Category: NT reflection

Memorial of Saint Lucy, Virgin and Martyr, Third Tuesday of Advent, Year A: Zephaniah 3:1-2, 9-13, Matthew 21:28-32.

Alongside the great promise of our covenant with God – that we will be saved and granted eternal life with Him – there is an ominous warning. If we don’t come to him with open hearts, if we remain committed to our own pleasures and will, then we will be cut off from Him. This being cut off is quite an uncomfortable condition, to put it mildly. Eternal torment is another way to say it. But God would rather have us with Him, so we keep getting warnings to repent, to turn back to him, to stop our navel gazing and do His will while we are alive.

I wonder if we are running out of chances.

Today’s readings give us two of these warnings. The first is given to us through the mouth of the prophet Zephaniah, speaking to the Jews collectively as “Jerusalem.” I think his words could equally be applied to Americans today: “Woe to the city, rebellious and polluted, to the tyrannical city! She hears no voice, accepts no correction; In the LORD she has not trusted.” Especially the idea of accepting no correction – there is a huge arrogance among Americans who feel that this is the best country on the earth and no one can correct us. And don’t get me started on the false slogan “In God we Trust” which makes me cringe every time I see it on a Utah license plate. The main thing our culture trusts in is money; we were built on capitalism and on capitalism we will die. Thus, the great irony is that we were taught to take the “In God we Trust” printed on our currency as a serious statement rather than seeing it for the hoax it was; after all, our government was carefully crafted to fully separate its laws and operations from any religious influence. The truth is, our real slogan is “In Man and Money we Trust.” OK, rant over, but hopefully the applicability of Zephaniah’s words is clear.

Let us pray we are called to participate in Zephaniah’s next statement: “I will change and purify the lips of the peoples, That they all may call upon the name of the LORD.” If we want to join our Lord, we must start by actually being courageous enough to call upon His name, in private and in public. God’s promise is that, like it or not, He will intervene. We will become a changed, humbled people. “You need not be ashamed of all your deeds, your rebellious actions against me; For then will I remove from your midst the proud braggarts, And you shall no longer exalt yourself.” It may be easiest to see our showboating athletes, strutting music icons, and loudmouthed politicians as the “proud braggarts” of our culture, but I know that every time I hope for recognition at work or appreciation at home or even desire for holiness that I participate in this exalting of self. My wife has shared with me the powerful Litany of Humility this Advent, and it is a fantastic prayer to help us get ourselves right around the crucial problem of pride. Thank you to her! I’ve included it here.

Nearly 700 years after Zephaniah and all of the other prophets who repeated God’s message to the people, we encounter Jesus in today’s gospel reading. He teaches the Parable of the Two Sons, one who initially refuses to work for his father, but then actually does it and the other who says he will but never does. Growing up, this parable immediately resonated with me. I was always mouthy (I know, shocking!), but thankfully the conscience God planted in me was also very active. I often regretted things said or done in moments of passion or temper, and sought to do good afterwards, in part to atone for my previous idiocy. So, I related to this parable on a very literal level. Jesus asks, “Which of the two did his father’s will?” and the answer is obvious.

But understanding the parable on this level doesn’t really go far enough. After all, does God want his people to be a bunch of resistant hotheads who end up doing the right thing in the end? Probably not. This parable is illustrating an aspect of hearing God’s will, not an entire way of being a good Christian. The point of this parable might be summarized in the title of this post: hey people, you might be running out of chances to follow God’s will! Jesus drives this home when he says, “When John came to you in the way of righteousness, you did not believe him; but tax collectors and prostitutes did. Yet even when you saw that, you did not later change your minds and believe him.” He could have started with: God sent you centuries of prophets and warnings about being humble, turning to Him, and doing His will. But, graciously, he just holds them to what has happened during their generation. He points to John the Baptist, Elijah in their midst, calling them to repentance and opening themselves to God who has come.

The chief priests and elders, while initially saying they would do God’s will given their paths in life, didn’t believe John and do God’s will, making them the second son in the parable. The tax collectors and prostitutes, who had initially said no to God in their life choices, now turned to Him to do His will. 

