Tag: Advent

  • Walk in the Light, Throw Off the Works of Darkness

    Walk in the Light, Throw Off the Works of Darkness

    First Sunday of Advent, Year A: Isaiah 2:1-5, Romans 13:11-14, Matthew 24:37-44.

    This Sunday presents a group of readings that speak to the essential character of Advent. The theme, of course, is preparation for God’s coming. As we are taught, this coming is something that happens in the stream of time (Christ’s coming into humanity) as well as something greater that ends the world as we know it. Advent invites us to once again celebrate the great coming that has already happened and also to prepare ourselves for the final coming that has yet to happen.

    The Descent of the Holy Ghost, Sandro Botticelli (1495-1505) | Creative Commons, Photo by Birmingham Museums Trust.

    What strikes me in these readings is the fully active nature of this preparation we are called to do. This isn’t a “sit still and wait patiently” moment like those I was trained to endure as a child. Nor is it a frantic “get the house ready before the guests arrive” type of preparation. Instead, it’s a renewal of the call that Jesus puts in our hearts throughout his ministry – a reminder that he has given us the Way to think, love, behave, and pray. This is what makes Christianity not just a good theological or moral system; it is meant to be lived out actively here and now because, as Jesus promises us, “at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come.”

    Let’s first consider Isaiah’s prophecy. Isaiah, being given the vision of Christ’s entry into humanity, struggles to explain this heavenly plan (as any human would), employing both prophetic and poetic language. Just imagine if God gave you the vision of divinity’s supernova explosion into humanity. How would that knowledge manifest itself in your imagination? Isaiah says that “the mountain of the LORD’s house shall be established as the highest mountain.” This is an interesting doubling of prophetic and symbolic language. First, mountains have great meaning in scripture: they symbolize the nearness of God, God’s protection, and the act of worship. Second, Isaiah adds “of the LORD’s house,” which is sung in the Psalms as the dreamed-of resting place for the righteous (i.e., heaven). It is also seen in earthly terms as the temple built by Solomon in Jerusalem, physically housing the Ark of the Covenant in the Holy of Holies. In both senses, the “house” is where God, in His glory and majesty, is found. So, when Isaiah calls this the “mountain of the LORD’s house,” there’s a bit of emphasis going on, like “the oceanic center of the ocean.” This mountain is the place where the very heart of the divine person of God can be found. Interestingly, he says that this “will be established as the highest mountain.” A devout Jewish prophet would already think of God as the “highest mountain,” so what can he mean by this action of “being established”? This isn’t a theological statement about the order of things – it’s a statement about something happening, about humanity realizing who God is in a new way. I understand this as Isaiah prophesying the Christ Event. By that, I mean the Incarnation, Jesus’s ministry, the Passion, Crucifixion, Resurrection, establishment of the Church, and Ascension to heaven. This is how He is “established as the highest mountain.”

    Some Famous Mountains in Scripture

    • Mt. Moriah – where Abraham was to sacrifice Isaac and where Solomon built God’s temple
    • Mt. Sinai – Moses meets God, receives the 10 commandments
    • Mt. Ararat – Noah’s ark is deposited by God
    • Mt. Zion – captured by David and becomes the site of Jerusalem (its temple considered the “Lord’s house”)
    • Mt. Carmel – Where Elijah challenged the prophets of Baal. 
    • Mt. Tabor – Jesus is transfigured 
    • Mount of Olives – Jesus prays before his Passion and Crucifixion

    Isaiah shares that “All nations shall stream toward it,” as indeed thousands were baptized in the Spirit the day of Pentecost and ever since, over the centuries. Importantly, people go to this “mountain” that is Christ in order to learn how to live correctly: “that he may instruct us in his ways, and we may walk in his paths.” Here in 710 BC we hear Isaiah giving us a kernel of truly Christian teaching! We don’t go to Christ in order to passively sit and bask in his presence (although we can do this during Adoration). We aren’t a religion where our highest experience is a letting go of the world and reality, like Buddhist nirvana. No, just as God cared about His creation so much that He sent Jesus to be with us, we are called to care about His creation and “walk in his paths.” The point of meeting God on His mountain is so that we can learn to live rightly in the world He has given us, not so that we can abandon the world. And what does this meeting with Christ give us? Isaiah prophetically tells us that it is to love one another fully (just as Jesus will teach nearly 800 years later). Isaiah speaks of this love as the reign of peace, when people will “beat their swords into plowshares” and “one nation shall not raise the sword against another.” As Isaiah sees, Christ makes the Kingdom of God a reality for us, here and now. The Kingdom is marked by peace and love.

    Once Isaiah receives this vision, there is nothing greater to hope for than the Kingdom made available to us. Thus, Isaiah’s passage ends with the exhortation, “let us walk in the light of the Lord!” This is exactly where we are in Advent. We are reminded of the great coming of the Lord and urged to follow the Way he has provided, to “walk in the light.”

    Sentinel Shadows, Roland Lee (2019) | Image from the artist’s website. There are many depictions of what the mountain of the Lord’s house might look like, and it’s great to remember that in our very own state of Utah we happen to have a National Park named Zion, where the religious imagination can run wild in new directions.

    St. Paul takes up this same message, with the same realization that Isaiah received. I love the domestic simplicity of his words: “it is the hour now for you to awake from sleep. For our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed.” Paul is rousting us from our sleep, kicking the bed frame, pulling off the sheets. “The night is advanced,” he writes, “the day is at hand.” This whirlwind of motion and action continues: “Let us then throw off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us conduct ourselves properly as in the day.” He paints a picture of lively action and – importantly – light. He contrasts the light of day with the dark acts of night. Light is central to both Isaiah and Paul. This imagery if very familiar to us, its meaning seemingly obvious, but do we really understand what it means to “walk in the light” and “put on the armor of light”?

    On the most mundane level, light allows us to see things clearly. Things in the light are exposed for all to see – given time to examine them, we can notice the smallest of details. Walking in the light, then, means first to allow ourselves to be seen and not hiding from scrutiny or observance.

    But light isn’t just a neutral source of illumination. As we know from our founding story of Genesis, light comes specifically from the Creator: “God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good” (Gen 1:3-4a). Light, understood within our belief system, thus also has a moral significance. If God created it AND called it good, then it is good! So, while light promotes understanding (c.f., “The unfolding of your words gives light; it imparts understanding to the simple,” Ps 119:130), this is an understanding that is good, upright, morally correct. Now we are getting deeper. To “walk in the light” means that we live in a way that is open to scrutiny but also a way that imparts moral understanding to those around us. This is why we hear in Proverbs, “the path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, that shines brighter and brighter until the full day” (Pro 4:18). 

