November 2010 Sánchez Sunday Commentaries & Sample Homilies (C-A)

THIRTY-SECOND SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIMENovember 7, 2010Hope in LifePatricia Datchuck Sánchez

2 Macc 7:1-2, 9-142 Thess 2:16-3:5Luke 20:27-38

One of the saddest of all human experiences is the death of a child. Whether that child is 4 or 40, the grief of the parent who suffers such a loss is spiritually and psychologically staggering, and mourning may continue for years. As difficult as such a death is, even more unbearable is the death of a child or other loved one among family and friends who are not sustained by any belief in an afterlife. This writer was present at the funeral of such a child, a young Jewish boy in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. He was an only child who was hit by a car. His family’s grief was unmitigated; they were beyond consolation. Their orthodox traditions did not include the hope that his life continued, somehow, beyond the grave. When such a death occurs, without hope, the living are also mortally wounded and nothing is ever the same again.

In his book Night, concentration camp survivor Elie Wiesel has given eloquent and pained expression to the losses he witnessed (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York: 1985). One of the most horrifying was that of a boy he called a “sad-eyed angel” who was sentenced to be hanged with two men at Buna Camp in Poland. Ordered to watch as the victims died, Wiesel anguished over the fact that the boy hung there dying for more than half an hour. He heard someone ask, “For God’s sake, where is God?” “And from within me,” said Wiesel, “I heard a voice answer: Where? ... This is where — hanging here from this gallows.”

That experience left Wiesel feeling empty and betrayed by a God whose existence he had begun to doubt. “I no longer pleaded for anything. I was no longer able to lament. … I was alone … in a world without God … without love or mercy.” Eventually and with great struggle, Wiesel regained his faith and lives to testify against the injustices that continue to test the beliefs of good people everywhere.

The brothers and their mother who are featured in today’s first reading were also tested and did not surrender their faith. At a time of great persecution, they believed, and even though the awareness of a life after death had only recently taken hold among the Israelites, they clung to that belief with a tenacity that was contagious. Each brother strengthened the other with his professed belief in eternal life. That belief did not lessen their pain or shorten their suffering, but that belief enabled each of them to accept that death, however horrible, cruel and unjust, is a passage to life everlasting. In this belief lay their hope, and we who hear the story of the brothers are inspired by them to make hope our sure shelter in every adversity.

When Paul wrote to the Thessalonians (second reading), he spoke of this hope as a grace from God to encourage and strengthen believers. Paul had great hope in his heart when he first preached the Gospel in that Greek city; he hoped that his message would take root in his listeners and they, in turn, would carry it with them and preach it through their words and works to all the surrounding villages and cities. This they did, but not without encountering unbelievers who ridiculed their faith, criticized their lifestyle and threatened their existence. Despite the opposition they faced, Paul’s converts in Thessalonica and elsewhere lived their lives not under the onus of threats or dangers but in the clear light of hope. They could face even death, as Paul did, and as did the brothers Maccabee, with the confidence that life for them would continue forever.

In today’s Gospel, Luke features Jesus talking about the truth of the resurrection with detractors who put no faith in his teachings. We do not know if any of his detractors that day were brought to faith, but we do know that his words continue to encourage believers now to keep hope alive. There will be losses in our lives; there will be times of devastating doubt when we wonder: Why? Why do children die young? Why do our loved ones suffer? Why are the innocent persecuted, and why does no one seem to be able to do anything to stop the onslaught of evil? In those times, the words of Jesus and the experiences of those who have gone before us in faith call forth our hope because “if it were not for hope, the heart would break” (Thomas Fuller, Gnomologia).

2 Macc 7:1-2, 9-14An anonymous sage once said, “Hope works in these ways: It looks for the good in people

instead of harping on the worst; it discovers what can be done, instead of grumbling about what cannot; it regards problems, large or small, as opportunities; it pushes ahead when it would be easy to quit; it ‘lights the candle’ instead of ‘cursing the darkness.’ ”

If ever anyone had just cause to grumble, to quit or to curse, it was the family whose misfortune it was to be at cross purposes with the regime of Antiochus Epiphanes IV. A Greek ruler of the Seleucid dynasty, this second-century B.C.E. tyrant attempted to affirm his authority by forcing Greek culture on all of his subjects. Today’s first reading illustrates some of the atrocities that were perpetrated on those who refused to comply.

In telling the story of the seven brothers and their mother, the author of 2 Maccabees wished to present his contemporaries with heroes whose example would encourage similar faithfulness to God and resistance to the Seleucid tyranny. This spirit of resistance fostered the formation of a group known as the Hasidim or “pious ones.” These forerunners of the Pharisaic party were fierce defenders of the law and of the centuries-old rites and traditions of the Jewish people. While others were attracted to Hellenism and still others were being forced to accept it, the Hasidim remained strong and fought to keep their heritage intact. This movement eventually erupted in a successful rebellion led by Judas Maccabeus, circa 167 B.C.E.

But it was not sheer military effort that won the war against their oppressors. As Leslie J. Hoppe has explained, the prayers of the people and the deaths of the martyrs were interpreted by the ancient author as powerful “weapons” against evil (“Reading Guide, 2 Maccabees,” The Catholic Study Bible, Oxford University Press, New York: 1990). Their refusal to sin, their obedience to the Torah and their innocent deaths turned the tide of the war; their hope in an unending life after their suffering encouraged their contemporaries to remain similarly faithful.

If the story of all seven of the brothers and their mother is read in its entirety, it becomes clear that this is more than a gruesome narrative about human depravity. With each brother’s torture comes a declaration of his faith in what was then the developing doctrine of a personal resurrection. With each declaration, there is a noticeable progression of thought that comes to a dramatic climax in today’s first reading. Not only would there be a resurrection and life everlasting for the faithful, but there would be no resurrection to life for the evil.

While the hope for everlasting life motivated many, there were some among the Israelites who refused to accept this doctrine. Among these were the Sadducees, who observed only the first five books of the Hebrew scriptures. In today’s Gospel, the disbelieving Sadducees will bring their argument to Jesus.

2 Thess 2:16-3:5The reclusive poet Emily Dickinson once wrote, “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches

in the soul, and sings the tune — without the words, and never stops at all.”With that same image in mind, we could say that hope empowers the one who hopes to take

flight and to soar above the struggles of life to a place of peace with God. This is the sort of hope for which the author of 2 Thessalonians prayed; hope, love and everlasting encouragement were gifts from God that he wished for his readers.

This was the first (vv. 16-17) of the three prayers that comprise today’s second reading. Similar in tone, the third prayer (3:5) also petitioned God to keep the community in Thessalonica constant in their efforts to live according to the Gospel Paul had preached among them. In the second prayer (3:1-4), the ancient author asked for prayers for himself and his ministry. Aware of the struggles that can weary even the most avid disciple, he knew that he needed the support of a praying community. By their prayer, the community also participated in the continued missionary work of their founder.

