At the Threshold

READINGS: Micah 5:1-4a  Hebrews 10:5-10  Luke 1:39-45

Have you ever looked at someone in a completely different way?  Maybe it's a friend or loved one you're close to: someone you know better than anyone else.  Or maybe it's someone that you have known at a distance, like a co-worker or a student at school, and have some preconceived notions about.  Have you ever looked at them and felt like you were seeing them for the first time?  Have you ever had your preconceptions about a person wrenched away when you see a side of them you'd never seen before?

Micah, like Zephaniah, is considered a minor prophet, but his book stands as an outcry to the poor and oppressed.  It's easy to read his words and think that he is foretelling the birth of Jesus, but he is writing almost 800 years before Christ would arrive.  What he's really doing is calling out a corrupt Jerusalem and the established powers there, and promising the people that a new order would be established that would conform more to God's will.

The pointing to Bethlehem isn't just to fit in with the story of the Nativity: it's where the descendants of David resided, and it was believed that any supreme authority would come from his bloodline (Matthew would confirm this in the opening to his Gospel).  He is looking for a reformation for the people of Israel: a rallying cry under a new banner.

Today, we can interpret this as yet another call to change ourselves, or renew ourselves in Christ.  It's important that Micah isn't looking to some force outside of Israel to change it, but that the change must come from Bethlehem: a town "too small to be among the clans of Judah."  The power of reform comes from within, as much in that holy city as within ourselves.

We can also think about why a great power would come from so small a city.  Bloodlines aside, it speaks to the power of the human spirit: that great things can come from even the least among us, and so we should never discount the people we meet, but embrace them as images of Christ among us.

I'm reminded, of course, of The Lord of the Rings, and the idea that the destruction of evil was achieved through Frodo Baggins: the small hobbit with a strong will and heart pure enough to resist the One Ring's lust for power.  He quite literally carries the burden of the Ring across the vast landscape of Middle-Earth to destroy it in volcanic Mount Doom.  In the first film, The Fellowship of the Ring, the beautiful elven queen Galadriel reminds Frodo that "even the smallest person can change the course of the future."

This theme exists in countless forms of storytelling, whether it's farmboy Luke Skywalker blowing up the Death Star in Star Wars, young Harry Potter defeating the evil Lord Voldemort, or David slaying Goliath, we are reminded time and again that greatness lies within us.  In Christian terms, we are reminded that Christ is alive in each of us, and it is through Him that we are graced with the power to withstand the temptations and tribulations of this world.

In most of these cases above, some manner of power is destroyed, and a new power rises.  Destroying the Ring allows Aragorn, a lonely vagabond with a regal birthright, to take his rightful place as the king of the race of men in Middle-Earth.  Blowing up the Death Star sets in motion events that would see the fall of the corrupt Empire in a galaxy far, far away, and the rise of the New Republic.

Similarly, we have the Letter to the Hebrews, which reiterates that Christ came into the world to destroy the old way, and establish the new.  It's likely that this letter was not written by Paul, or that it was even intended for the Hebrews.  Rather, it was apparently speaking to a Jewish-Christian people who were struggling to keep the old ways (Old Testament) while also embracing the new.

The author reminds the people--in the voice of Jesus--that it was the old way of "sacrifices and offerings" that the people rejected.  Christ then came along and gave us a new model to follow.  It was no longer about paying homage to God in what we offered to Him, but instead following His will so that we may offer something more to each other.  "He takes away the first to establish the second," just as Micah was looking for the coming of a new power in Israel.

In both cases, it's clear that these two things--the old and the new--cannot coexist.  We must turn away from our old habits: our selfishness, our judgmental nature, our impulses.  Only then can we embrace the new way of living with a different sight so that we can recognize God's hand in the world instead of only seeing what we want to see.

Finally, we have the story of the Visitation.  This is a little confusing if you're following the readings week by week.  Just last week we were talking about John the Baptist and his message of repentance. This week, John isn't even born yet.

Obviously, the main thrust of the passage is the leaping of the infant and the joy of Elizabeth at seeing Mary.  Immediately, her infant recognizes that Christ is present, and Elizabeth hails her own sister as the very "mother of my Lord."  We are given the foundation of what would become the Hail Mary, which now paints Mary as something other than simply "the handmaid."  She is now a holy vessel through which God would establish his new covenant.