    A final level of meaning attached to light is theological. Everything we have said about light culminates in the figure of Jesus Christ: he is the understanding, the Logos, of God that has come to illuminate the moral way for humanity. As he himself says, “I am the Light of the world; he who follows Me will not walk in the darkness, but will have the Light of life” (Jn 8:12). If the second person of the Trinity is Light itself (and, closely related, Wisdom and Truth), then his redemptive work on earth is to bring us into his light, which provides a path to eternal life with the Father. He didn’t come just to be a light and then retreat off into heaven – he calls us adopted brothers and sisters and thus sons and daughters of the Father. Our baptism in water and the Spirit cleanse us and initiate us, while the other sacraments help to feed us and keep us in the light that is Christ. This is exactly what St. Paul is saying in today’s reading and what he writes elsewhere, for instance, to the Ephesians: “for you were formerly darkness, but now you are Light in the Lord; walk as children of Light” (Eph 5:8). Living in Christ as the Light of the world — “putting on” Christ — is essentially transformative.

    So, with this mini examination of “light” under our belts, let’s look again at Paul’s words: “put on the armor of light … put on the Lord Jesus Christ.” Paul is dedicated to this analogy of armoring ourselves with the power of God. We can turn again to his letter to the Ephesians where he describes it in detail:

    Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace. With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God  (Eph 6:11-17).

    Paul reminds us of the spiritual world in which we live, invisible to our eyes but real nonetheless. He depicts this as the battleground that really matters. To modern ears, this might sound archaic and superstitious. But we must realize that Paul is describing the same things we encounter today, just in a manner of understanding that “moderns” no longer use. In both ages, we might see a person who seeks profit out of every situation to the extent of openly cheating others. People in Paul’s age would describe them as being under the influence of evil spirits or the devil. We just call them selfish. More close to home, we might be tempted to shout at the person who cuts us off in traffic, to make fun of someone, to lie about something small, etc. What makes us act in these ways, with no charity in our hearts, no light in our actions? What else but “the spiritual forces of evil”? They tempt us to commit venial sins and walk in darkness. The armor of light is spiritual armor to protect us from “the cosmic powers of this present darkness.”

    Good and Evil (Le Bien et Le Mal), Victor Orsel (1829-1832) | Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons. Sometimes we mistakenly think of the battle of good and evil as an evenly matched war, but this is not the Catholic understanding (that’s actually the heresy of dualism). In fact, Christ and his angels are infinitely more powerful and effective than Satan and his demons. As this painting depicts, it is more a question of our choices to “put on the armor of light” versus our decision to give into temptation that has the most impact on how we perceive this battle in our lives.

    Paul assures us that we can trust this armor of light to help us live without sin. When we “put on” Christ, we can do so joyfully, for we know our Savior has already beaten death and Satan, and with him in our hearts, there is nothing we cannot do.

    But I ask myself: isn’t this what we’re supposed to be doing all the time? Isn’t this what it means to be Christian? And the answer is yes. Yet this season of Advent puts special attention on walking in the light. Why?

    The answer comes from the mouth of our Savior. “you do not know on which day your Lord will come,” he says in the gospel reading, and like the master of the house not knowing when the thief comes, “you also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come.” What a tension we live with! Something momentous hangs over us: a moment of ending, judgment, and new beginning. The stakes are so much higher than simple death; we are talking about eternal damnation or eternal glory. Let’s say that again: eternal.

    There are a few ways we can react to this: 1. rejection. This path can only be taken by willfully turning our back on God and His Word. What we know of hell is that it is precisely this willful rejection of God. If we’re this far down the road to even be considering Jesus’s words, we have accepted a certain relationship to our Creator, and rejection of his teaching of judgment simply means we reject Him and have placed ourselves in hell.

    The second reaction is anxiety and fear. This is a normal, rational reaction to having something momentous hanging over us. Rational because we know that we do not deserve heaven, and frankly we can never earn it. But this is not a particularly spiritual or faithful reaction. What do we know of our God? Over and over in scriptures we hear of His great mercy. We learn that He yearns for us to be with him in the Kingdom. And we have proof of this in his Son, who He sent to us so that we can have a Way to heaven. Only a loving God would give His son as a sacrifice for our unworthiness. This is his great sign that He will provide the grace, mercy, and love to bring us to him. Our half of the covenant is that we promise to walk in the light.

    So all of this leads us quite naturally and logically to the third reaction: hope and joy. Jesus reassures us: “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32). What a simple and awesome message! Like today’s gospel of Matthew, Luke’s gospel quickly follows these words with the thief analogy: “You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour” (Luke 12:40). This pairing of confidence in the Father’s mercy with a warning for preparedness is a necessary component of our Christian worldview. Our human nature coupled with the constant spiritual barrage of temptation creates a situation where we slip into sin. If we had overwhelming confidence in God’s mercy without a warning for preparedness, we would be tempted to just wait to repent until things got really bad (or on our deathbed). It is critical that we remain spiritually upright because the judgment will come without warning. This is the eschatological reason that Christians act the way we do.

    Doing good because we want the reward of heaven is a bit of a simplistic understanding, however. The deeper reason is wrapped up in who God is: pure light, life, goodness, truth, wisdom, beauty, and love. We crave final union with this pure divinity, and we learn to walk in the ways of light, goodness, and truth while here on earth because we love all that He is. We follow his law (perfected in Christ) because we don’t want to offend the One most deserving of all our love and because we trust that He gives us his law for our own benefit. The deeper reason Christians act the way we do is all about conforming our hearts to our God.

    With so much at stake (eternity) and with the goal of conforming our hearts to God and his law, we must open ourselves to a real examination. Is walking in the light and being prepared only about avoiding sin and doing good deeds? It must be more than that. If we walk in the spiritual light, preparing for final union with God, the goal is to become as much like Christ as we can so that union is possible. Trying to fuse dirty iron with pure gold is not the scenario we want. So, ask yourself the hard questions: do I prioritize the “right” of a person to choose what happens with their body knowing the outcome may be aborted children, even if I claim that I am personally pro-life? Here’s another: do I support the “right” for people to carry weapons of death, perhaps even carrying my own out of fear? Does God call us to protect our lives at all costs or does He instead say, “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends”? As we start to examine “hot button” topics, American Catholics tend to find that their heart is steered more by their political convictions than by God’s teaching. But God’s teachings aren’t there to make us feel good about our political party affiliations. And the opposite is certainly untrue as well. Really, truly walking in the light means conforming all of our heart to God and his teaching of righteousness. So, a third question: while maintaining the teachings of the Church, do I treat transgender and gay people, illegal immigrants, the homeless, and sinners of all stripes with love and respect, equal to me as a child of God, even if I believe that their choices and lifestyles are against God? So often we mistakenly judge others based on moral teachings we are trying to live up to. We have only one rule about how to act with others: love your neighbor as yourself. Putting on Christ and living in the light also means not judging, but loving. If this is uncomfortable, well, good! Because the stakes are high. 