This is compounded by the fact that the priests and elders have seen that John’s baptism has been doing much good and converting people’s hearts back to God. John’s ministry of preparing people for Jesus has been successful; many crowds of disciples are filled with faith, are being healed, and are on their way to the Kingdom. But the priests and elders remain antagonistic, challenging and not believing God who is right in front of them.

Woe to them! They are most definitely not the remnant, humble and lowly.

Let us pray the Litany of Humility this Advent. Let us seek to become the remnant who will be welcomed into the Kingdom when our Savior comes.

Third Sunday of Advent “Gaudete Sunday,” Year A: Isaiah 35:1-6a, 10, James 5:7-10, Matthew 11:2-11.

Gaudéte in Dómino semper: íterum dico, gaudéte. Rejoice in the Lord always: again I say rejoice. This is the first line of the Introit to today’s Mass, marking the halfway point of Advent when we take a little break from the semi-penitential season to recall the joy of Christ’s coming into our hearts. The name for this special Sunday comes from the first word of the Introit, Rejoice!

I’ve been reflecting on the dual nature of Christ’s coming (the babe in the Nativity and the judge at the end of time) this Advent, but there is a third coming for which Catholics are preparing in Advent: the coming of Christ in our hearts. Gaudete Sunday asks us directly to prepare our hearts by cultivating the joy that Christ’s coming will bring (and that we will allow to fully blossom in the Christmas liturgical season). Advent is a time to scour our hearts of sin, making them suitable for the Lord. Gaudete Sunday is a moment in Advent when we can align that preparation of the heart by remembering that joy is what awaits us, not just the continual work of penitential scouring. 

So, today’s readings are chock-full of rejoicing. The first lines of Isaiah even extend rejoicing to all of creation: “The desert and the parched land will exult; the steppe will rejoice and bloom.” I appreciate these reminders that it’s not just humanity that will be perfected in Christ but all of creation.

God does have a special place in His heart for humanity, though (case in point: Jesus is incarnated as a man, not a goat or a tree), and the message for us involves our intellect, emotions, and spirit: “say to those whose hearts are frightened: Be strong, fear not! Here is your God … He comes to save you.” This message never gets stale. It gave hope and confidence to Jews in exile hundreds of years before Christ, to early Christians suffering martyrdom, to Christians in the turbulence, disease, and violence of the Dark and Middle Ages, and to us moderns, assailed by a lust-filled, nihilist and atheistic culture.

Apart from the 100,000-foot view of cultures and history, this message gives hope and confidence to all of us on an intensely personal level, whether we struggle with depression, family problems, money problems, or other uncertainties. God’s promise, proclaimed through Isaiah, is a true celebration of the best in each of us. He promises that in heaven we “will return and enter Zion singing, crowned with everlasting joy; [we] will meet with joy and gladness, sorrow and mourning will flee.” This promise of joy is so needed in all of our lives, and a huge reason that reading and re-reading the scriptures is important; not just to find comfort, but to find a much-needed perspective in our lives.

So, God is coming to save us, and Jesus has already initiated the Last Times. Awesome, let’s do this! What is God waiting for??

This question was especially poignant in the first generations after Christ’s resurrection, when they pondered his words, “Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away” (Mt 24-34-35). There was a very real expectation that the second coming would happen at any minute.

Thus, for Christians at all moments since the resurrection, St. James’s words in today’s second reading are very important: “Be patient, brothers and sisters, until the coming of the Lord.” This is echoed by other apostolic writers, notably St. John, who uses the word abide (“to stay,” “stand fast,” “remain” or “endure”) 34 times in his gospel and 19 times in his letters. Abiding and patience are both practices related to the virtue of fortitude — that is, not straying from the faith and the practice of the faith, remaining strong. James picks up this association with remaining strong: “Make your hearts firm, because the coming of the Lord is at hand.”

It is oh so easy for us to give up on things that don’t yield right away. Especially in today’s immediate gratification culture (heck, I find myself oddly impatient when an entire TV series isn’t available for immediate streaming all at once — having to wait a week for the next episode? The horror!). Thankfully, our history as God’s people provides us with the example and confidence that we can do it. As James says, “Take as an example of hardship and patience, brothers and sisters, the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord.” This is another reason why reading and re-reading the scriptures is so important for us. It helps us find courage and remember the example of those who have come before us. We are not in this alone and without a guide!