Imagine you are Elizabeth.  You've known Mary your whole life.  You're sisters.  You've grown up together.  You know her better than anyone in the world.  And suddenly, she is not just your sister.  She carries Christ within her.  It might have been both a joy and a shock for Elizabeth to see that in her sister.

So too, we are asked to recognize Christ in each other.  At a time of year when we will be inviting people into our homes and visiting others, our duty is two-fold.

We have a chance here to be on both sides of the threshold: sometimes we are Elizabeth, sometimes we are Mary.  As hosts to our guests, we are called to recognize the light of Christ in those we encounter both within and outside our homes.  As Mary, we are called to remember that when we are in others' presence, we are Christ to that person, and should conduct ourselves as though we were carrying Christ's light within us.

Rejoice in Love

READINGS: Zephaniah 3:14-18a  Philippians 4:4-7  Luke 3:1-6

For the first two weeks of Advent, we've been asked to examine ourselves from the inside out and recommit ourselves to Jesus, to God, and to each other.

This week, we are assured that our efforts are not in vain: that Jesus is real and present, and the grace we receive through Him can transform our lives so that we may transform the lives of others.

Zephaniah is one of the "minor prophets," and his structure follows much the same as Jeremiah and Baruch.  The first part of his book is again filled with condemnation and warning against both the people of Israel, and those outside Israel.  The second part features the promise of forgiveness, redemption, and a return to favor in God's eyes.

This is the week that says, "Enough doom and gloom."  No more visions of the apocalypse, no more scolding and admonishing.  If you have turned yourself to seek God, then this week welcomes you into the joy of His presence.

It's also important to see here that Zephaniah isn't just speaking of our own personal joy, but the joy of God Himself.  As a prophet, it's kind of his job to tell people, "God isn't too thrilled with you, right now."  It was mainly through this fear (and the consequences of it) that drove the people to repentance.  But now Zephaniah speaks of a different aspect of God: the God that takes great joy in us turning back to Him.

Think about the people closest to you, or even perhaps a past relationship or friendship.  Think about the ones you would do anything for.  Have they ever hurt or disappointed you, even if it wasn't their intention?  The pain caused by those closest to us cuts deeper than anything else.  In this way, we can imagine that for a God who loves us unconditionally, it hurts greatly when we stray from Him.

In the same way, think of the last time someone apologized to you, or perhaps you to another person. Remember the power of forgiveness and the weight that is lifted off your shoulders through the simple act of reconciliation.  Similarly, imagine God's joy when we put aside our pride and make an effort to re-pledge ourselves to Him.  Faith is very much a two-way street, and when we find joy in Christ, He rejoices in us.

Paul also invites us to rejoice (twice!)  We are told to "have no anxiety at all," because God will provide for what we really need.  The standout here is the way in which Paul implores us to ask for what we need: "prayer and petition, with thanksgiving."

Of course, we do this every Sunday at mass during the Prayer of the Faithful.  But I think that second part is often lost on us: thanksgiving.  Before we ask for what we need, we should first give thanks for what we have.

I'm often amazed at Thanksgiving when we gather with our friends and loved ones on a day that literally means "to give thanks" for each other and for what we have.  It's ironic that mere hours later, we are gathering in the pre-dawn darkness outside our favorite "big box" stores to get the best deals on things we didn't need until that very moment.

Most of us will receive some gift or other (probably more than one) this Christmas, but as we get older, we often realize that we enjoy the giving a lot more than the receiving.  That's because our focus has shifted.  A child asks for toys.  A teenager might ask for clothes.  But an adult who is self-sufficient can buy both those things for themselves.  So what do we ask for Christmas?

We ask for the joy of each other's company, for the silent acknowledgement of love, and we give thanks for the light of Christ that is recognized in each other.  Time is one thing no one can control, so it's important that we appreciate our time with each other when we have it.

Finally, in the Gospel of Luke, we have the continued prophesying of John the Baptist, only in a much more direct message.

John is giving very direct instructions to the many people looking to repent from their sins in light of the coming messiah.  This is really the start of the reformed teaching that Jesus would exemplify.  Rather than laying out another "book of the law" (i.e. Numbers, Deuteronomy), John starts simplifying this into less grand gestures, and Jesus would elaborate on much of it later.