    The Last Supper, Eularia Clarke (1962) | Image courtesy of the late artist’s website. Eularia Clarke was a painter in England who placed Christ in contemporary situations, something that I think we can learn a lot from. Here, Christ’s giving of himself as bread in a cafe implies that we can encounter the same forces of evil (see the devil on Judas’s shoulder on the left), doubt, generosity, etc. in everyday circumstances. The lesson is that we have the opportunity to play out both the human and supernatural aspects of Christ everyday.

    Back to the thrust of today’s readings, let’s remember that the spirit of Advent is active preparedness – one of both deeds and conversion of heart. I particularly like Luke’s companion gospel to today’s passage from Matthew: “Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so that they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks” (Luke 12:35-36). We are “dressed for action” in our armor of light. The lamps are lit with God’s wisdom so that we can see the Way. And we understand ourselves as humble servants of our great master, who is returning for us on the Day of Judgment. What a great vision, and may we all live up to it!

  • The Way to Pleasing God

    The First Sunday of Advent, Year C: Jeremiah 33:14-16, 1 Thessalonians 3:12 – 4:2, Luke 21:25-28, 34-36.

    It is right and just that Advent starts with looking forward to Christ’s coming, that is, “coming in a cloud with power and great glory,” as He himself attests in the gospel reading. Yes, in the liturgical calendar, this season occurs before the birth of the Christ child in Bethlehem, but the real waiting and anticipation that we are doing – right here, right now – as Christians alive in this last age is the waiting for the end of the world and the final judgment. We celebrate the birth of Christ at Christmas, but we don’t live in a make-believe reality where He has not yet been born.

    Too often we boil down Christianity to easy sayings (e.g., “God is Love”) and simple moral living. This is a great disservice to the density of the Christian life within which we live. Advent can easily be seen as a time simply waiting for the Christ baby to appear in the manger scene. Not so! Let’s remember that Christ has already begun His reign and has invited us to be a part of the kingdom while alive here on the earth. We can never be as fully united with God as we will in death, but we are given a way to experience the kingdom through the Holy Spirit, not to mention amazing role models (saints), sacraments, and spiritual communion. Not to mention, in terms of the hard facts of salvation history, Christ has ushered in this final era, whether we listen/understand/believe it or not. We are literally on the Way (to the end of humanity and all time), and the start of Advent is a reminder of exactly what it means to be on the Way.

    Judgment Day, Jean Cousin le fils (c. 1585) | image courtesy wikimedia.

    God is, as the saying goes, love; and lucky for us! Jeremiah reminds us of God’s loving covenant with us: “I will fulfill the promise I made … I will raise up for David a just shoot … Judah shall be safe and Jerusalem shall dwell secure.” The Jews never forgot that our relationship with God rests on this undeserved covenant He made with us, and neither should we. Without this covenant, the end of the world would be as bad as every Hollywood apocalypse movie or dystopian sci fi novel would have us believe. But with this covenant, we have hope; more than hope, we have God’s very promise.

    2000 years ago, God sent the “just shoot” from David’s line: Jesus. But His plan is even greater than we could imagine, because Christ ushers in an age where we have the ability to reach new spiritual heights, through Him. Those who listen to Him and abide in Him are able to experience the Kingdom and bring others to the Kingdom – a spectacular raising up of our souls and purpose that we couldn’t imagine possible. Christ promises that it will be hard, that we will be persecuted, and He himself accepts the most ignoble death to show us that in seeming weakness is the great, loving power of God. Thus, today’s second reading gives us St. Paul exhorting the Thessalonians to stick to the Way: “May the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all.” Why is this so important? Again, Christ has made possible for us the great spiritual purpose of making our way to the Kingdom. Apart from the saints, the vast majority of us will not experience the kingdom while still alive, but we must devote ourselves to it nonetheless. Paul explains why: “to be blameless in holiness before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his holy ones.” The Way itself helps us get to the Kingdom, whether partially experienced while still alive or simply through our efforts that show us faithful to Him when He comes on the cloud with the heavenly host. 

    This is a great way to reflect on why Catholics have spent so much time on preaching and living the moral life. We may have gone too far from mentioning God in our moral writings and conversations over the centuries because it really makes no sense if you’re not on the Way. If you’re not living the dense Christian life, aware of ourselves here in the final age, then moral decisions are as arbitrary as evil ones. I would go so far as to say that there is no real purpose to choosing good if you are not at the same time knowingly choosing God. Secularists would say that lawful society, psychological health, or longevity would be perfectly good examples of the purpose behind choosing good vs. evil. I would respond that all of these are justifications that deliberately remove God from our existence, creating a seemingly rational, human-made world. But that type of world Christians flatly reject. Our lives are a gift directly from God – how can we remove Him from the equation and think it’s rational? Lawful society, psychological health, and longevity are certainly benefits of moral action, but they should not be the purpose or the goal. The purpose we act morally is that we love God first, and God (who is love) has given to us commandments and precepts to help us achieve a greater, fuller way to be human. The purpose is our loving relationship with God as His subjects, and in the final age in which we live, that purpose has the goal revealed by Christ: walking the Way to the Kingdom that will be finally commenced at some point in the future. 

    Oh, the anticipation, the waiting! Yes, this is the Advent spirit. In the gospel reading, Christ tells us, “People will die of fright in anticipation of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.” We are in a state of tension, but it’s no holding pattern, with nothing to do and no way to hasten its fulfillment. He has given us His Spirit to help us stay on the path to the Kingdom. And so He can say, “when these signs begin to happen, stand erect and raise your heads because your redemption is at hand.” This is the great Christian message of hope: the end of the world is not annihilation but redemption and reunion with God. Don’t be frightened, be excited! But also, be prepared. Christ somberly exhorts His apostles in this reading to stick to the Way and not to falter: “Be vigilant at all times and pray that you have the strength to escape the tribulations that are imminent and to stand before the Son of Man.” So … excited with an asterisk, that we must be obedient to Him.