We even see the need for reassurance and confidence from the great John the Baptist in today’s gospel reading. John sends some disciples to ask if Jesus is the Messiah they’ve been waiting for. We might be cultivating a sense of anticipation in Advent, but John was bursting with it. His whole life was oriented to this one thing.

Jesus, consistent with his teaching that we will be judged by our fruits, responds: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind regain their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have the good news proclaimed to them.” In other words, trust in the supernatural realities that are being revealed to you.

What an interesting answer! He could have said, “yes,” and been done with it, but Jesus was always teaching, always consistent, always urging us to go deeper. His point was that we must meet God’s will with our own will — we must exercise the muscle of faith and enter into a spiritual dimension with God in order to perceive the truth about life.

Even this simple experience of entering into faith is one that can give joy. We often give up in frustration over what we perceive to be the silence of God in our lives, but, once again, St. James tells us to cultivate patience and a firm heart! Developing a relationship with God, who doesn’t often answer questions head-on the way we wish He would, takes effort and openness, but even the journey has its rewards.

As we open ourselves to supernatural realities and the mysterious presence of divinity, God immediately rewards us with an expanded sense of Him and the world. And let’s not imagine we’re in this alone, praying in the cell of our mind. The Church of which we are a part has been established as the bridegroom of Christ, where we meet him in joy and love. The rituals, sacraments, devotions, and prayer life of the Church as a body are where we encounter God in sight, sound, feeling, and even in our bodies through the Eucharist. If we are feeling dry in our spiritual life and lacking in patience with our faith, we must ask ourselves how often we are participating in the life-restoring activities of the Church and how open our hearts and minds are to those activities and sacraments. They are great joy bringers for us in this time of patience.

One last thing is something that really stuck with me from the pastor of St. Catherine of Siena Newman Center, Fr. Gabriel Mosher, OP, in his homily for Gaudete Sunday. He asked if we really knew what joy was and had we considered that Christ had achieved perfect joy as he hung crucified on the Cross?

This is, of course, a Thomist definition of joy: “For joy is caused by love, either through the presence of the thing loved, or because the proper good of the thing loved exists and endures in it” (Summa II.II.28.1). As he hung on the Cross, Jesus obtained his heart’s desire, a perfect sacrifice to the Father that provided salvation for humanity. This is a great lesson for us! How often do we let suffering lead us to misery instead of joy? Perhaps always??

Imagine instead responding to your suffering by remembering Christ absolutely joyful on the Cross (undoubtedly in great pain), and finding inspiration in him to be joyful yourself. You might not be taking away the sin of the world with your suffering, but you can offer your suffering self to the Father, just like Jesus did. You can say a prayer like, “Father, accept my lowly suffering alongside the great redeeming suffering of your Son. Allow me to offer my broken human self to you like he did, and in your mercy make me more like him.”

Who knows — you might just find a glimmer of joy after that prayer. If for nothing else, you’ve taken up Christ’s offer to “take up your yoke” with him; and you might find it as sweet as he promises.

I don’t want to be a “downer” amid our joyful celebration of Gaudete Sunday, but I was struck by how Fr. Gabriel expanded my notion of what joy can be and further deepened my appreciation for the depth of Jesus’s sacrifice. This is a powerful way to look at the Crucifixion, a scene which is often dominated by sorrow, upset, and emptiness. How important for us to consider that Jesus experienced a powerful joy over the completion of his ministry and doing God’s will. How fruitful is the contemplation of this type of joy, which so dwarfs suffering and ignominy.

This joy persists for eternity with the Father, while those other things pass like a whisper in the night.

Saturday in the Second Week of Advent, Year A: Sirach 48:1-4, 9-11, Matthew 17:9a, 10-13.

