in its fullness, and in our hearts each day—this Collect, this collection of all our private prayers, already points us to the coming Kingdom of Christ.  It asks for the strength of will, the resolve, to run forth with righteous deeds at His coming.  Now, I’m not a runner, like my parents and my sisters.  I’m a sprinter, so I don’t like to run for long periods of time.  And, to be honest, I don’t really sprint that much anymore, either.  But when I do run, when I try to get somewhere fast, it is often to catch up to somebody to give them something or to get their attention. 

There is a certainly excitement in running, especially to meet someone.  One need only think of movies where two people are running to meet each other, often with joyous, longing music in the background.  But our prayer asks us for the strength to run to meet Christ, not with our legs, but with our “righteous deeds,” our actions that help to build the Kingdom of God here on earth. 

            This idea of running is in contrast to what we hear in our Prayer after Communion: “May these mysteries, O Lord, in which we have participated, profit us, we pray, for even now, as we walk amid passing things, you teach us by them to love the things of heaven and hold fast to what endures.”  While our good deeds are meant to help us to run to meet Christ at His coming, we walk amid passing things, the things of earth.  Our prayer reminds us that the things of this earth, as good as they are, pass away, and should not give us the same excitement as the things of heaven and preparing for Jesus’ second coming.  As the first reading states, we should stream towards the mountain of the Lord, to the temple of God on Mount Zion.  As Christians, our real temple is the heavenly Jerusalem, the heavenly temple, where God reigns with the Lamb-that-was-Slain at His right hand.  We should be rejoicing to go to the House of the Lord, as our Psalm mentioned, the House that lasts forever, that is not built with human hands, but was built by God.

            And we should be prepared to rejoice at Jesus’ coming, because we do not know the day nor the hour.  For those who have their hearts set on the things of the world, that day will catch them off guard, as our Gospel said.  Just like those before the flood who “were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, up to the day that Noah entered the ark,” and who perished, if we remain focused too much on the things of this earth, and not concerned enough with our eternal salvation, then Jesus’ coming will not give us cause to run towards him, but might cause us to slink away from him, backing up ever so slowly so as to avoid notice. 

            How do we prepare ourselves, then?  How do we focus on what is to come and want to run out to meet Jesus?  Our Prayer over the Offerings gives us a clue: “Accept, we pray, O Lord, these offerings we make, gathered from among your gifts to us, and may what you grant us to celebrate devoutly here below gain for us the prize of eternal redemption.”  When we take the things of the earth—our time that we spend here, our money that we donate, our attention, the bread and wine—and give them back to God, we show that we are first and foremost concerned with Him.  And then, as God takes our gifts that we have and offers us the most precious gift, the Body and Blood of His Son, that what we celebrate here below in sacramental signs, prepares us for receiving the prize of eternal redemption, the prize of being in heaven with God in perfect happiness. 

            As we walk amid the concerns of this earth, may we love the things of heaven, hold fast to what truly lasts, and be ready to run and meet Jesus Christ as we celebrate His birth at Christmas, as we prepare for His Second Coming in Glory, and as He comes to us each day to enter our hearts and make His home there.

Trying to See the Tracks

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

           

I remember when I was finally tall enough to ride Space Mountain at Disney World.  I was excited, because everyone kept talking about how much fun the ride was, but I was still nervous because it was my first real roller coaster.  And it was in the dark.  So, as I bravely sat in the little car, my only real concern was trying to see the track ahead of me, so I would know when there was a dip or a sharp turn. 

            “Faith,” says our first reading today, “is the … evidence of things not seen.”  Faith is precisely not being able to see the track ahead of you, no matter how hard you peer into the darkness.  Some people find this exhilarating.  Some people find it scarier than anything else in the world.  But growing in faith means that we are growing in our comfort in the dark: not that our eyes adjust, but that we are less concerned with seeing.

