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This time of year is an especially noisy one, wouldn’t you agree? Some of this noise we might call “good” noise: Christmas carols, the sounds of our favorite movies and shows, the excitement and laughter of children. Other noise, however, we might characterize as “bad,” namely the full-scale marketing assault we’re bombarded with “24/7.”

The danger with all this noise- both “good” and “bad” is that it can drown out the voice of God- a voice that rarely shouts, but usually speaks in whispers. That’s why we need to make a special effort to listen amidst the hubbub of this season.

Consider today’s gospel. Jesus laments that the people of his generation didn’t make an effort to listen- either to John the Baptist, or to him. As a consequence, they robbed themselves of the wisdom that only they could give.

Jesus dearly wanted them to listen, and he dearly wants us to listen as he speaks to us in the silence of our hearts. Yet in this season, silence isn’t going to find us. We have to go and find it, by making the time for quiet time with God. Just think about it: When were the abiding shepherds able to hear the herald angels sing? In the middle of a silent night.

Photo Credit: Wikipedia Commons

Readings for today’s Mass:http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/120911.cfm

Have you ever seen “The Family Man,” a film starring Nicholas Cage? Cage’s character is an wealthy businessman who’d made a choice thirteen years earlier to leave behind the woman he was to marry to pursue his professional dreams. But then one day he wakes up to find he’s been given a glimpse of what might have been if he’d made a different choice. He’d married the woman instead of having left her. She’s loyal and loving, and they have two beautiful children and a supportive network of friends. Having experienced this, Cage comes to regret the choices he’d made. So when he’s returned to his real life, he fights valiantly to restore what he had lost, and make a reality the glimpse he’d been given of what might have been.

In Mary, our mother, you and I are given a glimpse of what might have been if different choices had been made, if the choice to sin had never been made, leaving us with a fallen human nature. Through the Immaculate Conception, God preserved Mary from this condition, allowing us to behold in her a life of perfect faith, love, and obedience to God’s will. We see in Mary what we might have been today.

However, Mary’s witness should give us, not only a longing for what might have been, but also a sign for what might yet be. This is because Mary’s Immaculate Conception made possible the Virgin Birth of Jesus Christ, who came to heal us, and restore what had been lost. Through Jesus, we can hope that the perfection Mary enjoyed on earth might be ours to enjoy one day in heaven. Which makes our commemoration today, not an occasion of longing and regret, but a celebration of gratitude and hope.

Image Credit: Wikipedia Commons

The fullness of time

Written by Br. Innocent Smith, O.P.

Sometimes people are nostalgic for an era they never lived in. They might prefer the fashion, the music, or the mores of a bygone era, or they might look forward to some future period when all of their political or cultural aspiration will be realized. On one level, a critical evaluation of the glories of the past can be helpful in giving us a measuring stick for our own achievements. Nevertheless, we must be always conscious of the importance of living our lives to the full in the world in which we really exist, not obsessed with our own imaginary construction of the past or future.

The reason for this is that although there is a certain contingency to our existence at this moment in history—I did not choose to enter the world I did, but happened to do so following upon the concrete decisions of others that ordered their lives in a certain way—nevertheless my existence at this moment fits into God’s providential plan. There is no contradiction between contingent human decisions and divine providence. God freely creates the soul of each of us at the moment of conception, a moment that occurs on the basis of the union of our parents. This, incidentally, is the core of the tragedy of abortion—although this child may not be desired by his or her parents, whatever the contingent circumstances may be, he or she is created and loved by God.

On the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, we celebrate the marvelous congruence between the contingent human action and divine providence in the conception of Mary. The parents of the Virgin conceived her in the normal manner, but on this occasion God not only created her soul but did so in a way that preserved her from every stain of sin by virtue of the death of his Son, which he foresaw, preparing her to be a worthy dwelling for Jesus. Mary’s parents lived at a particular moment of history, unchosen by themselves, and decided to marry each other at a time they themselves chose. The child that was born to them, whom they decided to name Mary, was to play an integral role in the mystery of redemption: in the fullness of time, at the exactly appropriate moment, she was to bear a son, and name him Jesus.

Meditation: Reflect on the ways God’s providence has worked in your life through contingent events. Pray for your parents, and those who have played an important role in your life.

For you shall be comforted!

The world doesn’t work the way it should. Freak accidents ruin our plans; the greatest passions dwindle to boredom; our best friends annoy us; death snatches our loved ones and they are gone. Conflict is built into the structure of the world—we are not even at peace with ourselves. The sin of Adam has shaken the earth, and nothing is stable anymore.

Sin causes us pain because it doesn’t belong. God made the world good, free from sin and death. But when Adam and Eve rejected God’s love and chose to create their own path to happiness, they lost the special gifts of closeness to God that they had enjoyed, and the earth became a place of struggle and pain.

But sin is not the last word about us. Our hearts still long for God, and he gives us his grace that we might be lifted out of our sin and filled with the very presence of the Divine Trinity. This is our hope—that God did not make us for death, but for life eternal as his adopted sons and daughters. Jesus came to earth for this purpose, and he will come again to bring this work to completion.

God calls us to hope for a goodness that we often can’t see, that will be fulfilled only in the world to come. In Advent especially we realize that the longing for heaven can itself be a kind of pain, because we see the brokenness of the world and the brokenness of our own hearts, caused by the blows of sin, and we yearn for the wholeness of Christ.