Clothe the naked, feed the hungry, etc.  These are all very familiar to us, but while it should probably have been obvious to the people of John's time, it was common for people to think that if you prayed a certain way, tithed, and did all the things that were laid out in the Old Testament, you were good to go as far as getting God's spiritual stamp of approval.

John never mentions praying, never mentions sacrifices, never mentions anything of a remotely spiritual nature.  Rather, he talks about simple acts of kindness toward our neighbors.  It's a radical change from what the people of the time considered the norm.

My favorite interactions here are those of the tax collector and the soldiers.  Obviously, these are two occupations where it was common to see an abuse of power.  What's great about this is that you almost expect John to tell these two to find another profession.  He didn't do that -- probably as much to protect himself from political backlash as anything else.  But I think its important for us to realize that John doesn't ask us to change who we are, but rather, how we conduct ourselves.

To the tax collector, he says, "stop collecting more than what is prescribed" (and presumably pocketing the excess.)  To the soldiers, he basically exhorts them to be examples of the law they profess to uphold.

So, too, we are called to be examples of the Christ we profess to follow, not simply in our hearts, but in the way we live our lives.  We are invited to rejoice in love: our love of God, His love for us, and -- most importantly -- our love for each other.

Preparation and Peace

READINGS: Baruch 5:1-9; Philippians 1:4-6, 8-11; Luke 3:1-6

If you haven’t heard of the prophet Baruch before, don’t worry: he doesn’t appear in the Protestant Bible at all.  Last week we started with Jeremiah, and this week we start with Baruch: Jeremiah’s “secretary” during the Babylonian exile.  Nobody’s really sure that Baruch even wrote this book, but the message it contains is no less relevant to our Advent season.

Jeremiah may have nudged the Israelites back to God, but this reading is a rallying cry.

Remember, these are people in exile.  They’ve been taken from their home, and stripped of their identity.  In Old Testament times (and even in the time of Jesus), it was commonly believed that bad things happened to bad people.  If these people were in slavery, it was because they put themselves there.  Imagine carrying the weight of that guilt, and the dismal realization that there is no going back home: no hope that your God will ever smile on you again.

And Baruch basically says, “Stop wallowing in your own self-pity.  There is hope!  Your freedom is coming!”  He tells the Israelites that they will be reunited with their scattered brethren.  And to top it all off, he makes it clear that it is God who is going to do this: God has not forsaken them!

It’s by God’s will that “every lofty mountain be made low,” so that Israel can be made a great nation once more.  He even tells them to don the “mitre that displays the glory of the eternal name.”  For those who may not know, a mitre is a headdress traditionally worn by bishops.  It’s a symbol of holy rank.  With this, Baruch is almost re-christening the Israelites: anointing them once more as a holy nation.

Baruch tells us two things: that God wants peace for our hearts, and that he has prepared a way for us to return to Him.

Think about the guilt we carry with us every day.  It weighs us down.  Sometimes it’s the guilt of sin.  Every week we ask forgiveness for our shortcomings “in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do.”  Sometimes it is the guilt of hurting another person, or perhaps driving them away from us or from God.  We ask ourselves how we could ever be forgiven by anyone, let alone God, who must have much higher standards than any human heart.

But God’s heart is not human.  God’s heart is eternal.  And in that we find a never-ending wellspring of forgiveness for ourselves.  And through grace, God moves both our hearts, and the hearts of others, toward forgiveness.  God invites us to overcome the weight of our guilt and sin: to repent, to forgive, and to walk with each other again as images of Christ renewed.  By rejoining ourselves to each other, we rejoin ourselves to God.

Paul’s Letter to the Philippians echoes these sentiments.  This letter was written from prison, shortly after Paul had faced almost certain death.  There’s an intimacy in this letter that’s not felt in his other epistles, and many attribute that to the fact that he had almost died.  For Paul, that kind of put things in perspective (I imagine it would for anyone).  It helped him see that all-too cliche “big picture.”  It helps Paul realize what’s really important: continuing his mission to bring Christ’s salvation to all people…and seeing that mission fulfilled in those he writes to.