Within this ambience of prayer, the author of 2 Thessalonians was able to affirm the same doctrinal teachings that had formed the basis of the first letter to that community: (1) Jesus, who is both Lord and Son of God, has been raised from the dead; (2) God graces those who believe in the Gospel and try to profess it with their lips and their lives; (3) Believers will experience the Day of the Lord when Jesus returns as judge and Savior; (4) Until then, believers are to live not in fear of the perverse and the wicked but in the sure hope that feeds their faith and empowers their love; (5) Suffering and struggle, from whatever sources these may come, are an integral part of waiting and preparing to welcome the returning Jesus.

Even, now more than two millennia after they were first written, these teachings remain a challenge for Christians. We are to be strong as we guard against what the ancient author called “the evil one.” Although scholars disagree as to the identity of “the evil one” (also translated “lawless one” and “son of destruction”), about half are of the mind that it is the antichrist, while the other half argue that it is Satan. In either case, it is clear that the ancient author was warning readers against evil.

At times, the reality of evil is too easily dismissed or explained away. Beverly Roberts Gaventa suggests that texts like this one present the praying assembly with the opportunity to admit the reality of evil, to acknowledge the human capacity for evil and to take responsibility for overcoming evil by doing and being good (First and Second Thessalonians, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1998). Paul initiated his prayer against evil in the first century; we continue to pray as he did in the 21st century because evil, unfortunately, will continue to challenge the church until Jesus comes again.

Luke 20:27-38Years ago in a parish in Long Island, Raymond E. Brown was speaking to a gathering of about

500 people about the resurrection narratives. Suddenly, he was interrupted by a man shouting out that Brown’s collection of essays on the resurrection narratives was heretical and that Brown should be censured by the church. Without missing a beat, Brown asked the man which essay he was disputing. When his detractor hesitated, Brown asked if he had read any of his books. With that, the man’s argument quickly evaporated, and he slowly made his way to the door. Brown continued his lecture.

Jesus was often similarly confronted, and just as often, he was able to diffuse the situation so as to continue the formation of his disciples. At issue in today’s Gospel were conflicting beliefs regarding death and its aftermath. Until the second century B.C.E., the general consensus among Jewish believers was that this life was God’s gift to be enjoyed as fully and as long as possible, and that one’s name lived on in the many sons with whom God would bless the righteous. After this life, there was only a nebulous, ethereal lingering in a place called sheol or the netherworld. But with a developing understanding of revelation and the influence of other systems of thought (Zoroastrianism), Judaism arrived at a belief in the continuity of life after death. Moreover, the joyousness or lack thereof in eternity hinged upon God’s just judgment of both the good and the evil.

For their part, however, the Sadducees did not accept as revelatory any biblical book beyond the Torah; therefore, the notion of resurrection did not lie within their purview. The questions they posed to Jesus weren’t motivated by a willingness to learn but by their desire to expose him as a fraud and his teachings as without merit.

In their confrontation with Jesus, the Sadducees questioned him on the levirate law. Referenced in Deut 25:5 and Gen 38:8, this law provided for widows and their children. Without a husband or father to speak and care for them, the lot of these poor ones was a sorry one indeed. Therefore, they were protected by legislation that encouraged the deceased husband’s brother to marry and care for them. But the Sadducees devised a protracted and most improbable reductio ad absurdum argument in which one husband after the other died. To which husband would she belong in the afterlife?

The Lucan Jesus was not cowed by their argument or sucked into a pointless debate. He used the occasion to explain that the resurrected life is not a mere continuation of this life — therefore, the law is no longer normative. In an entirely new and transformed existence, those who rise from death are no longer bound by human institutions and traditions. For that reason, the Sadducees’ question was pointless, their argument moot.

Then, to challenge his listeners to open their minds to developing truths and insights, the Lucan Jesus also quoted from the Torah. Citing the Sadducees’ greatest mentor, Moses, Jesus explained that during the theophany at the burning-but-not-consumed bush (Exod 3), God was identified as the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Although these had been gone from this world for centuries by that time and were presumed dead, they must somehow be alive for God, because God is a God of the living! Whether the Sadducees accepted Jesus’ challenge to believe in the resurrection, we do not know. Nevertheless, their encounter with Jesus challenges us to reaffirm our own belief and to allow that belief to feed and fire our hope in everlasting life.

Sample Homily, November 7, 201032nd Sunday in Ordinary Time “Relate to God”

Fr. James Smith

There has always been a conflict between the God of the philosophers and the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The God of philosophers is full of concepts that seem to indicate divinity: God is eternal, omnipotent, unchanging, perfect. While the God of Abraham relates with people, gets involved, laughs, cries, rewards, punishes. Which is the true God, or is there some way to integrate the best of both Gods?Our God revealed his personal name as “I AM.” God initiated a personal

conversation with us. The name “I AM” appears at first to be impersonal, non-revealing and distant. But on second thought, we know that a name — any name — means nothing by itself. A name is only a word by which a person identifies himself and in turn is known by others. The titles of “omnipotent” and “perfect” say something about God, but say nothing to God. Whereas the seemingly impersonal name of “I AM” is a personal address to us. God says, “I am” something to you, someone to talk with, relate with — even love.Jesus understood the “I AM” to be his personal Father. And Jesus told his

friends and us to relate to God in the same way. God says “I AM” is our Father and we respond: “We are your children.” But a father-child relationship has its own set of problems — at least from our point of view. They are not religious but psychological problems.Freud noted that all people have a tendency to project their desires onto a

perfect being. We want to be safe, taken care of, loved. So we project all of our needs onto an imaginary God whom we call Father. But our relationship is ambivalent. Although we want to be fathered, we resent it at the same time. It is called the Oedipus Complex, and the only resolution is to kill the Father. As Freud said: No man can be his own man until his father dies. In religious terms, Freud thought that people could not be totally human until they stopped depending on God for their happiness and fulfillment — until they got rid of God. If Jesus is God’s number one Son, we might wonder how this might work out

with him and his Father. We don’t presume to analyze Jesus; we just want to see if his relationship might enlighten ours.Jesus felt himself to be especially loved by God the Father. He felt a

divine command to preach and establish his Father’s kingdom on earth. He understood himself to be guided, inspired, empowered by God’s Spirit. Jesus actually believed that the Father and he were one.Jesus had no reason to doubt his Sonship as long as his mission was going

well. But when things started to go wrong, when people rejected Jesus and declined the offer of his Father’s kingdom, Jesus must have wondered what was wrong.The issue came to a climax at the crucifixion. Jesus had done everything he

possibly could do to establish his Father’s kingdom. Yet the kingdom did not seem to have happened, and his Father felt far away and unconcerned with his kingdom or with his Son. Jesus felt abandoned. Had he been wrong about the divine command? Had he even been wrong about his relationship with God? Or, was everything actually all right, but Jesus had to reimagine his

relationship? Did he have to let go of a Father who took care of him, who fulfilled his humanity, who guaranteed successful missions, who made everything come out well? As all of us do, Jesus had to let go of the God he wanted, and live with the God that God wanted to be.

