Just as Christmas has various meanings, some of which we openly celebrate in our Catholic liturgies, so the Season of Advent has a number of meanings. Some of these meanings come from the Liturgy, some come from the Scriptures, some from long practice and beliefs, some from the culture in which we are all more or less immersed.
In our week-end and week-day Masses during December, we shall briefly examine, and celebrate, the meanings of Advent emphasized by the prayers and scripture readings. They include talk about “the Second Coming,” or “end of this age,” or “coming of the Kingdom of God,” and towards Christmas, “the coming of Christ” in his birth. In light of our Catholic faith, Church teachings, prayers at Mass, and the appointed Readings for the Season—and surely informed by years of trying to live within the Body of Christ—it seems to me that there is an essential, underlying meaning to Advent that can all-too-easily be neglected or downplayed. What clouds our attention is not only the commercialism of this “shopping season,” nor our habit of partying. Even some of the biblical readings and prayers at Mass at times may cause more confusion or less thoughtful insight than one would wish. Talk of the “Second Coming,” for example—a phrase never used in the New Testament, incidentally—surely directs attention in a misleading direction, or even into a cul-de-sac of understanding. Also highly confusing to Christians is biblical prophecy about “the coming of the Kingdom of God.” This Hebrew expression is rarely understood, and actually was often a term used loosely or without sufficient clarifying. In other words, some of the symbolic language used during Advent confuses, rather than guides and illuminates, our faith in the living God. Some of these details will be presented in week-day homilies, and perhaps in our week-end Masses as well. What, most briefly stated, is the underlying meaning of Advent? It is a season for awareness of our ignorance of God, and a faith-inspired awareness that what we call God far surpasses our human understanding. Advent highlights “watching and waiting,” not for what we expect or believe, but for the divine mystery to unfold as God wills, not according to our plans or thoughts or feelings. Advent should be a season of stripping away false expectations and illusions before the truth of the unseen God. All-too-often, Advent is hidden beneath such illusions, or perhaps just plain ignored because of shopping, parties, entertainment, sporting events, and too much booze. |
We welcome Bishop Michael Warfel to our parish faith communities this week-end. With respect and keen interest, we shall listen to what he says, and enjoy his warm friendliness. As St. Benedict writes in his Rule, “Let every guest be received as Christ.” Recently I came across a thought in an English poet, to the effect that every human being bears the image of God our Creator, but it is especially in the poor that one meets Christ, who made himself poor for our sakes. To carry the burdens of office is a sharing in the poverty of Christ.
Now we are entering the darkest ten weeks of the year, marked and celebrated by the winter solstice, and with the great Feast of Christmas bringing light and joy into the darkness of nature and wintry hearts. Approaching Christmas, we will hear stories about the end of the world, destruction, and warnings to “prepare to meet our God.” And in the midst of reflecting on things to come, we will keep the feast of Christ the eternal and rightful ruler over all. Mass readings and prayers will also remind us to remember those who have died, and those who are near death now, and to be mindful of our own passing from this world into the unseen God.
Like Christ himself, we are all ever coming and going. Bodily we have been born once, spiritually we must be born again and again by the divinizing power of faith working through love. And we are ever leaving this passing world, as St. Augustine wrote, “through the affections of our hearts,” through our growing union with God beyond death. We await and receive the God who comes to the poor in spirit, to the humble, to those who mourn and are heavy-burdened, to those who suffer out of love.
Recently, God has come and taken to himself a number of our beloved brothers and sisters in our faith communities. To some extent, our love for them carries us with them, across the threshold of eternity, into the silence and peace of God. And as we remember them and thank God for their lives, they come to us in thoughts and remembered experiences, bringing us hints of divine joy. Without destroying our uniqueness, but perfecting each creature, Love draws us into Itself, into the unfathomable depths. The tide goes out, and we feel it drawing us, slowly, steadily, away from what we have known, into the divine mystery.
Now we are entering the darkest ten weeks of the year, marked and celebrated by the winter solstice, and with the great Feast of Christmas bringing light and joy into the darkness of nature and wintry hearts. Approaching Christmas, we will hear stories about the end of the world, destruction, and warnings to “prepare to meet our God.” And in the midst of reflecting on things to come, we will keep the feast of Christ the eternal and rightful ruler over all. Mass readings and prayers will also remind us to remember those who have died, and those who are near death now, and to be mindful of our own passing from this world into the unseen God.
Like Christ himself, we are all ever coming and going. Bodily we have been born once, spiritually we must be born again and again by the divinizing power of faith working through love. And we are ever leaving this passing world, as St. Augustine wrote, “through the affections of our hearts,” through our growing union with God beyond death. We await and receive the God who comes to the poor in spirit, to the humble, to those who mourn and are heavy-burdened, to those who suffer out of love.
Recently, God has come and taken to himself a number of our beloved brothers and sisters in our faith communities. To some extent, our love for them carries us with them, across the threshold of eternity, into the silence and peace of God. And as we remember them and thank God for their lives, they come to us in thoughts and remembered experiences, bringing us hints of divine joy. Without destroying our uniqueness, but perfecting each creature, Love draws us into Itself, into the unfathomable depths. The tide goes out, and we feel it drawing us, slowly, steadily, away from what we have known, into the divine mystery.
With Job we experience loss, change, strangely new comings, and we pray: “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I return. The LORD has given, the LORD has taken away: Blessed be the name of the LORD.”