Paul prays that the Philippians will also see the “big picture”.  Maybe it’s the close brush with death that infuses this letter with the theme of the end times and “the day of Christ.”  Whatever the reason, he prays that when that day comes, their hearts may be virtuous and pure, free of sin, so that they can stand “blameless” before Jesus when the time of judgment arrives.

I can’t help but think of Breaking Bad’s Walter White: a mild-mannered school teacher whose world is turned upside down when he finds out he has cancer and an estimated 18 months to live.  Suddenly the only thing that matters to Walt is the financial security of his family after he’s gone.  Obviously, brewing and selling illegal drugs isn’t the smartest solution, but it goes to show that once we know what’s really important to us, there is nothing that can keep us from attaining it…no matter how unorthodox the method.

How far are we willing to go to prepare for the salvation that is waiting for us?

It’s the same message, just through a different filter.  The Israelites were called to conversion to reunite their people.  The Philippians are called to stand fast in their faith.  Both readings promise a salvation: one is on a personal level, the other on a national level.  Israel is called to a pilgrimage: a journey back to God.  Paul is asking how we will feel about ourselves when we find Him.

And finally, we have the well-known story of John the Baptist.  There’s some debate as to why Luke starts this by establishing the rulers of the time.  Some say it’s because—in a time when Christians were still under a great deal of scrutiny by Roman officials—the naming of those in power was to show that Christians weren’t completely ignorant of the earthly law and order…that they were good citizens.  Others argue that Luke might be contrasting the earthly power with the heavenly power that was to come.

John the Baptist is a modern-day prophet.  What’s interesting here is that, unlike the Old Testament prophetic books, Luke is not speaking as a prophet himself, but rather of a prophet.  It sets a very different tone for the narrative: we’re not talking about something that may or may not happen.  We’re looking at something that is happening.  He even puts a prophet’s words in John’s mouth with a quote from Isaiah.  This sounds a lot like God’s promise to the Israelite’s from Baruch, and that’s deliberate.  The promise that was made generations before is about to be fulfilled.  John, of course, is calling us to make straight the paths of our hearts.

All three readings sing the same song of turning away from the things that separate us from each other and from God.  

They also remind us that we stand before God every hour of every day, not just on Sundays.  It must have been incredibly difficult for the prophets to make the Israelites feel as though God’s promise was real when they had spent so many years in slavery.  It must have been difficult for early followers of Christ to keep the flame of faith alive when the world persecuted them for it.  It must have been a lot of work for John to infuse each heart he encountered with the promise of a baby that hadn’t been born yet.

God is not only present for us, but for all, even if they don’t know it.  It’s only after we throw off the burden of our own guilt and sin that we can find the peace he offers us in Jesus—and then bring that peace others.

DISCLAIMER: I am not an ordained member of the Catholic church.  All opinions here are my own and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Catholic church.  This is just one layman's opinion.  Relax!

Watching vs. Waiting

READINGS

Jeremiah 33:14-16, 1 Thessalonians 3:12--4:2, Luke 21:25-28, 34-36

With the season of Advent, it’s easy to interpret every reading as something to ponder while we wait for Christmas.  Take a closer look, however, and you might be surprised to find a message more relevant to now than later.  While they can certainly help us prepare for Christmas, this first week in particular holds as much meaning for this day as it does the days to come.

Jeremiah’s message is kind of cliche for Advent at first glance: God promises redemption for HIs people, and of course, His promise was fulfilled in Jesus.  A lot of what Jeremiah writes is about how badly the Israelites have fallen off wagon, but this passage gives those people—as it gives us—something we often lose sight of: hope.

Jeremiah’s life was spent watching the people of Israel go back and forth from one captor to another in a sort of Egyptian vs. Babylonian tug-of-war.  Meanwhile, the Israelites, thinking God had turned His back on them, proceeded to break just about every law Moses ever wrote.  Jeremiah’s job was to bring them back into God’s good graces.  In this passage, he reassures his people that their return to the Lord will not be in vain: one day Israel would be vindicated from captivity and be favored by God again…if their willing to make the effort.