THIRTY-THIRD SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIMENovember 14, 2010Looking At GodPatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Mal 3:19-202 Thess 3:7-12Luke 21:5-19

After a stint of several years in Africa, a European missionary went on home visit and returned after a few weeks with a fine set of colorful posters that he used to illustrate his sermons. As he had hoped, the pictures proved to be a great success. Each Sunday after the liturgy, many in the congregation would linger around the posters and discuss what they had learned.

One day, near the end of the liturgical year, the missionary chose to preach on the end times and the consequences, both good and bad, that would coincide with Jesus’ return as judge and Savior of all. Before the celebration of word and bread, he set up the appropriate poster at the door of the church and then went to prepare for Mass. Before long, he heard whoops of delight and laughter, and he turned around to see his congregation dancing with joy before the poster. Surprised and a little indignant, he called for silence and asked how they could find humor in the prospect of final judgment. “Hell is no laughing matter!” he shouted. Then one of the revelers took his arm and led him to the poster, saying, “Don’t you see, Father? Look! All the people in hell are white!”

Initially, this little anecdote may bring a laugh. But beyond its humor, it points to an underlying notion that has been variously expressed through the ages. When human beings are faced with the fact of the great reckoning to end all reckonings, some of us tend to focus on what might be the outcome for others. The French philosopher John Paul Sartre famously wrote, L’enfer, c’est les autres (Hell is other people) — and some of us tend to think L’enfer, c’est pour les autres (Hell is for other people)! In his Inferno, the first part of The Divine Comedy, Italian poet Dante Alighieri exercised a similar prerogative in identifying which people would be relegated to which of the circles of hell.

Although the desire to assign places for others in the afterlife may prove tempting, the sacred texts and their authors summon our attention and our energies elsewhere. Do they call us to look within ourselves and find cause to worry about the end times? Do they invite us to forgo criticizing the speck in another’s eye while ignoring the beam in our own? Do they urge us against procrastination that keeps us from preparing to welcome Jesus? In some ways, the living word that guides us all through the liturgical year does indeed offer these suggestions. But more importantly, before any suggestion can be taken to heart or any question truthfully answered, the sacred authors direct believers, collectively and individually, to look at God.

Looking at God does not mean that one must seek out the beautiful vision or await a dramatic theophany. Rather, looking at God means taking a cue from our ancestors in the faith, who learned to discern the face of God by remembering all that God had done for them. God was their creator, protector, provider and guide. God was their liberator and champion, their mother, their father, their brother, their breath. God had been their loving, faithful and forgiving spouse. Looking at God created an ambience of truth in which they saw not only God but themselves and the fact that their sins had distorted the image of God they were to reflect. Looking at God also kept them from looking at one another with disdain. On the contrary, looking at God gave them a new prism through which to look at others with eyes of sympathy, appreciation and respect.

As we look at God’s face as it has been reflected in our own lives over the past year, we also will probably experience the painful truth that we are not all we should be. Nor have we done all that we could do to reflect to our belonging to God. For that reason, the thought of the Lord’s second coming among us may fill us with dread and hopelessness. Nevertheless, we are to leave the judging of ourselves and others to God (Malachi). We are to set aside our fears and speculations; we are not to listen to naysayers or prophets of doom. Rather, we are to persevere in trusting God (Luke). We are also to busy ourselves with the ministry that Jesus has entrusted to us. Instead of minding the business of others (2 Thessalonians), we are to continue to look at God and struggle each day to give ourselves, our world and all others to God’s good keeping.

Mal 3:19-20Ministering during the turbulent period of reconstruction after the exile (ca. 460-450 B.C.E.),

the anonymous prophet later called Malachi (“my messenger”) was certain that his people had somehow lost sight of God or were looking for God in the wrong places. Although the infrastructure of Judah was being rebuilt — thanks in great part to the material aid from Cyrus the Persian king and the governor he had sent to oversee the process — the lives of the people of Judah were still in a shambles. Even though the temple and its liturgy were also being reestablished, the prayer life and religious fervor of the community had yet to be renewed.

Without mincing words, Malachi attributed the spiritual malaise to laxity on the part of clergy; sloppy ritual (1:6-2:9); the withholding of tithes (3:8, 10-14); foreign influences that had crept into the liturgy (2:10-16); and the ever-growing discrepancy between the rich and the poor of the land. Malachi was quick to point out the irony that the people who seemed to scorn God and the law were doing very well financially, while the poor and often the most faithful were foundering.

To grab the attention of all and to refocus the eyes of his people on God, Malachi took a harsh tone and warned that on the Day of the Lord, everything would be reversed. First referenced by Amos in the eighth century B.C.E., the Day of the Lord was traditionally anticipated as a time of joy and blessings for Judah. But Amos (5:18-20) and his prophetic colleagues, including Malachi, prophesied that that day would be one of judgment for Judah as well as the nations. Rather than long for that day, the people would try to hide themselves to escape God’s just judgment.

In today’s first reading, the Day of the Lord is been described in terms of a blazing oven that will mete out God’s justice: an end to the wicked and healing for those who fear God’s name. The term “sun of justice,” which is more accurately translated as “the sun which is justice,” may reflect the influence of the Persians and/or Egyptians, who represented their sun god as a winged solar disk who brought light and, therefore, life to all.

Malachi understood the title “sun of justice” as an appropriate tribute to the God of Israel and Judah, whose face shines with light and life for all people. Centuries later, the authors of the Christian scriptures would apply this title to Jesus, who, as Sun-Son of justice, had come into the world to be its light. This same Jesus who died and rose again will return. On that day, as Malachi has warned, there will be a reckoning that will determine the everlasting future of all. For now, we who believe and hope and wait are to live in the light of God’s justice and truth.

2 Thess 3:7-12A busybody is someone who is both intrusive and nosy and meddles in the affairs of others.

The author of 2 Thessalonians regarded those with such a penchant as “disorderly” and certainly not productive members of the community. These, as well as those who were refusing to pull their own weight by working, were proving to be a burden upon an already troubled community. Earlier in this letter, the author refers to the persecution endured by believers (1:4, 6) as well as to the wicked and evil people from whom believers must be protected (3:2-3). With trouble enough threatening the community from without, the ancient writer was quick to try to quell whatever difficulties might arise from within the congregation.