Today’s readings shed light on a lesser-emphasized aspect of St. John the Baptist: the fact that he is Elijah returned. The prophecy in question was given to Micah: “I will send you the prophet Elijah before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes. He will turn the hearts of parents to their children and the hearts of children to their parents, so that I will not come and strike the land with a curse” (Micah 4:5-6). Modern Christians simply don’t have the cultural frame of reference to appreciate this prophecy. Elijah was one of the original superheroes of the Jewish tradition, alongside Moses and likely eclipsing even the name of Solomon, David, Judah and Israel. His miracles were profound, his wisdom straight from the mouth of God. For Jews around the time of Christ, the return of Elijah would have been a not-to-miss event, a fitting prelude to the Messiah himself.

To help us remember Elijah’s superhero status, the Lectionary provides us with an excerpt from Sirach, praising him. “How awesome are you, Elijah, in your wondrous deeds! Whose glory is equal to yours?” Sirach goes on to recount a number of his deeds, including ones not included in this excerpt like raising from the dead, healing, sending kings to their destruction. Fire figures prominently in Sirach’s account, especially the famous “whirlwind of fire, in a chariot with horses of fire” that carried him to heaven. We have reflected this Advent on how fire is a symbol of God’s purity. Elijah, surrounded by fire, was a prophet seemingly closer to God than other men in every way.

The gospel reading picks up the Elijah thread. It is pulled from right after the Transfiguration (which, of course, featured Elijah as well). The disciples are walking down the mountain, asking Christ about Micah’s prophecy. Jesus answers that “Elijah has already come, and they did not recognize him, but they did to him whatever they pleased. So also the Son of Man is about to suffer at their hands.” They understand he is speaking of John the Baptist. What’s the connection between the two? Well, there are many: they both preached in the wilderness, apart from communities of men and women; they both dressed as wild men, with a leather belt around their waist; both set themselves against kings and had high-profile enemies; and both preached repentance. This last point, in particular, is how they both prepared humanity for the coming of Jesus Christ, and it is in this that Jesus can explain that Elijah has come as John the Baptist.

But Jesus also speaks about Elijah in the future tense: “Elijah is indeed coming and will restore all things.” What are we to make of this? Was Jesus just confused at that moment? Clearly not – he was just transfigured and shared the company of Moses, Elijah, and his Father! Was this a misprint in the gospel or maybe Matthew just got it wrong? Not at all – Matthew faithfully reported Jesus’s words and many manuscripts have faithfully reproduced these seemingly contradictory statements. How can Elijah still be coming and yet have already come?

We know that God stands outside of time – that the Christ Event explains the the history that came before it and forms the future after it, that the Word can speak to the prophets and also be made flesh in Mary’s womb and be coming for the Last Judgement. In this way, it makes sense to speak of the Son of God having spoke in the past, being present in humanity and still coming at the end of history. All three tenses apply and make perfect sense in reference to God, who stands outside of time. If we think of Elijah in these same moments – as a prophet to whom the Word spoke, as John the Baptist in the “present” of the gospel, and as some yet-to-come Elijah just before the end of history – then Jesus’s statements make perfect sense as well.

We might also imagine who Elijah is after he is taken into heaven on the burning chariot. We are told he was taken into heaven body and soul, but we must admit that he exists primarily on the spiritual plane where the spirit is perhaps more “real” (as we would consider things of the body more “real” here on earth). Perhaps the spiritual mode of existence in heaven alongside God allows Elijah to inherit some of His characteristics and ability to exist outside of time. After all, we are working to purify our souls so that we can be worthy of union with God. True union with God is our deification, our sharing in His Godliness. Perhaps, also, the “spirit of Elijah” can inhabit John without detracting from John’s own personhood, much like the Spirit of God can work in us. We don’t know the answers to these musings, but it is not beyond the scope of even our impoverished human imaginations to consider how it might be so.

In any case, the fact that Jesus tells his disciples that Elijah has already come as John is enough for us to accept it. I try not to question the teaching of my God, but try to humbly and happily accept it. The take-home message is that all of the prophecy regarding Jesus’s coming really did happen, including the prophecy of Elijah coming before Jesus. Probably more prophecy was fulfilled than we could ever know.

John, like Mary, accepted the role that God had for him. He is an amazing prophet and role model for us. For this reason, we should listen to him and Elijah and repent for our sins, for the Kingdom of God is near.

Memorial of Saint Ambrose, Bishop and Doctor of the Church; Second Wednesday of Advent: Isaiah 40:25-31, Matthew 11:28-30.