    Obedience is such a downer for today’s modern person, right? The modern would say that obedience equals stifling freedom of speech, obedience equals the white, rich status quo, and obedience prevents positive change. Where to start? It must always start with God, who is not a stifling influence but a creator, not a preventer but an expander of potential. When we take ourselves and our precious points of view so seriously that we forget that all we have is a gift we didn’t earn, then we are truly lost. In the end, obedience takes a heart docile to God, and once that happens, joy, wonder, and hope follow. Isn’t that what we want to experience in Advent?

    Unknown title, Kathy Jones (contemporary) | Image from kathyjonesstudio.com

    Perhaps the most helpful short line in today’s readings comes from St. Paul: “conduct yourselves to please God.” This wraps up everything we’ve been discussing: acknowledging God’s supreme sovereignty, the true purpose behind moral actions, the way to live in this final age that has already been given Christ but yet awaits Him still. It is right and just that the operative word here is to “please” God. God wants to please us, His beloved creation; and as we grow in love for Him, we realize that wanting to please Him is our greatest calling.

     

  • The Dawn from on High

    The Dawn from on High

    Thursday in the 4th Week of Advent: 2 Samuel 7:1-5, 8b-12, 14a, 16, Luke 1:67-79.

    Christmas Eve! Ah, the Dickensian glow that illuminates my image of this day. It’s the day of antique sweets in lamp-lit Victorian windows, snowball fights and sledding, and the night Scrooge finds a heart. But this Christmas Eve of my mind is based on novels and centuries of traditions from various nations and tribes. We customarily think that the original one was very different, in a desert culture without any of these comfy trappings. But was it any less “magical” feeling?

    Mosaic of Joseph and Mary traveling to Bethlehem (1315-1320), Chora Church in Istanbul | Wikimedia Commons.

    Let’s consider Bethlehem: December and January offer cold, often rainy days. Snow is rare, but not unheard of because Bethlehem is actually on a plateau 2,550 feet above sea level. This is all the more interesting since the Dead Sea is 1,100 feet below sea level, just 30 miles east of Bethlehem (by car, that is; it’s about 20 miles as the crow flies). Joseph, leading a donkey with a very pregnant Mary on it, has likely spent a few days in Jerusalem, packed with travelers trying to get to their ancestral homes for the census taking. Could there have been shops with sweets? Sure. How about kids frolicking in the streets? Sure!

    They leave the cacophony to hustle the final six miles southeast to Bethlehem. The town is packed, and there’s a fair chance they’re wet and cold and looking for a warm fire to settle in — especially welcome before Mary gives birth. We can imagine their sense of relief, even at just a stable. It’s a place they can be out of the space of strangers with curious eyes and expectations of social niceties. Joseph likely got a fire going, unpacked some blankets, and heated up some food and water while Mary began her birthing pains.

    So, on the surface, we find some similarities that link our current experience of Christmas Eve with theirs. But as we turn to today’s readings, we see that there are deeper feelings — anticipation for something great we feel in our hearts — that link us more strongly to them.

    In today’s first reading, we find King David musing about building God a house, but God tells the prophet Nathan in a dream that He is the one building a house for King David — a line of heirs who will produce a son that God will be a father to. So, the first impression we have today is an earthly debt we owe to our God and an unlikely response from Him: a waving off of this debt and a promise, in fact, of something new and awesome that He will give us. The promise of a great Christmas present! Now that is something that resonates with the little boy in me on Christmas Eve!

    Detail from Zacharias Writes Down the Name of his Son (1486-1490), Domenico Ghirlandaio | Wikimedia Commons.

    The gospel reading is a continuation of St. Luke’s gospel from the past few days. This is the great Canticle of Zechariah, also called the Benedictus, which he prophesies directly after his lips are loosened by the Lord. The first thing we hear is that he is “filled with the Holy Spirit,” which means that he is inspired by and experiencing the same Person of God who conceived Jesus in Mary’s womb and moved John in Elizabeth’s womb as Jesus came near.

    We often consider the Spirit as “fleeting” since He comes and goes like the wind in the world. Yet He operates with all the power, memory, and fullness of God the Father. The Holy Spirit connects moments of salvation history in an unexpected way. His presence can connect a person with all the great kairos of God’s coming to humanity, instilling a sense of peace and gravity that only comes with one aware of and active within that great plan.

    Moments with the Holy Spirit exist outside of linear time because they are an immersion in God Himself. The prophet Jeremiah, Zechariah the father of John, and St. Catherine of Siena (among many, many others) exist together in God when they are “filled with the Holy Spirit.” This sharing in the Spirit is what unites our Catholic (that is, universal) Church in a mystical relationship with the saints and angels. And nothing seems to better describe this moment of being filled by the Spirit than the great mixture of anticipation and joy of the coming of the Savior. Perhaps the feeling generated by the Holy Spirit is the true “Christmas spirit,” and we’ve just let secular notions replace the real thing.

    When we hear the Canticle of Zechariah, prophesied on the moment of Elijah’s return, the final prophet’s entry upon the scene, we share in the same heartfelt feelings of Christmas Eve. Zechariah speaks here on behalf of all of us recognizing that tomorrow brings the greatest Christmas present of all: Christ Himself.

    A short sidebar: isn’t it fascinating that Zechariah prophesies at the coming of his son, the great, last prophet? What I mean is that the trumpets heralding the coming of the Christ Event are simply multiplying. We know that John will be the great herald of the Messiah, but we even have a voice heralding the herald! We must imagine that the God-fearing people of Judea were tingling with prophetic trumpets in their ears.

    The Kingdom (20th century), unknown illustrator | Image from Pinterest.com. Could this be the shared vision of those who have been “filled with the Holy Spirit”?

    On to the Benedictus. The Holy Spirit, through Zechariah’s human voice, is thanking the Father, bending the knee to the Son, and encouraging the Baptist. This is what the world must do on Christmas Eve. “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel; for he has come to his people and set them free. He has raised up for us a mighty Savior, born of the house of his servant David.” We know this is the Spirit talking because He speaks of the Father and Son long before mentioning John, even though the mouth is Zechariah’s and he’s speaking at his own son John’s circumcision.

    The thanks and blessing go first to the Father, and the honor to the Son of the Father, the Messiah. Next is the profession of faith that leads to absolute trust in God: He has spoken through the prophets, He promised to show mercy, He gave an oath to Abraham. The Spirit seamlessly knits together God’s plan, despite the thousands of years separating events. This is kairos time. 