Some of those difficulties stemmed from a misinterpretation of the end times by those who cited the sufferings of the community as a sign that the end was near. Others were of the notion that the end had already come. These misconceptions had led some to take an early retirement, and as a consequence, the community was further burdened by the idleness of some of its members. Some, in their idleness, had become armchair critics who preferred to focus on the shortcomings of others rather than on the coming of the Lord.

To correct these false ideas and the behaviors they fostered, the ancient writer offered the example of himself. Because he was writing for Paul, the author of this second letter to believers in Thessalonica cited the great apostle’s insistence on paying his own way. He could have expected to be supported by those for whom he opened the treasure of the good news. But Paul, a tentmaker, plied his trade so as to support himself; he was adamant in his desire to be financially independent so that no one could call him a slacker. Nor could any demands be made upon him by any benefactor.

Along with the example set by Paul, the ancient writer appealed to tradition. His statement that “anyone unwilling to work should not eat” (v. 10) drew upon similar advice from the Psalter (128:2) as well as Israel’s sapiential literature (Prov 6:6-11). Similar advice also appears in the Didache, an early Christian instruction manual also called The Teaching of the Twelve Apostles. There, believers are told, “Everyone who comes in the name of the Lord is to be made welcome … if he wants to settle down among you, let him find employment and earn his bread … use your discretion to make sure he does not live in idleness simply on the strength of being a Christian. Unless he agrees to this … he is only trying to exploit Christ. Be on guard against such as that” (#12). This advice continues to advise preachers as well as people in the pews to avoid those for whom the Gospel has become a means of lucre rather than a humble, hope-filled way of life.

Luke 21:5-19Even today, in the 21st century, there are some who, claiming to be prophets, look to this

Gospel and other similar apocalyptic narratives as a timetable by which to predict the end of time, and who interpret those signs that supposedly signal its appearance. Even today, some followers of Jesus use such texts as a “literary bludgeon” to frighten the faithful into submission or to instill in them a fear that might result in their conversion and repentance. However, if the genre of apocalyptic literature is to be correctly appreciated and understood, all of the events described in this Lucan apocalypse have already become the stuff of memory.

By the time the third Gospel appeared in written form in the mid- to late 80s, the temple in all its beauty was no more. It had been destroyed by Titus and his troops in 70, and not one stone stood upon another. Gone, too, was the temple liturgy. Only the synagogues survived as places of prayer. It was in these gathering places that the first followers of Jesus tried to preach in his name the good news of salvation. For their efforts, they were officially expelled. Handed over to the civil authorities, many died during the persecution under Nero in the 60s; more were perishing at the order of Domitian in the 80s. In the midst of all these struggles, imposters were purporting to be the messiah whose return in glory they awaited. Yet each in turn was proven to be false, and some followers of Jesus had begun to wonder if and when he would ever return.

To allay their fears, bolster their hope and strengthen their resistance, the Lucan evangelist reminded his readers of the promise of Jesus that was ever-present. He urged them to look at Jesus in whom the presence of the eternal God took on flesh and a face that looks with love on those who struggle. Don’t be terrified, said Jesus. Don’t follow false leaders. Look upon the persecution you will surely suffer for my sake as an opportunity to give testimony (v. 13). Scholars suggest that the advice of the Lucan Jesus (v. 13) could also be translated as: “You will be called upon to act in a way that witnesses to your fidelity to me” or “to what you really are.” If and when that opportunity becomes ours, Jesus has promised to give us wisdom in speaking that our adversaries will be powerless to resist or refute.

Jesus’ promise encourages in his disciples purity of spirit and integrity. Disciples do not testify to Jesus with their lips and then live in a manner that contradicts their testimony. To do so is to live a lie that serves no one — not Jesus, not the Gospel, not the community or even oneself. Jesus has promised that his gift of wisdom will be available to those who are willing to witness to him in truth even when that truthfulness might result in persecution. We, for our part, are to welcome that wisdom, to continue looking first and foremost to God for every good grace, and then to roll with the punches and the pain until he comes again to take us home.

Sample Homily, November 14, 201033rd Sunday in Ordinary Time“Just Because”Fr. James Smith

Jesus talks about the end of the world, but most people are more interested in the beginning of the world. The most basic question of philosophy is: “Why is there something instead of nothing?” This question is common to brilliant thinkers and ignorant children. The sheer extravagance of things in the cosmos calls for explanation.For centuries, there was no reasonable hint of the origin of the universe.

But recent discoveries have brought us closer to the font. Chemistry reveals the composition of things; physics uncovers the basic structures; biology

examines the life of things; evolution suggests a time frame of advancing specificity.All this is interesting, but it does not give a clue to the origin of

things. It might take us back 15 billion years to the first stuff, but before that there was nothing. And every child knows that nothing comes from nothing. And even the theory that stuff was always there just brings up the question of what “always” means.Religion has been intrigued with beginnings from the beginning. Its

spontaneous, intuitive insight is that all this stuff came from God. But that may be just another way of saying that we don’t know where it all came from, so let’s call it God. But that still doesn’t answer the “why” of it all. And it never will answer, because there is no why in God. God does not do things for a reason. When there is absolutely nothing but God, then God has no reference point, no situation, no reason to create or not create. And if we insist on giving some reason, the least wrong reason is that God creates “just because.”We might think that God created because God loves us. But that is after the

fact. Love may have reasons that science doesn’t know, but even love needs some existing object to love. After the world and we came into existence, it is reasonable to believe that God loved the world and us. And even if we don’t know why God made the world, we can surmise what the world is: The world is an expression of God. Not a part of God, not an extension of God, but an expression of God’s self. Since God is a mystery, nothing like anything we know, then everything we say about God is by analogy. So we say that rocks are an expression of God’s steadfastness. The sun is an expression of God’s splendor. Human creatures are the expression of God’s freedom and intelligence.Jesus is the prototype, the pattern, the paradigm for humanity. He is the

perfect expression of God on earth. Jesus did not merely do God’s will — he was God’s will. He did not just do good; he did God. Since Jesus is the prototype human, the model for every human being, that means that we are all imperfect Jesuses. Each of us is a broken Jesus. We are all imperfect human expressions of God. We are the billions of ways by which God experiences the world. Which means that if we not have a breadth of human experiences, if we do not

fulfill our potential, if we fail to enrich our lives, then we diminish God’s experience of his world. If we do not deepen our desires, express our emotions, increase our knowledge, then we limit God’s experience of her world. If we do wrong, we make God’s experience of the world unpleasant.Human beings are the mystery of the universe, situated between angels and

ogres. Our life is not about us. It is about God. Whether we know it or like it, Christ lives in us; God lives through us.