What soothing words of hope and security we find in today’s readings! With so many trials and difficulties in our lives, this reminder couldn’t come at a better time. As we prepare and wait for the Lord this Advent, we wait like adoring adults gazing at the Christ child in the manger as well as frightened children in need of a Savior to carry us to the finish line. Christ is of course both of these – incarnate in ultimate fragility and yet the most powerful being in the universe. Today, we remember this second aspect: the fact that he is God, able to bear our burdens with us and renew our vigor. Appropriately, we also celebrate St. Ambrose, a towering Doctor of the Church from the 4th century who also acts as a force of solidity and strength in our faith.

I love how Isaiah asks us incredulously in today’s reading, “Do you not know or have you not heard?” as if his listeners were ignorant of the God of Abraham and Moses. In breathless earnestness he proceeds to tell us, “The LORD is the eternal God, creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint nor grow weary.” Clearly, he thought we needed a reminder (then and now). And he immediately transitions from describing God’s attributes to describing what He does for us: “He gives strength to the fainting; for the weak he makes vigor abound.” This is a crucial point: our God is a selfless God who gives endlessly to His People. He is no pagan god who toys with his people and expects sacrifice in exchange for favors.

Isaiah points out that hope, not even sacrifice or ritual, engages God in this transfer of vigor to His People: “They that hope in the LORD will renew their strength, they will soar as with eagles’ wings.” This is extraordinary, especially in comparison to the world’s other religions. Isaiah is reminding us of the intensely personal nature of our relationship with God. He knows us so well that the very act of hope – wherein we align our thoughts and our will toward Him as the ultimate One who can help us – is enough for Him to work in and through us.

Hope, in this instance, is a form of prayer where we give God our allegiance and in humility tell him that He is the only true source of aid. Ours is a God who cares so much for every single one of the countless people He has created that He enters their minds and hearts to have communion with them.

Jesus gives voice to this wish of the Father: “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.” How extraordinary! What mere Messiah figure speaks like this? What mere holy man? These words don’t come across as braggadocio, or as hollow promises. This is the voice of God, sharing His desire for all of His People to come to Him. 

Taking a closer look, though, there is a seeming paradox in these words of comfort. While he promises everyone who comes to him rest, he also states that he is waiting with a yoke for them. Which is it, rest or work? Can they exist together? He promises to teach them, but notes that he is meek and humble of heart so they can rest in his teachings. Which is it, active learning or rest? These are exactly the tensions that find their harmony in Christ. “For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.” This is the key — the yoke is uncompromising love. Love itself is easy and light, it does give you rest and regeneration.

Yet living in a state of grace is also work and takes training to achieve. All of our moral teachings and commandments stem from love as God defines it. Constant prayer is a fundamental aspect of living a life of love. Extending mercy and forgiveness to everyone in your life is the way of love. To stand up and put on this yoke every day takes dedication, as our brothers and sisters in monasteries and convents attest. 

All of the sudden, the yoke seems hard. And, without Christ and the Holy Spirit active in our lives, it might be. These things would become a chore, but God makes them a joy. This is the promise of renewed vigor and rest. Think of how your soul soars when you help someone in need without a thought of recompense. Or of how a time of intense prayer gives you a new perspective on your day-to-day life. God is with us, all the time. All we have to do is open ourselves to Him.

And no one says it more clearly than Saint Ambrose, who we honor today. Here is a concise exposition he wrote on this very subject:

Open wide your door to the one who comes. Open your soul, throw open the depths of your heart to see the riches of simplicity, the treasures of peace, the sweetness of grace. Open your heart and run to meet the Sun of eternal light that illuminates all men. . . . Blessed is he, therefore, at whose door Christ comes knocking. Faith is the door of the soul, and if it is strong then it fortifies the whole house. Through this door Christ enters. . . . Open to him, therefore: he wishes to come in, the Bridegroom wishes to find you keeping watch. (from Commentary on Psalm 118).