    This being said, the Spirit can turn His focus on the baby John: “You, my child, shall be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way.” The Spirit enables Zechariah to give a fatherly mission and blessing upon his son, the prophet-to-be. Even though the Spirit is the one talking, the man Zechariah is still there and in full possession of his faculties. He would not know his son’s destiny without the Spirit, and we can imagine the tears of joy that filled his eyes, how honored he must have felt to have Elijah returned as his son.

    These feelings of honor deepen into a river of gratitude and awe as he announces the Messiah, anticipating his son’s work: “In the tender compassion of our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.” The imagery of light is beautifully employed. Christ is the “dawn from on high,” sent with “tender compassion” by God, and “breaking” upon us. This gentle yet fierce dawn, brilliant and powerful, shines on the people of darkness who dwell in the “shadow of death.” Christ’s light is so pure it illuminates the Way, “guiding our feet into the way of peace.” As Christ will tell us, that Way is straight back to the Father, the One who has given us the dawn.

    The Spirit can find no better image for humans to understand the Christmas gift given by the Father. The Spirit tells us through Isaiah 750 years earlier: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light … and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom” (Is 9:2a, 7a). And the Spirit will speak through St. Paul 40-50 years later: “For once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light” (Eph 5:8). Light is used from the beginning of scriptures (God said let there be light and there was light) to the end as a way to describe God’s plan and the purity of things infused by Him. Light is the work of prophecy, revealing truth, as we see in Zechariah today.

    The Sun (Solen), 1911, Edvard Munch | Wikimedia Commons.

    Light — real, life-saving light in human form — is also the Christmas gift that makes us giddy for Christmas morning. In a passive way, we can receive this great, undeserved gift, but do we recognize the extent of the gift? If we really receive Him, He begins to transform us. We receive blessings as we bend our will to his. We start to glow with His light.

    And as He taught us, our light is not meant to be hidden under a bushel basket. Sharing His light with others, we participate in the work of God here on earth. This is a step towards divinification or theosis for ourselves, but we think not of our own rewards. The important bit is that light. That precious dawning sun for humanity that we suddenly, amazingly can permit to shine through our very selves.

    Now that’s a Christmas gift!

  • Amazing Portents

    Amazing Portents

    Wednesday in the 4th Week of Advent: Malachi 3:1-4, 23-24, Luke 1:57-66.

    At Penn State University where I attended college, a grand, elm-lined pedestrian walkway called Pattee Mall leads from College Ave all the way up to the library. Classroom buildings line the 0.3-mile stretch, and it is after one of these — the particularly nondescript Willard Building — that the infamous Willard Preacher was named.

    This bedraggled fellow would preach a distinct brand of fire-and-brimstone gospel to all the students streaming by and, more often than not, a few philosophy types (or, alternatively, frat boys trying to outdo one another in offensiveness) could be found shouting back and forth arguments with the Willard Preacher. I always thought of him as a type of prophet. I recall walking away from him several times on my way to class with a bit of unease as if I should be lingering to hear an important message.

    Then again, I remember encountering the poor guy at the bus stop one time thinking he was a homeless beggar until I recognized his profile and the proud eyes behind his dirty long hair. It was odd to have this quiet moment next to someone who always seemed to be at the center of a maelstrom of noise. 

    Wild Man (contemporary), Mary Giacomini | Image from Pixels.com.

    I thought of the Willard Preacher when I read today’s readings, probably because I recognized that same sense of something important descending on the neighbors of Zechariah and Elizabeth. We read that “fear came upon all their neighbors” as his tongue was loosed upon the naming of John the Baptist. Something new came into the family — the name John — but the loosening of Zechariah’s mute tongue spoke of greater portents. Something was happening and they needed to pay attention.

    In the first reading, the prophet Malachi lays out more details about these great things manifesting in the house of Zachariah and Elizabeth. In hindsight, we can see how Malachai’s words directly relate to John and Jesus: “Lo, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me.” We have examined several times this Advent how John is “the voice crying out in the wilderness” foreseen by Isaiah. Even so, it’s worth recognizing how unique it is to foresee another prophet in addition to the Savior.

    You’d think Malachi’s prophecy would be concerned with the Messiah, and everything else is irrelevant. But it’s not irrelevant: God chooses to share this vision, “Lo, I will send you Elijah, the prophet, Before the day of the LORD comes.” Elijah, one of the greatest of the Jewish prophets, who was taken up to heaven bodily on a flaming chariot, is promised to return to earth before the Messiah comes, specifically in order to “prepare the way” for Him.

    As we heard this Advent, Jesus professes that John is, in fact, the promised Elijah. The Messiah and this final prophet, this returned Elijah, are inseparably linked. It’s an important way for God to signal the importance of His Son and at the same time, it’s the action of His Son’s entrance into humanity that blesses the entire line of God’s prophets that came before Him, making them more important as a consequence.

    But Zachariah and Elizabeth’s neighbors didn’t have the advantage of hindsight that all Christians do. They had the rich tradition of the Torah and the prophets, though. And as they considered what Zechariah’s freeing from being mute meant at the precise moment that his son, this new John, was made part of the Jewish tribe at his circumcision and name-giving day, they had this rich tradition to mine.

    They would have wondered what the opening up of a voice, a new voice, would have meant when it happens in miraculous circumstances. The symbolism was clear: it was as if nothing the respected priest Zachariah had to say was important until the announcement of his son’s arrival to the Chosen People. By extension, the entire tradition held its breath and its tongue, silent, until the announcement “John is his name” was inscribed. Zechariah has written the first line of a new book of prophecy. With the words of Isaiah, Jeremiah, Malachi and many others resounding in their heads, the people would then hear that Zechariah’s first words in many months are a great blessing to God after John is proclaimed. It is no wonder that “fear came upon all their neighbors and all these matters were discussed throughout the hill country of Judea. All who heard these things took them to heart, saying, ‘What, then, will this child be?’ For surely the hand of the Lord was with him.”

    The Prophet Malachi (c.1900-1910), Frederick James Shields, Stained Glass Design | Creative Commons, courtesy ArtUK/ Wolverhampton Art Gallery

    God planted the seeds of this sacred fear and wonder several millennia earlier. How they must have marveled with the sense of something of ultimate importance hanging in the very air around them! The Holy Spirit was active in the world, Elijah was alive again in the world, and God Himself was about to make His entrance into our mortal plane. Spiritual antennae were quivering, to be sure.