CHRIST THE KINGNovember 21, 2010King of HeartsPatricia Datchuck Sánchez

2 Sam 5:1-3Col 1:12-20Luke 23:35-43

At the time of her death on a Paris roadway in August 1997, Diana Spencer had already been relieved of her title, Her Royal Highness. Still regarded as a member of the royal family because she was the mother of two future heirs to the throne, she was nevertheless no longer part of the monarchy. She no longer had a palace; she did not wear a crown, nor did she perform any official duties for the queen. Still, Spencer was held in high regard by the British people and by many throughout the world who admired her dedication to the sick and her extensive work in trying to ban landmines. This admiration led those who mourned her passing to give her the title “Queen of Hearts.” Even without a title or a crown, she continued to reign within the hearts of those who loved her. Hers was not an imposed authority, but one that was bestowed on her by admiring subjects.

In a sense, the feast of Jesus Christ as King is celebrated within a similar ambience. Jesus’ reign over his disciples is not an imposed dominion but a warm welcome extended to one who is loved and admired as king of all hearts. As William Bausch affirmed, Jesus was a king like no other, in that he did not have a scepter but he did have a towel with which he washed his disciples’ feet (Once Upon a Gospel, Twenty-Third Publications, New London, Conn.: 2008).

Jesus had no standing army, but he did have followers. He did not sit on a throne but on the back of a donkey. He wore no crown of gold, but one of thorns. He did not use his authority to take life but to give it. He did not set boundaries or entertain only the nobility; he welcomed prostitutes, tax collectors, foreigners and thieves. He did not exploit people but spoke sympathetically of widows, prodigals, Samaritans and the poor. He did not wield the sword of punishment but extended mercy and forgiveness: “Today you will be with me in paradise.” He did not coerce, he invited, and rather than tax his subjects to pay the debts of his monarchy, he laid down his own life so that the “debt” of human sin would be forgiven. He did not come to conquer but to save.

When the leadership and the kingship of Jesus are compared to other leaders today and throughout history, it is clear that he has no equal. As he is presented in the Hebrew and Christian scriptures, Jesus could trace his lineage to David, whose importance is underscored in today’s first reading. Anointed by Samuel and then by all the tribes of Judah and Israel, David was the Messiah — the anointed one of God who was to shepherd the people wisely. Based on the promise made to David through the prophet Nathan (2 Sam 7:14), all future generations looked for a descendant of David to lead them. They longed for him to establish his dominion such that they would enjoy the peace, power and prosperity they had known during the reign of David. Jesus did come, and he was of David’s line; however, he exercised his kingship in service and in suffering.

For that reason, on this feast of his kingship, the Gospel takes us to the Lucan Jesus hanging on the cross. Ironically, the crime for which he was being executed was the very reason for which he had come among us –– to be king, king of the Jews and king of every heart. Those who would welcome his reign would know healing, peace and forgiveness and, in the end, a place with him in the eternity of paradise.

To celebrate Jesus’ true kingship, we allow the words of the hymn that comprises today’s second reading to speak our praise. Therein, the ancient author chronicles the reign of Jesus and traces his origins not to David but to God. As the visible image of the invisible God, Jesus exercises his kingship by making peace through the blood of his cross. We who welcome him as king of our hearts welcome one whose love is stronger than death and whose mercies lift us above our sins to the realm of graced forgiveness and glory.

Until such time as that glory is ours forever, we who are the blessed subjects of the king of all hearts are to reflect his image. We are not to distort that likeness with sin and selfishness or to diminish it with our prejudices and pride. We are to work hard so that the virtues of our king become our own and the means by which others will recognize our belonging to him. Sealed with his love at our baptism, anointed with the oil that consecrates all we are and all we have to his service, we are to live so true to him that others will want to accept his rule and welcome his reign in their hearts.

2 Sam 5:1-3“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” These words are frequently

attributed to Lord Acton, who wrote them in a letter in 1887. But he was not the first to make this observation. In 1771, Edmund Burke shared a similar sentiment: “The greater the power, the more dangerous the abuse.” A year earlier, in 1770, William Pitt had pointed out that “unlimited power is apt to corrupt the minds of those who possess it.” Perhaps it was thoughts like these that made the idea of a monarchy in Israel such a controversial issue.

In the sacred texts, readers can distinguish two major trends. Those with antimonarchic tendencies regarded the very notion of a king in Israel as a rejection of God’s theocratic rule over the people (see 1 Sam 7:3-8:22; 10:17-27). Ideally, Israel’s kings were to be God’s regents or earthly representatives; however, as a glance at the annals of the kings will reveal, the majority fell far short of their high calling.

In the end, it was those who desired a king who prevailed. Among those who were pro-monarchy, there was no notion of God’s disapproval (see 1 Sam 9:1-10:16). In fact, Samuel is portrayed as carrying out God’s command first to anoint and then to depose Saul and then to seek out and anoint David as his royal successor.

Prior to the events recorded in today’s first reading, Saul had died and David acceded to his throne in Judah, which was then a vassal state subject to the Philistines. Saul’s son Ishbosheth, with the aid of Abner, the general of Saul’s army, became king of Israel. Shortly thereafter, Abner deserted Ishbosheth when the king denounced the general for taking a woman from Saul’s harem as his wife. To retaliate, Abner offered his allegiance and his army to David. In the ensuing struggle, both Abner and Ishbosheth were killed, but David went on to rule over a united Israel and Judah during what would be referred to as the Golden Age of Jewish history.

While his exploits against the Philistines and other enemies proved his military powers and leadership abilities, it was David’s humble beginnings as the shepherd of his father’s flocks that best prepared him for the monarchy. As a shepherd, he had been entrusted with the lives of the animals that were essential to the livelihood of his family. As their caretaker, he would have known each sheep’s strengths, weaknesses and fears. He would have known how to lead them, to protect them, to protect them and to provide for all their needs. He would have placed their welfare above his own, and to keep them safe, he would have been willing to put his life in jeopardy.

Centuries after David was anointed king and shepherd of his people, his descendant Jesus would also be anointed, not as king but in preparation for his death (Luke 7:36-50). Thus consecrated, Jesus would go forth to die so as to shepherd God’s people rightly and bring all sinners home to God. At our baptismal anointing, we were initiated into these saving mysteries; we are to live and serve and die accordingly.

Col 1:12-20As we have been considering David’s anointing, Jesus’ anointing, and our own baptismal

anointing, it seems apropos that our thoughts carry us into this great Christological hymn, which scholars regard as part of an ancient baptismal liturgy. In that context, the hymn may represent the profession of faith on the part of the sacramental candidates. Scholars also believe that the author of Colossians quoted this hymn at the outset of this letter to remind readers of their initial profession of faith at a time when that faith was under threat.

From what can be deduced from the letter, it seems that proponents of a certain religio-philosophical system of thought were attempting to seduce Christians with claims of “secret knowledge.” That secret included the notion that Christ was a creature, and as such, he was lower in the heavenly hierarchy than the angels. This ancient form of pre-gnosticism also denied Jesus’ equality with God and his divinity as Son of God.