God offers that same promise to us today.  Advent is a time to cleanse ourselves of everything that separates from each other, and by proxy, from God.  It’s a time to recognize everything in our lives that needs to change, and then change it.  Yes, it’s a promise of spiritual renewal, but it’s a promise that we make to each other: that we will rebuild the broken bridges and embrace each other again—or even for the first time—as projections of Christ in our lives.  The chance is there, but we need to take the initiative.  We have to want to change.

Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians sounds even more hopeful, almost like a pat on the back.  To some extent that’s true, but beneath his words is a warning.

Thessaly was one of the most successful conversion stories of its day, and Paul’s letter starts out by basically congratulating them for a job well done.  He even implies that they are the model of conversion for the world, and that causes the Thessalonians to get a bit of a big head.  Suddenly, they start patting themselves on the back, and Paul’s tone quickly changes to one of caution.  “Don’t get too full of yourselves, because that’s kind of the opposite of what we’re trying to accomplish, here.”

It may seem like he’s treading old ground, but what he’s trying to do is reinforce the idea that just because you’ve done a good job so far doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods, or that you can just rest on your laurels.  He’s reminding them, as he’s reminding us, that the path of Christianity is a rough one, and while we may think we’re doing great at it, we often become lackadaisical in our implementation of what is constantly hammered into us in Scripture.

We make this checklist in our heads that goes something like this:

1. Did I kill anyone this week?  No.
2. Did I lie this week?  No.
3. Did I steal anything this week?  No

…you get the idea.  There’s this general idea that if we (mostly) followed the Ten Commandments, our spiritual report cards must be Honor Roll worthy.

Paul’s telling us that’s not the case: don’t let your hubris get the better of you.  Spiritual commitment isn’t just Baptism or Confirmation.  It’s not even every Sunday when we say the Creed or receive Holy Communion: it’s a daily mantra that we take with us through every aspect of our lives.  Paul isn’t just warning about the spiritual challenges of walking with Christ, he’s inviting us to challenge ourselves to become greater examples of His love every single day.

It’s also worth noting that while Jeremiah references the laws of Moses, Paul points not to the Ten Commandments, but to Jesus himself.  This new way of life comes not from a prophet, but “through the Lord Jesus.”  Again, Paul mentions that Jesus will return, placing this passage squarely in midst of Advent as we wait for His arrival.

If those readings made you feel like there is some light at the end of the tunnel, then you’ll be surprised by the bleak picture painted by Jesus at the beginning of the Gospel passage.  If we see Jesus’ birth as the beginning of spiritual revolution in the modern world, then the Apocalypse is the end of it, and Jesus reminds us that those days are coming.

Time is a power we cannot overcome.  Every day that passes brings us closer to the time when this earth will pass away.  I could go on to ponder what that means for us as Christians, but suffice to say that Jesus does not want us to pass away with this world.

In fact, He tells us that all who do not follow Him will be swept away in a day of destruction that will “assault” the world.  But for those who dwell in Christ, it will be a day of salvation, for on that day Jesus Himself will return to save those marked by the sign of faith.

Okay, so that’s all well and good for whenever that day comes, but what does that mean for us today?

The best analogy I have for this is Game of Thrones (or A Song of Ice and Fire if you’re not a fan of television.)  For those of you unfamiliar, one of the (many) plot points in this story is the idea that a group of re-animated corpses (White Walkers) are coming to assault the land of Westeros.  Nobody knows when this will actually happen, only that this army is moving steadily south from their home in the frozen north.  The only thing that separates those White Walkers from the southern kingdoms is a giant Wall that spans the width of the entire continent.  This Wall is kept by the men of the Night’s Watch: brothers in exile sworn to live and die at their post in protection of the realm.

Jesus is challenging us to be the real-life NIght’s Watch: staying vigilant against the things that draw us away from each other, and from Him.  In that way, this passage is not about a day that will come, but about every day.

Our world is infested with self-centered messages that tell us we should do what pleases us.  Jesus’ message tells us that we must humble ourselves to serve others instead of our own desires.  Christmas is a living example of the selfless love of Christ, but we are being called and challenged to live that love every day of the year, not just when the calendar calls for it.

DISCLAIMER: I am not an ordained member of the Catholic church.  All opinions here are my own and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Catholic church.  This is just one layman's opinion.  Relax!