    I’d like to finish this short reflection with a look at Malachi’s description of Christ. The Word of God describes what His own work on earth will be: “he is like the refiner’s fire, or like the fuller’s lye. He will sit refining and purifying silver, and he will purify the sons of Levi, Refining them like gold or like silver that they may offer due sacrifice to the LORD.” We must never forget this message about our Savior.

    He is the worker, the hand that refines the impure material and creates something that will be suitable to give glory to the Father. This orders not just our theology but our philosophy of self. First, Christ comes not just to wave a magic wand of salvation but to work with a specific raw material to refine it for His Father.

    Second, we are that raw, impure ore, waiting to be refined. This means we should expect to change over the course of our lives. This means we need to look to Christ our Savior to change us, not to try to change ourselves by our own will and plans. And, this means that our end goal is to offer pure, “due” sacrifice to the Lord. Christ will teach us that the acceptable sacrifice to the Lord is our own heart, our will, our entire person.

    Third, we understand that Christ is doing this work not for his own glory but for the glory of the Father, and thereby reveals the endless cycling of love between the Father, Son, and us as crucial elements in that love.  

    What a theologically rich few lines of prophecy about the Messiah!

    And how lovely that we see this cycle of refinement for the glory of God active within Zachariah. God uses him as an example of how we must silence our own will while God does the work of refining our spirit — with our acceptance being paramount. Then, we are able to properly give glory to God. This cycle of love we see active in Zechariah is incomplete and imperfect, however, because Christ has yet to be born and make His great sacrifice to conquer death, which will carry Zechariah into the Kingdom alongside Him to glory the Father for eternity. But that doesn’t mean Zechariah’s glory-giving to God is imperfect, as we’ll see tomorrow!

    Circumcision and Birth of John the Baptist with Annunciation to Zechariah (1535), Teramo Piaggio | Wikimedia Commons.

    So, let us end these last few days of Advent with these great portents gripping us as they did the Jews at the naming of John. Let’s make sure our anticipation of Christ is configured appropriately: waiting for His help in refining our spirit to make us acceptable to the Father.

  • Maidservants, Rejoice!

    Maidservants, Rejoice!

    Tuesday in the 4th Week of Advent: 1 Samuel 1:24-28, Luke 1:46-56.

    As we approach our great day of rejoicing, the significance of our readings and the weight of salvation history build and magnify. We have been holding our breath, waiting for the Christ child to burst into the world, and these readings hit us like a burning in our lungs, desperate for the life-giving air just ahead.

    Today’s readings leave me reeling, almost giddy with the knowledge that we get to take part in God’s great plan. Today, we hear Mary’s great Canticle, the Magnificat, the longest passage in the gospels attributed to her and something we chant along with her every night at Vespers. For many years, I thought of this as a slightly out-of-place, slightly stiff prayer. It seemed odd to be coming from the young, pregnant virgin.

    But the readings today illuminate how Mary is the perfected maidservant of the Lord, offering Him rightful praise in a specific form handed down to her in the Jewish tradition. By tracing how Hannah prefigures Mary, much like other figures such as King David prefigure Jesus, we can see how the Christ Event transforms all who are caught up in His glory.

    Hannah presenting her son Samuel to the priest Eli (1665), Gerbrand van den Eeckhout | Wikimedia Commons.

    Hannah is the mother of the great prophet Samuel. Like Sarah before her, Hannah was barren and taunted by her husband’s second wife because of it. She prayed fervently to the Lord for a child and promised to dedicate the boy as a Nazirite if God would grant her a child. She prays so fervently (yet silent, swaying with her lips moving) that the priest Eli thinks she is drunk and scolds her. But she explains herself to him and he sends her away with a blessing. She responds, “Let your maidservant find favor in your sight” (1 Sam 1:18a, NASB and NKJV translations).

    Lo, and behold, she conceives and bears the boy Samuel. Today’s first reading recounts how she returns to the temple with the boy, encounters Eli again, and leaves the boy there to be dedicated to God as a Nazirite. 

    These facts alone make her a precursor to Mary: barrenness/virgin womb, God’s help in conceiving a child, a humble and prayerful demeanor as as a “maidservant of the Lord,” and giving birth to a great religious figure. But it is the beginning of the second chapter in 1 Samuel where we see the huge parallel today.

    At first I was flummoxed as to why the first reading wasn’t Hannah’s great prayer of thanks to God because of how it parallels the Canticle of Mary, but then I realized that it is actually used today as the responsorial psalm! It’s very fitting, too, because Hannah’s prayer looks and sounds much like one of the Psalms, which were meant to be sung, not just spoken.

    We can recognize the similarities right from the beginning. Hannah begins, “My heart exults in the Lord; my strength is exalted in my God,” and Mary begins, “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my savior.” The two are not an exact match, and rightly so for Mary did not just repeat Hannah’s praise word-for-word (nor did Luke crib the text from the Book of Samuel!). They share a certain form in terms of their poetry, a certain amount of content, and a similar posture of exultant trust in the Lord’s power. Here is a quick look at their similarities:

    Hannah’s PrayerCanticle of Mary
    My heart exults in the Lord; my strength is exalted in my God. (1 Sam 2:1a)My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my savior. (Luke 1:46-47)
    There is no Holy One like the Lord, no one besides you; there is no Rock like our God. (1 Sam 2:2)the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his Name. (Luke 1:49)
    Talk no more so very proudly, let not arrogance come from your mouth; for the Lord is a God of knowledge, and by him actions are weighed. (1 Sam 2:3)He has shown the strength of his arm, and has scattered the proud in their conceit. (Luke 1:51)
    The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble gird on strength. (1 Sam 2:4)He has cast down the mighty from their thrones and has lifted up the lowly. (Luke 1:52)
    Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry are fat with spoil. (1 Sam 2:5a)He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty. (Luke 1:53)
    He will guard the feet of his faithful ones, (1 Sam 2:9a)He has mercy on those who fear him in every generation. (Luke 1:50)
    The Lord will judge the ends of the earth; he will give strength to his king, and exalt the power of his anointed. (1 Sam 2:10b)He has come to the help of his servant Israel for he remembered his promise of mercy, the promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children for ever. (Luke 1:54-55)

    As we look at these two paeans, over 1,000 years apart, we can see why Mary spoke in this formal way: much like Messianic prophecy is fulfilled in Christ, the “right praise” of God by His faithful maidservant is fulfilled in Mary. This formal prayer/song of praise is used when righteous Jewish women have been blessed by God’s mercy and through His power give birth to a person who changes the world. The Spirit of the Lord guides Mary to give praise in a way fit for the gravity of her role in salvation history.