St. Ambrose reminds us that faith is the door through which Christ enters. He is waiting at the door of everyone’s soul, but if faith is shriveled, if it is nonexistent, there is no way to greet Christ and find refuge in him. It is almost too obvious to point out, but this is why faith is so important. It is why Satan tries so hard to erode our faith in God, and perhaps it is why God makes Himself invisible to our senses, so that we strengthen our faith like a muscle. We must pray to God to continually strengthen our faith, especially in times when we doubt a Church teaching or even God’s presence in our lives.

May Saint Ambrose intercede for us today as we celebrate Advent, prepared and waiting for the Sun of eternal light to shine on us all.

Tuesday of the Second Week of Advent: Isaiah 40:1-11, Matthew 18:12-14.

Today’s gospel presents the Parable of the Lost Sheep, and Christ as the Good Shepherd is one of the oldest artistic representations we have from the early Christian Church. Clearly, this image resonates with us. But is it more than a nice metaphor?

God the Father is far beyond our comprehension. We need metaphor and analogy to even begin to contemplate Him. As Jesus says today, “In just the same way, it is not the will of your heavenly Father that one of these little ones be lost.” He explicitly points to the analogy aspect of the parable (“in just the same way…”) in order to help us understand a small aspect of God’s will.

But the Son of God was made incarnate as a man, so we have a physical, historical understanding of him. He literally tended to humans like precious creatures waiting for the harvest — it’s no coincidence that he invites Simon and Andrew to “fish for men,” and that he says, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (Jn 10:11).

This last passage, in particular, invites us to understand Christ in a more literal way rather than metaphorically.

I’d like to quote a passage from the Trappist monk, Fr. Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis, PhD — from his master work of reflections on the Gospel of St. Matthew:

Every scene in the Gospel represents a new step in the Son’s search for his lost sheep. Golgotha is the moment when he fully finds us, because it is then that he gives all he has to give—the very substance of divinity. He finds us by entering into our locus of despairing darkness and filling us there with his love and life. “I will bind up the crippled, and I will strengthen the weak”: But how? Our resurrection and healing gush forth from his suffering. In the words of Isaiah:

Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. . . . He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that made us whole, and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all. (Is 53:4-6).

Jesus, in whom “all the fulness of God was pleased to dwell,” could not make peace between us and the Father, could not restore us lost sheep to the heavenly flock, without the spilling of “the blood of his Cross” (Col 1:19-20). It was by this outpouring of the human blood of the incarnate God that the Father “delivered us from the dominion of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son” (Col 1:13).
(Fire of Mercy: Heart of the Word, Vol III, 627)

We might be so familiar with the words of St. John’s gospel, “the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep,” that we forget how very real that act was accomplished by Jesus Christ. God is the best of all good shepherds — so much so that we can use him as the basis of comparison in the metaphor, “you are as good of a shepherd as Jesus Christ with how selflessly you lay down your life…” 

I don’t want to detour too far on John’s gospel; today’s gospel reading from Matthew is about searching for and not forgetting the lost sheep. This parable is the promise that God wants every one of us to be with Him, no matter how lowly or sinful we might think we are. And, of course, sin is the main way we lose our way from the flock bound for heaven. Consider this — the person so lost in sin that he can’t be recognized is actively sought out to the ends of the earth by our diligent Good Shepherd. If that’s not good news for those in despair, I don’t know what is.

As we turn our eyes to gaze lovingly on this Good Shepherd, let us return to Isaiah’s words from the first reading. He describes a strong, powerful God whose Word lasts forever — long after humanity is gone. He describes a God for whom we flatten mountains and fill in valleys to make way for his majesty and might. As we turn our eyes to gaze on Him, what do we see?

Let’s consider the foretaste of heaven we have on earth in the celebration of the liturgy. As we approach the Mass and the Holy Eucharist, let us remember that Christ’s great sacrifice was one where he carried us in his bosom all the way to the Cross and beyond. He came to earth to physically enact the work of the Good Shepherd, giving us our redemption, salvation, and a peek at the very heart of God.

When we eat the Eucharist, we are imbibing in the flesh of the one who carries us in his bosom, who protects us, and who literally died for us.

In Advent, this is who we wait for. We offer a comparatively paltry sacrifice in the form of prayer, fasting and alms to mark this season that anticipates the one who offers the greatest sacrifice of all.