To counter and to correct these erroneous and potentially harmful ideas, the author of Colossians pulled out all the Christological stops and dramatically represented the primacy of Jesus and his unique role in creation. As God’s eikon or image, Christ allowed us to see and to hear, to touch and to be touched by the invisible God. For Greek believers, the term eikon recalled the concept of the logos or ordering principle whereby God created all that is. For Jewish followers of Jesus, the term was reminiscent of hokmah or wisdom, which was an emanation from God and the handmaid of the divine at creation (Wis 7:25-26).

As a partner in creation and as its Lord and King, Christ is not a creature but shares power with God over all created beings including the various ranks of angels, four of which are named in verse 16. False teachers in Colossae and elsewhere insisted that these spiritual beings somehow rivaled Christ’s role and had to be appeased by the performance of specific ascetical practices. The ancient author was quick to place the angelic beings beneath God and Christ, and also took the occasion to repeatedly affirm Christ’s sufficiency and superiority over all. Only Christ, the center of the created universe (“in him all things hold together”), the cause or agent or creation (“all things were created through him”) and the goal (“… and for him”) toward which all of creation should proceed is worthy of the adoration of all of humankind.

In his capacity as God’s eikon on earth, Jesus has reconciled all creatures with God through the salvific sacrifice of his death. Although Jesus Christ is not mentioned by name even one time in this hymn, this last reference to his cross affirms that he indeed and he alone is the king of creation and the king of all hearts whose praises we are invited to sing.

Luke 23:35-43Surely there are other texts that could have been chosen to celebrate the kingship and the reign

of Jesus. He was truly regal when he calmed the sea and commanded the winds. His power was obvious when he fed the multitudes with bread and fish. His authority over the demons that were thought to cause every kind of human malady was incomparable. When he debated with the religious authorities, his superior wisdom was nothing short of kingly.

And yet, today, we celebrate him as king by remembering what appears to be the lowest point of his life. The ways and wisdom of God are inscrutable. It was in being brought low that Jesus’ greatness was fully revealed, and in the moment when he appeared to be most powerless, he succeeded in redeeming all of humankind from sin and death. With obvious Lucan irony, in this Gospel it is those who rejected Jesus in disbelief who proclaim Jesus’ accomplishment and his unique identity. The sneering rulers call him “Chosen One” and “the Christ of God” while the soldiers identify Jesus as “King of the Jews.”

In his telling of this moment, when ignominy was transformed by grace and glory, the third evangelist has shared his uniquely Lucan account of the conversation of the crucified. In the dialogue, one of the criminals establishes Jesus’ innocence: “This man has done nothing wrong.” His encounter with Jesus emphasizes what Charles Talbert has called the “evangelistic effect” of Jesus’ death (Reading Luke, Crossroad Pub. Co., New York: 1984). Jesus’ innocence in dying converted the criminal who hung beside him; his death was the good news that sinners longed to hear. The criminal, having turned to Jesus and acknowledged his kingship and his reign, asks to share in that reign. Was his request motivated by sheer desperation at his circumstances, or did he hold within him a tiny seed of faith that Jesus could somehow pardon him and grant him a place in his kingdom? We cannot know his heart, only the words that Luke has shared — words of faith born of the realization that as long as we draw breath, repentance and forgiveness are possible.

Jesus’ response to the penitent introduced a note of hope and peace into what was otherwise a very sad scenario. “You will be with me this day in paradise.” Jesus’ death would be a passage to life and glory, and so would it be for those who were redeemed and saved by his dying, who would experience a similar passage.

The word “paradise” is derived from a Persian word for a garden or an enclosed space. For the Jews, it was the realm reserved for the righteous dead (Testament of Levi 18.10). In the Christian scriptures, paradise referred to the bliss of the heavenly kingdom, which would be inaugurated with the coming of the Messiah (2 Cor 12:4; Rev 2:7). Jesus’ promise to the repentant criminal affirmed his identity as Messiah as well as the bringer of a new age where sin and death have been conquered through the salvific sacrifice of the cross. In life, in death, and in life again, Jesus remains King of All Hearts.

Sample Homily November 21, 2010Solemnity of Christ the King “Becoming People of Prayer”By Karen Johnson

Life teaches us that we will die. Global tragedy and personal loss present us with graphic reminders of the inevitability of our own death. The readings at this time in the church year also highlight the reality of death. While it is an uncomfortable companion, death helps focus our lives. Which choices will define our time on earth? Do we have the courage to believe in an afterlife —

the faith to believe, as the Gospel proclaimed last week, that “not a hair on our head will perish”?On this feast of Christ the King, a nameless, seemingly worthless criminal

faces his death and emerges as a model for all of us. His choice to recognize Jesus as Savior redefines his life. His belief that Jesus is king gains him entrance into the kingdom of God. Surrounded by religious leaders who scoff at Jesus, soldiers who mock him, in an atmosphere filled with derision, how did this one man stand against a riot of disbelief? How did he see things differently?This nameless criminal chose to speak the truth. He admitted his crimes and

accepted his fate. He embraced the moment filled with shame, pain and awareness that he had brought this on himself. He then addressed Jesus as his Savior: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”His example teaches us all how to pray, how to become our own living prayer.

Prayer is standing exposed before God as we are, speaking the truth, embracing the present moment and acknowledging Jesus as our Savior. The truth can be far from pretty. Like the criminal, we often make poor choices and throw our lives into chaos and disorder. The good news is that our God welcomes us anyway. “Today you will be with me in paradise.”How can his example translate to our daily lives? Most of us are not

criminals, yet each of us has a story. We hide our faults and know our private addictions. The path into addiction and then out of addiction toward healing is like the journey our criminal makes. They speak the truth, admit their wrongdoing and accept the consequences. They admit their powerlessness and embrace a higher power. The stories change, but the process of prayer remains the same. True prayer includes fearless honesty, living the moment and accepting our dependence on God as our Creator.We need models for this kind of prayer. My mother was fearful and guilt-

ridden until she began attending Mass regularly. As she learned to pray, her belief that God loved her dispelled her fear. She spoke to God as one would a best friend, and she radiated joy. On her deathbed, her old fears and feelings of guilt threatened to overwhelm her, but she held strong. Her last words were, “Do you think Jesus would mind if I had some water for my journey?” That day, like our criminal, she was with Jesus in paradise.Can you recall times when you prayed so intently that you became your

prayer? This is what the habit of deep personal prayer prepares us to experience. In the moment of truth, as crisis overtakes all of us, words cease and feelings fall away. Like candles that offer their own substance to provide light, we become our prayer. With his final breath of life, a nameless criminal showed us all the elements of true prayer. His example has reassured so many people who might otherwise have despaired because of their sins. At the hour of his death, he enters heaven because he entrusted himself to Jesus. We honor him and ourselves by becoming people of prayer.