            Faith, then, is all about trust.  Even though the tracks are not seen, the faith-filled person does not worry about seeing because he or she trusts in the one who brought them there.  We can trust that beliefs are true, and that is one aspect of faith.  But even then, our faith that this teaching is true is based upon trust in the One who said it.  Our faith in what God has taught us, through His Word in Scriptures and His Word in the teachings of the Church is based upon the fact that we trust that God is trustworthy.  We only doubt one whom we feel cannot be trusted.

            When we doubt something the Church teaches as part of God’s plan for humanity, we fail to trust Jesus’ promise in Matthew 16 that the gates of the netherworld will not prevail against it, and that despite their own individual sinfulness, the apostles and successors can teach without error what must be authentically believed and how one should live.  Surrounded by the darkness, we choose to trust in ourselves rather than in Jesus and the one Church He founded.  We figure we can do it better our way.  Maybe we trust ourselves more about our responsibilities in the Church: to attend Mass each Sunday and Holyday; to support the parish with our time, talent, and treasure; to go to confession at least once a year when we’re aware of a mortal sin.  Maybe we trust ourselves and our own opinions when it comes to human sexuality, marriage, contraception.  Whatever the issue, the temptation is always there to respond to the darkness, not with faith, but with self-sufficiency and over-confidence in our own opinions rather than by what God has communicated through His Word.

But, faith is not just the evidence of things unseen.  It is also, “the realization of what is hoped for.”  Faith does involve darkness.  But it is also a light, hence the title of Pope Francis’ first Encyclical, Lumen fidei, the Light of Faith.  Faith allows us to realize, even now, what will only be fulfilled in the future.  Abraham had faith in God, he trusted God, that everything would be ok if he left the only land he knew, Ur of the Chaldeans, and went to Canaan.  He trusted that God would give him a son, and that, even though God asked him to sacrifice his own son, that God could raise up another son who would fulfill the promise that Abraham would have “descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky, and as countless as the sands on the seashore.”

The Jews, as we heard in our first reading, had faith that God, who had promised the land of Canaan to Abraham, would fulfill His word, and so even in slavery in Egypt, they foresaw the Passover, the saving of God’s Chosen People from oppression. 

We are called to be a people of faith, to trust in Jesus to light the right path before us through His Body, the Church.  We are called to be the faithful servants who have faith that the Master will return, and so are ready to open the door for Him when He knocks.  When we trust Jesus, we find that we who are His servants are served by Him, as He prepares a meal for us, the Eucharist, and waits on us so that we are spiritually nourished.  And when we have faith in the Eucharist, we see already in these sacramental signs of bread and wine, made into the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ, the eternal wedding feast of the Lamb in heaven.  We participate in a foretaste of it.  Faith in God allows us to see the good things that are in store for us if we are faithful servants, waiting for our Master’s return.  It enlightens us so that what we choose prepares us for the end God desires for us: heaven.  Faith enlightens our work, our recreation, the way we spend our time, the way we use our gift of sexuality, how we use our money, etc.  There is no aspect of our lives that faith does not alter if it’s being lived out. 

Faith is trust in the midst of darkness, the darkness that comes not because God is absent, but because He is so close that our eyes cannot take the brilliance.  Faith illumines every aspect of our lives to receive the good things God has promised to us, even if we do not possess them in their fullness yet.  In these last months of the Year of Faith, trust God: He will not disappoint.  Trust the Church He has founded to authentically communicate what we are to believe and how we are to live: it only leads to perfect happiness.  Do not be afraid!!  Have faith!!  

Love and Knowledge

Solemnity of St. Thomas Aquinas

            I remember hearing at one point that, as children are first learning to draw people, they emphasize the aspects that stick out to them.  Tall people may be the entire height of an 8½ x 11” page; someone who is really intelligent may have a really big head; if the child notices that the person has beautiful eyes, they may be out of proportion to the person’s face, and the same could be said about a smile.

            It is interesting the things that we highlight.  In classic artistic representations of St. Thomas Aquinas, our parish patron, he is depicted in his Dominican habit, usually with the black cappa, and a sun at the level of his heart.  It might seem strange to us to consider that, arguably, the greatest mind Christianity has ever known, does not have a light by his head, the bodily seat of wisdom, but near his heart, the bodily seat of the passions and of love. 