    The Visitation (1503), Mariotto Albertinelli | Wikimedia Commons.

    As for what distinguishes the two, we can say that Hannah’s prayer feels like a capstone moment — it’s the song of vindication from the underdog who has been blessed with victory. You hear her mention many reversals of fortune: the mighty become weak while the feeble find strength, full people are destitute while the hungry are fat, barren women have many children while the one with many children is forlorn, etc. She recognizes that only by the power of Almighty God can these things happen, and she also recognizes that faithfulness to Him is repaid generously.

    Mary, on the other hand, establishes less of a posture of the vindicated underdog and more of the simple handmaiden made as firm and beautiful as pearl by her faith in God. Those opening lines are just poetically beautiful: “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my savior, for he has looked upon his lowly servant.” She opens herself up so personally, so truthfully.

    And she is in touch with the part of herself that communes with God: it is her spirit that is rejoicing and her soul proclaiming. She also realizes her place in salvation history here: “From this day all generations will call me blessed.” And I think it is this recognition that enables her to take on the formality of this prayer as well as the following lines that detail His work in previous generations: “He has shown the strength of his arm, and has scattered the proud in their conceit. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones and has lifted up the lowly. … the promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children for ever.” This is essentially the structure of the Canticle of Mary: a personal, soulful prayer of thanks followed by the recognition of the fruition of God’s saving power in the history of her people. This is a prayer all of us can say with her and thank her for giving us the words of “right praise.”

    All of our Advent themes are intertwining as we approach Christmas: anticipation, justice, patience, praise, recognition. But today’s readings demonstrate that the mystery is much deeper and more mystical than mere reflections can appreciate. Any type of “appreciation of themes and meaning” falls far short of coming face-to-face with the majesty and grandeur of God’s plan.

    This is where forms and poetry play a role: for instance, Mary inhabiting and transforming an ages-old psalm of praise as the mystery elevates her. Forms and formality play a huge role in our Catholic experience of our faith for this very reason. The mysteries lived out in the Mass achieve a level of call and response that echoes our deepest yearnings for God and His for us. The forms of the prayers and songs at Mass soar within the great river of praise as passed down from Noah and Abraham until now.

    I guess what I’m saying is that while I love a completely personal, charismatic, and spirit-filled experience of God and our faith, I truly believe that the forms of our prayer, the rituals of our sacramental life elevate us and our experience of the mysteries of our faith. More than simply enriching our faith lives, the forms are essential because they achieve a beauty of expression that is missing without them.

    Mass of Saint Giles (c.1500) Master of Saint Giles | Wikimedia Commons.

  • “Fathering” the Word of God – Part II

    “Fathering” the Word of God – Part II

    Friday in the 3rd Week of Advent: Judges 13:2-7, 24-25a, Luke 1:5-25.

    On the heels of yesterday’s reflection of St. Joseph’s righteousness and exemplary acceptance of God’s plan for him, today’s readings give us the stories of two other scriptural fathers, 1,100 years apart, with stunning parallels. Neither father accepts God’s word to the extent that Joseph does, although both of their sons are towering figures in bringing people to God: Samson and John the Baptist. While accentuating the true blessedness of St. Joseph, both readings underline our need to trust in the Lord as well as the impact of generational germination of the Word.

    The first reading from the Book of Judges presents the origins of the near-mythological Samson, the last of the judges before the Judaic monarchy is established. Samson’s family is not particularly distinguished; we don’t know much from scripture other than his unnamed mother worked in the fields like a common Jewish woman of the time: “the angel of God came again to the woman as she sat in the field” (Jgs 13:9). But God likes to work through the humble and lowly, doesn’t He?

    The readings today give us several important parallels between Samson and John the Baptist: both of their mothers were barren and older, both sets of parents were visited by an angel promising that they would become pregnant and give birth to men who would be important figures for the Lord and His work, and both fathers do some questioning before acquiescing to the angel.

    And then there are the parallels between the men themselves. Samson is to be brought up as a Nazirite, which means “one separated” or “one consecrated.” This was a class of people as recorded in the Book of Numbers, Chapter 6. God declares to Moses that Nazirites should not shave their hair, drink alcohol, or come in contact with corpses. Being a Nazirite was a sign of consecrating oneself to God, like an early form of voluntary commitment to a religious order.

    Samson’s life was filled with episodes of conquering nature or putting it to good use: slaying the lion with his bare hands, tying torches to the tails of 300 foxes to burn Philistine fields, killing 1,000 Philistines with the jawbone of a donkey, etc. These actions and his God-given superhuman strength served to make Jew and Gentile alike marvel at the works of the Lord and believe more deeply in the Jewish God. 

    Samson Slaying the Lion (1628), Peter Paul Rubens | Wikimedia Commons.

    John, for his part, shares many of these characteristics. We know that he was the “voice crying out in the wilderness” and he is aligned with nature in several aspects: “John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey” (Mk 1:6, Mt 3:4). He lives apart, much like a devout Nazirite; today, we hear the angel tell his father, Zechariah: “He will drink neither wine nor strong drink.” He is also depicted throughout Christian art history as being wild in appearance, with long, uncut hair. Since he was completely devoted to being God’s mouthpiece (see A Day of Vindication by Our God), he was as close to a Nazirite in spirit as you can get, if not formally one. 

    (Recently, in his book, Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls, Catholic scholar John Bergsma makes a strong case that John the Baptist may have been part of the Essene movement from early in his life — another proto-monastic group much like the Nazirites).

    But today’s readings aren’t about Samson and John; instead, they’re about God’s announcement of these great figures to their childless, barren parents. This, in itself, is proof of God’s loving mercy and overflowing generosity to those who remain faithful to Him. There are many stories of God granting pregnancies to barren women in the Bible, starting with our patriarch Abraham and his wife, Sarah. In sympathy with these women who lived in a culture where birthing children, especially sons, was given such importance, we see that God responds to their feelings of inadequacy, abandonment by God, and failure. Into these hearts, yearning to feel God’s healing love, He delivers a miraculous fecundity. I am reminded of previous reflections on agricultural harvest and fertility. God’s blessings carry this same imperative: to bring forth fruits of righteousness. For Samson’s mother and John’s mother, these fruits are their sons. 