FIRST SUNDAY OF ADVENT (Begin A cycle)November 28, 2010Time, God’s GiftPatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Isa 2:1-5Rom 13:11-14Matt 24:37-44

In December 1973, singer and songwriter Jim Croce’s “Time in a Bottle” topped the music charts and remained at No. 1 for a few weeks into the new year. His memorable words were originally written for his son A.J., but they continue to speak for anyone who has loved another person and longed for more time with them: “If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I’d like to do is to save every day ’til eternity passes away just to spend them with you. If I could make days last forever … I’d save every day like a treasure and then, again, I would spend them with you. But, there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them. I’ve looked around enough to know that you’re the one I want to go through time with.”

Sadly, when Croce’s song achieved its No. 1 status, his time had already run out. He had died three months earlier at the age of 30 in a plane crash. His words live on, however, to inspire and challenge our own outlook on time and the use we make of this good gift from God.

As we stand on the edge of this new liturgical year, with Croce’s song ringing in our ears, we look also to the sacred texts for food, for courage and for the impetus we need to take hold of God’s gift of this time, this day, this moment, however long or short it may be, and use it to make a difference in our own life and in the lives of those whose time we share.

Time was certainly on his mind as Paul wrote to the followers of Jesus in Rome (second reading). Because of his ministry for Christ and the Gospel and the fierceness with which he confronted any obstacle, Paul often found himself robbed of his time. His several incarcerations sharpened his sense of urgency. So did his eagerness to experience the second coming of Jesus. Therefore, he encouraged his readers to make the best use of the time they had in order to prepare wisely and well to welcome the coming Christ.

Paul’s words and the seriousness of his challenge continue to remind contemporary believers that while the trappings of Christmas focus on the child Jesus, the truth is that we await and prepare for the adult, risen Christ. For that reason, the sacred texts for Advent will not focus solely on the baby Jesus, whose humble beginnings may stir our sentiments and evoke our sympathy, but on the Lord Jesus Christ, whose appearance will stop the clock and require each of us to give an account of how we have used the time we were given.

In today’s Gospel, the Matthean Jesus offers some suggestions regarding the usage of time. Jesus underscored the suddenness and unexpectedness of his appearance, but he did not advocate doing anything out of the ordinary or anything other than performing one’s daily tasks (farming, grinding) in such a manner as to be ever ready to welcome the hour of the Son of Man,

Isaiah, in today’s first reading, also offers some suggestions on the use of one’s time. His advice acknowledges the importance of ongoing spiritual nourishment and of expressing that spirituality in a practical manner. By taking God’s word to heart and by continually returning to that word as a reservoir from which to draw strength, courage and inspiration, believers become prepared for what may be the heaviest and hardest work ever undertaken by human beings: cultivating and sustaining peace among us. As he puts forth this Advent challenge, Isaiah speaks of deconstructing weapons of war (swords, spears) and creating from them implements for the edification and nourishment of humankind (plows, pruning hooks).

While most of us may not wield swords and spears, we have sufficient weaponry in our arsenals to destroy one another. We have words and looks and attitudes that cut deeper than any sword. We have anger and resentment and prejudices that build unscalable walls and unbreachable barriers between us. We have pride and selfishness that insist on making our way and our time the top priority in so many situations. We also have apathy and insensitivity that blind us to the needs of others. These are the weapons of war that must be disarmed before peace can grow and before our time is spent.

Isa 2:1-5If you are of an age to recall the Cuban missile crisis of October 1962, you will probably also

remember the tension of waiting and wondering whether a truce could ever be brokered between John F. Kennedy and Nikita Krushchev. In the end, tensions were eased and a possible nuclear war was averted. Almost 40 years later, on Sept. 11, 2001, acts of war were perpetuated on U.S. soil by al-Qaeda terrorists, and thousands lost their lives. Thousands continue to die in wars all over this earth (Iraq, Afghanistan, Congo, Sudan, Uganda, etc.), bearing witness to the inability or unwillingness of human beings to live in peace. Therefore, as Advent begins, and Isaiah calls us once again to make peace our priority, we bow humbly before the truth of his words.

Isaiah of Jerusalem was a prophet and counselor to four of Israel’s kings in the eighth century B.C.E. His were troubled times, and his message was shaped to speak to those troubles and to help his people to hear God’s voice through it all. Isaiah had witnessed the decline and fall of Israel to Assyria in 722 B.C.E. and had warned his contemporaries in Judah that a similar fate would be theirs unless they began to work at restoring their relationship with God. So much political turmoil had caused many to lose confidence in that relationship, and they were trying to shore up their defenses by forging alliances with other nations. To convince them otherwise, Isaiah offered his people a vision of the peace and prosperity that would be theirs if they remained singularly faithful to God and to the covenant.

In his vision, which was at once messianic and eschatological, Jerusalem was to play a central role in the history of all the nations of the world. Isaiah foresaw that in a time beyond time, an international unity would be forged — not by any human program or effort but through the instruction of God. Jerusalem would be the gathering place where all would learn God’s program of peace, and when all had finally accepted the invitation to be schooled by God, that peace would be achieved. Then, when they no longer chose war and violence as a means to resolve their differences, the people themselves would take the implements with which they had made war and transform them into implements that would be used to build, to plant and to bring life.

Virgil (Georgics 1, 509) and Ovid (Facti 1, 699) shared similar visions. The desire for peace is not limited to Jews or to Christians. Unfortunately, we who wish for peace do not always support that desire with deliberate actions that will sustain the peace among us. What makes this peace we desire so difficult to attain? Martin Luther King Jr. suggested that peace eludes us because we succumb to “the paralysis of analysis.” Daniel Berrigan insists that Isaiah’s words be taken literally, seriously — that they be allowed to command our hearts and minds; that they convert us to the truth that peace cannot be achieved by making war, but only by destroying every implement of war and by giving ourselves over to the ways and the will of God (Isaiah: Spirit of Courage, Gift of Tears, Fortress Press, Minneapolis: 1996).

Rom 13:11-14“She lights up the room.” This description is often ascribed to a person whose presence makes

a positive difference in the lives of those around her. Just by being there, this luminous person can change a mood, lighten the moment and transform an otherwise negative circumstance into something better. We all know people like that, and we appreciate the joy of being touched by their radiance. We also know those whose dour mood and negative outlook can suck the light and life out of a room.

When Paul spoke in terms of light and darkness in his Letter to the Romans, he was drawing on a powerful human experience to draw them even deeper into the mystery of Christ Jesus. By his

coming into the world, by his words and works and through his salvific death, Jesus conquered the darknesses of sin and death. His presence brought light into the world, and with it, truth, peace, justice, forgiveness and salvation. Those who accept Jesus in faith and commit themselves to him are thereby also agreeing to live and walk in light.