            If St. John of the Cross is true, and at the end of our lives we will be judged on our loves, then it makes perfect sense that iconographers and religious artists focus on the heart, rather than on the mind.  And while St. Thomas’ mind certainly did not hurt his cause of sanctity, one is welcomed into heaven not because of knowledge (even the demons know the precepts of the faith), but because of the love of God and love of neighbor. 

            Why did St. Thomas study and write so much?  Because he loved so much.  But love and knowledge are not two opposed avenues, but work in symphony with each other.  Those of you who are married: think back to when you met your spouse, and when you first had an inkling that the person you wed was not just any relationship, but was “the one.”  You probably had a great desire to get to know that person much better: favorite food, favorite movies, outlook on life, faith, etc.  Even those who aren’t really in love, but think they are, the young who have a crush on someone, want to know all they can about the person for whom they have fallen head-over-heels. 

            When I talk about discerning my vocation, I use the imagery of dating someone as I learned more about the Church.  The more I can to know about her, the more I fell in love with her, truly, madly, deeply in love, and wanted to spend the rest of my life with her and at her service.  I had to learn a lot in my years in seminary, but I loved it, because I could learn about her and be with her and love her. 

            Even the Biblical phrase for the greatest expression of love between a husband and wife, the height of a physical expression of love, is connected with knowledge of the other.  Knowledge and love are not two separate things, but are intimately connected and intertwined with each other. 

            Love of God and the love which flows from and gives witness to it, the love of neighbor, cannot be divorced from knowledge of God.    Both love and knowledge have to be emphasized.  Why have people stopped going to Mass?  While there are a variety of reasons, no small reason is the fact that, due to a lack of catechesis and formation, more and more people are estranged from God.  They do not know Him.  They may know about Him, but they do not know Him.  And when times become difficult, simply knowing about someone doesn’t heal the pain, doesn’t provide support, doesn’t comfort.  This is, perhaps, most true at times of death.  If people only know that there’s this guy whom others say came back from the dead, that doesn’t help.  If people know Jesus, and have experienced His love in very personal, real ways, then when death comes, as it does for us all, they can truly lean on Jesus for support, and know that His love is stronger than death, and will remain forever, even after the presence of friends and family withdraws, and the cards and the dinners, have started to decrease. 

            Now, we don’t have to be a St. Thomas Aquinas and write copious volumes of theological instruction to have that real relationship with God.  But we have to know God.  We have to know Jesus.  We have to know the Holy Spirit, not just on paper, but in real life.  We have to be as comfortable with God as we are with a spouse or a best friend.  Only that way will we be truly happy.

            This week we celebrate Catholic Schools Week, under the patronage of St. Thomas Aquinas.  He is our model, not just because he was smart, but because he knew God and loved God intensely, which gave him the motivation to write about God, and then even to realize that all that he wrote was like straw compared to the love and majesty of God.  While other public schools, especially those in our parish, can tend to the academic needs of a child, it is my firm conviction that Catholic schools, with the necessary and foundational support of parents in the home, do the best job of helping children to love God and love their neighbor.  It certainly cannot happen without the support of the first teachers of a child, his or her parents, but with that support, a child can not only learn about God, but can get to know God personally, and then share that love with others.

            In the end, that’s what this Year of Faith is all about: the pastors of the Church, from Pope Benedict XVI all the way down to me, the parochial vicar of St. Thomas Aquinas parish, want all of you to know the joy and peace of knowing and loving God.  We can’t force you to get to know and love God, any more that we can force you to truly get to know and love another person.  But we want to offer you opportunities to know God and love God, so that you, like St. Thomas Aquinas, can have that ray of light emanating from your heart out to others, that light that comes, not just from knowing about God, but from truly knowing God, and falling in love with Him, just as He knows you, and is in love with you.  Lord, help us to want nothing other than you; nothing other than you.