    With Mary, God gives us a turning point. He sends the Spirit to bring about Jesus in her womb, and here divinity itself becomes the answer to humanity, which has repeated its sacrifices and strivings generation after generation to no avail. As Fr. Jean Corbon writes, the time leading up to Mary “is also the time when prophetic words and cultic sacrifices are repeated again and again; nothing can do away with this repetition, which signals the grip of death, until the coming of the event that ‘once and for all’ delivers man from death” (The Wellspring of Worship, 35).

    Women prayed for children in the Time of Promises because they were caught in the wheel of generational futility, the “grip of death.” With Mary, the child that is born is a new being, a God and man, who establishes His Reign on earth and delivers humanity from the grip of death. No longer do we need long for children alone to prolong our lives on the planet because Christ has opened up for us life eternal!

    After Christ, our spiritual fruits, rather than physical offspring, are the fruits for which we pray and upon which we pin our hopes.

    Fruits of the Spirit (contemporary) Leann Bowen Fine Art | Image from etsy.com.

    St. Paul is very good at exhorting us to embrace this new state of being. He recognizes how the Nazirite tradition prefigured the state of being a Christian. Sanctifying ourselves to God and restraining ourselves from worldly things is now the de facto state for all. This is because of the Spirit, who descended upon Mary and whom Christ has promised will guide us throughout the End Times. Paul writes to the Galatians: “Live by the Spirit, I say, and do not gratify the desires of the flesh. … those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires” (5:16, 24).

    We are all now anointed, set apart, and sanctified for God thanks to Jesus Christ. We must live by the Spirit, and this brings us back to the idea of fruitfulness and fertility. The new fertility is one of the Spirit. Paul writes: “the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control” (Gal 5:22-23a). The fruit that we bring forth into the world is God’s love! This is marked by charity and the personal attributes that Paul lists.

    Note that this is real fruit — it represents the true germination of the Word in our hearts and the creation of new selves. More importantly, this new self is outwardly focused, generating God’s love within all those we meet. We cannot deny the impact of pure charity, forgiveness, patients, and generosity on others. This is the harvest we are called to bring into the Kingdom.

    Of course, we’re imperfect (thanks be to God for the sacraments of Confession and Eucharist!).

    Let’s return to the fathers in today’s readings: Manoah and Zechariah. Both men reveal an imperfect reception of the Word of God delivered by the angel. First (in verses skipped by the Lectionary), Manoah reacts to his wife’s news of the angel by asking God to hear it himself: “O Lord, I pray, let the man of God whom you sent come to us again and teach us what we are to do concerning the boy who will be born” (Jgs 13:8). God sends His angel again, but once again to Manoah’s wife, and she has to run to get Manoah to meet him.

    We are witnessing a little frustration by Manoah that God isn’t doing things the way he wants him to. Manoah asks the angel what they should do with the child and the angel responds a bit dismissively, “Let the woman give heed to all that I said to her” (Jgs 13:13). Like Joseph, Manoah is being asked to take a back seat here, but he’s not quite as good at accepting this as Joseph.

    Manoah wants to make an offering to the angel in response to the news and asks, “What is your name, so that we may honor you when your words come true?” But the angel of the Lord said to him, “Why do you ask my name? It is too wonderful” (Jgs 13:17-18). While not doing anything specifically against God here, Manoah is living in a way where his actions and expectations are driven by the culture of the Jewish law: he offers the prescribed sacrifice and attempts to take control of the situation as the man of the house. Contrast this with Joseph hearing the Word of God and responding in righteousness from the heart. Both men are asked to “father” the Word of God, and Joseph clearly is more configured internally to the Word Himself than Manoah.

    We see a similar circumstance with Zechariah. We hear Zechariah respond to the angel with much more challenge in his demeanor: “How shall I know this? For I am an old man, and my wife is advanced in years.” This would be surprising for those who associate the trappings of piety with actual conformation to God. Zechariah was of the priestly class and in the much-respected role of entering the sanctuary of the Lord alone to burn incense. Of course, Christ preached many times against those who appear to be living according to the law but are not transformed in their hearts, so from our perspective as Christians we should not be too surprised.

    Unlike the episode with Manoah, the angel is not shy about using his own name in a bit of a smack-down: “I am Gabriel, who stand before God. I was sent to speak to you and to announce to you this good news. But now you will be speechless and unable to talk until the day these things take place, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled at their proper time.” How ironic that the father of the great Voice in the Wilderness would be silenced himself throughout his wife’s pregnancy! God’s plan for the announcement and coming of His Son has no room for lukewarm reception or obstacles.

    Zechariah, like Manoah before him and Joseph after him, must take a humble position while fathering the Word of God, and in his case, it must be an externally enforced humbling.

    Zechariah and St. John the Baptist. A medieval Georgian fresco from Monastery of the Cross, Jerusalem (c.1600s) | Wikimedia Commons.

    I’m not trying to take Manoah and Zechariah down a peg — don’t get me wrong. Both men are great figures in our faith tradition. When his tongue is loosed at the circumcision and naming of John, Zechariah gives us one of the great canticles that we chant daily at Lauds (this is the gospel reading on Christmas Eve Mass during the day). Their stories do, however, contrast with Joseph’s humble fathering of the Word, and they give us room to reflect on how we might be fathering the Word in our own lives. We all must germinate and gestate the Word in our hearts and souls; we all must meet God’s plan with humility and acceptance rather than hesitation and excuses; and we all must bring forth the fruits of the Spirit during our time here on earth.

    As we remind ourselves of our Nazirite calling as Christians during this Advent time of waiting and anticipation, we might be tempted to wonder if this is worth it. After all, if the cycle of human reproduction and death ended 2,000 years ago in Christ, why does it still feel that we’re on that hamster wheel? Be comforted in the fact that this confusion over the time of Christ’s Second Coming has existed from the earliest Apostolic Age. In St. Peter’s second letter we read his exhortation to keep the faith:

    But do not ignore this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day. The Lord is not slow about his promise, as some think of slowness, but is patient with you, not wanting any to perish, but all to come to repentance. But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a loud noise, and the elements will be dissolved with fire, and the earth and everything that is done on it will be disclosed  (3:8-10).

    This is the message of Advent. Keep your lamps trimmed and burning, for we know neither the day nor the hour when the Lord will come in judgment. “Therefore, beloved, while you are waiting for these things, strive to be found by him at peace, without spot or blemish; and regard the patience of our Lord as salvation” (2 Peter 3:14-15a).