To walk in light and to be the light in a world that is shrouded in sin automatically puts the believer into a state of tension, pulled in one direction and then the other. Life becomes a daily struggle fraught with decisions, the consequences of which are considerable. Nevertheless, because of Christ, the light of the world, there is the constant support of grace in every human struggle and in every difficult decision. Grace enables the believer not only to “put on light” as a protective “armor” (v. 12), and not merely to reflect the light of Christ in our lives, but to become light for others.

All of Paul’s exhortations here are infused with a sense of urgency, as is illustrated in his reference to “the time” and “the hour to wake from sleep” (v. 11). Paul was not referring to chronological time or the convention by which human beings mark off the hours, days, weeks and years of their existence. Rather, he used the world kairos, which refers to that climactic moment for which Jesus had come into the world. Kairos began with the death, resurrection and glorification of Jesus and continues on into eternity until Jesus returns again.

Those who welcome Jesus have synchronized the clocks of their lives so that all they are bears witness to him. This belonging causes the believer to be out of synch with many of the world’s interests and values. Certainly this same conflict was present also in Rome during the first Christian century, and Paul warned his readers against deeds that would go against their faith. Here he referred to the orgies and promiscuity for which Rome was infamous. But even in the midst of all that darkness, Paul was certain that the Christians in Rome could bring some light. His words, repeated in our hearing, call us to be similarly luminous.

Matt 24:37-44In his fine commentary on Matthew’s Gospel, William Barclay cited a fable about three

apprentice demons who were being sent to earth to complete their apprenticeships (The Daily Study Bible, The Saint Andrew Press, Edinburgh, U.K.: 1975). Before they departed, Satan asked each of them how they were going to tempt and ruin humankind. “I will tell them there is no God,” said the first. Satan responded, “That will not delude many, for they know there is a God.” At that the second demon said, “I will tell them there is no hell.” To that Satan said, “You will deceive no one, for they also know that there is a hell for the unrepentant.” The third demon said, “I will tell them that there is no hurry.” Pleased at this response, Satan said, “Go! You will ruin them by the thousands.” Most dangerous of all delusions is to think that there is plenty of time. One of the most dangerous days in a person’s life is when he or she learns that there is a tomorrow. On that day, the person begins to put off what can and should be done today.

This fable underscores the urgency in preparing for the coming of the Son of Man. The images in today’s Gospel warn that when that day comes, it will come with shattering suddenness and with a swift judgment that sifts good from evil with a finality that cannot be reversed.

On the outside, two men in a field and two women grinding at a mill look the same. No doubt the primeval Noah was also outwardly similar to his contemporaries. Yet he survived the flood, as did the one man from the field and the one woman at the mill survive the coming of the Son of Man. For reasons known only to God who sees beyond appearances to the heart of a person, some will survive the hour of the Son while others will not. Since that decision lies completely within God’s purview, believers are simply to follow the Matthean Jesus’ advice and “be

prepared.” With a nod to Barclay’s fable, we would not be wrong to add a modifier to Jesus’ advice and say, “Be prepared today!”

In an appeal to the common sense of his listeners, the Matthean Jesus also offered the image of the homeowner who prepares so that a thief will not catch him off guard. If we are practical and sensible enough to guard ourselves and those who are dear to us against danger and harm from unwanted guests, how can we not be prepared for the ultimate guest, Jesus?

Perhaps the secret to being prepared lies in taking time each day to search out the presence of Jesus. He lives and breathes in the word that proclaims and reveals him; he reaches out to feed the hungry with the bread of his word and the bread of his very self. Familiarity with his sacramental presence should lead us to recognize his presence in the poor and needy of this world. Although Jesus has said that these poor will always be with us, he has also warned that our time to see his face in theirs and to minister to them will come to an end. Therefore, to prepare for an hour we cannot know and will not expect, let us use this day, this moment, this time as best we can.

Sample Homily, November 28, 2010First Sunday of Advent“The Waiting Game”Fr. James Smith

Advent is the “Waiting Game.” We patiently or eagerly await that jolly time. After a certain number of years, you might think that it would get old, that since it comes every year, there is no need to get ready. But as Shakespeare wrote, “The readiness is all.” Or, more popularly, when the Little Prince was getting to know the fox, he insisted on the fox meeting him at exactly 4:00 each day. When the fox asked why, the Little Prince said, “So I can start getting ready for you at 3:00.”That is why Christmas is always on December 25. It is not a movable

feast, like Easter, which is set by the unreliable moon, but a definite date set by the calendar that we can count on. So, here we are today, waiting for Christmas. But how do we wait; what do we do while waiting? That depends on what we are waiting for.There are actually two kinds of Christmas: a secular and a religious

one. Secular Christmas focuses mostly on us while religious Christmas focuses mostly on God. I say “mostly” because since the very first Christmas, there is no radical difference between God and us. Without God, we have no future; without us, God would be something else.What do we celebrate in secular Christmastime? We expect goodwill,

peace, generosity, fulfillment, joy. We look forward to presents and unexpected kisses under the mistletoe. We hope for a bonus or some sign of appreciation; we might half-expect an engagement ring or some indication of permanence. Altogether, we hope for personal contentment, family harmony and the well-being of all mankind.It would be churlish to scoff at these high hopes. In many ways, they

are a description of the kingdom of God: how life would be if the whole world and we lived the way God wanted us to live. In another way, secular Christmas is too good — or at least promises too much. If

all our Christmas dreams came true, we would not need a religious Christmas. We may not even need God.But unfortunately (or fortunately), Christmas expectations are rarely

fulfilled. Humanity has incurable flaws. And even the dreams that come true are largely forgotten when we wake up. Humankind can stand only so much human happiness. We need divine joy.I sometimes wish that secular Christmas and religious Christmas were

celebrated on different days. That way, we could appreciate them both. But that’s not going to happen. Even if we changed dates for our religious feast, the secular world would slowly take it over, as it has absorbed Sundays and holy days, Easter and Thanksgiving, reducing Jesus to a bunny.Our only recourse is to celebrate our private religious reality in

the midst of secular activity. We remember: What is Christmas from God’s point of view? Well, it is that momentous moment when God’s own Son descended from heavenly realms of glory to dusty earth. It is that magic moment when humanity was absorbed into divinity. It is that miraculous moment when the Son of God became the son of Mary.Like all births, it was absolutely amazing, both to parents and to

child. Even after the first child, parents are still amazed that they can be responsible for creating life. And, of course, it is all new to the infant. But this child was not like other children. He did not come into the world as a stranger — he came into his own world. The world he entered was a world that had been made through him, made after his own mind, made precisely for his own life. All of creation and all of time was simply a build-up for this moment of his birth.