Christ offers us this holy longing in the second beatitude: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Left to our own devices, we mourn selfishly, sinking into self-pity whenever something of ours—a relationship, a piece of property, even a comfortable lie—is taken away from us. By God’s grace, we long for his presence and mourn what separates us from him, hoping to be made more like him; we mourn our sins and those of the world because we long for Christ to come again and bring us the comfort of the heavenly Jerusalem.

Today’s meditation: Reflect on Jesus’ mercy. Offer God one of your selfish desires and ask him to take it away.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit”

Advent begins with both a bang and a whisper. Now that Thanksgiving is out of the way, stores, commercials, and TV channels are roiling with the frenetic energy of Yuletide cheer, while each of us struggles to remember what it is we are actually preparing for.

But the clash between noise and stillness is nothing new. Thinking of the Messiah’s coming, Isaiah begs the Lord to come in thunder and earthquake, while St. Mark reminds us that Jesus comes so quietly that we might miss him unless we keep careful watch.

The first beatitude helps us resolve the apparent conflict: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Our world has its own values and priorities, according to which the poor are usually somewhere between despised and pitied, but never blessed. Jesus opens the door here to a new way of living: the poor in spirit are those who don’t need to create their own meaning, to wrest wealth, power, and happiness from the world by their own brute strength. The poor in spirit place their hope in God, and live in his presence wherever they happen to be, however chaotic or earth-shaking their surroundings may be.

Jesus Christ is the stillness at the heart of the world’s noise. He invites us to become poor in spirit, to be with him now, sharing a foretaste of the kingdom of heaven even on this earth.

But Christ will come again, with a splendor and a majesty that will shake loose the foundations of the world—stillness doesn’t mean immobility. We can’t make ourselves ready for that day by our own power; we can’t force ourselves to be poor in spirit. Jesus himself prepares us for his Second Coming through this beatitude, offering us a new wealth, a new kingdom, and new life: grace. May the life of grace grow in us this Advent, letting us live in God’s presence, in noise and in quiet.

Today’s meditation: Ask God to increase your desire for him.

Outside, there is a great drama of light and darkness is unfolding before us. The light is giving way to darkness.

Here in the Northern Hemisphere the days are getting very short just now. And they’re going to get even shorter. In Washington DC, where I live, it is dark by 5pm. On cloudy days it is almost dark by 4pm. My brothers both live further north, one in St. Paul the other in Seattle. It’s dark even earlier there.

An old expression (probably by Yogi Berra) goes, “It’s getting late very early out there.”

For us, who live in modern times of electricity, the drama is less obvious, little more than an annoyance as we switch on more lights.

But think of those who lived not long before us, in a time before abundant electrical lights. Perhaps it was possible to huddle near a candle or fire, but in the end, the darkness put a real stop to most things. Neither work, nor reading, nor most forms of recreation could take place. Darkness was a significant factor.

Recently, in a widespread power outage, I was struck at just how really dark it was outside at night without the streetlights and lights from homes. Frankly it was hard to venture out. Bearings were quickly lost and I stumbled over simple things like a curb or fence post. We moderns just aren’t used to this.

Once I toured Luray Caverns in the nearby Shenandoah Mountains. At the bottom of the caverns hundreds of feet down they gathered us near the center of a large cave and shut off the lights. The darkness was overwhelming. It was almost a physical feeling. I felt a wave of slight panic sweep through me and was so relieved when the lights came back on. Is this what it is like to be blind? Light is very precious.

And so, here in a “deep and dark December,” the light continues to recede. The spiritual impact of this drama of light is brought into the Church. Our hymns turn to images of light. The darker it gets, the more candles we light on the Advent wreath. In the darkest moments of December our Advent wreath is at its brightest. As Scripture says, The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it….The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. (John 1:5, 9). And old prayer says, Within our darkest night you kindle a fire that never dies away.

As the drama of light outside continues, December 21 and 22nd are the shortest, darkest days of the year. By December 23rd, the ancients noticed a slight return of the Light. Now the morning star heralds something new, something brighter.

People, look east. The time is near

Of the crowning of the year.

Make your house fair as you are able,

Trim the hearth and set the table.

People, look east and sing today:

Love, the guest, is on the way.

And then, on December 24th, in the deep center of one of the the longest nights, the liturgy of Christmas begins, Christ is born and on December 25th a new light shines. From then on, the days get longer.

Yes, a great drama of light is unfolding before us. It is Advent. It is time to recognize our need for the light and just how precious Jesus, the light of the world is. Ponder in these darkest days the beauty of the light.

Consider too the theme of light in many of the Advent songs we sing. Here are few excerpts, mostly from Old Latin Hymns:

From Veni, Veni, Emmanuel:

O come, thou Dayspring from on high,

And cheer us by thy drawing nigh:

Disperse the gloomy cloud of night

And death’s dark shadow put to flight

Rejoice, rejoice Emmanuel,

Shall come to thee O Israel.

From the German Hymn Wachet auf:

Wake, awake, for night is flying;

The watchmen on the heights are crying:

Awake, Jerusalem, at last!

Midnight hears the welcome voices

And at the thrilling cry rejoices;

Come forth, ye virgins, night is past;

The Bridegroom comes, awake;

Your lamps with gladness take;

Alleluia! And for His marriage feast prepare

For ye must go and meet Him there.

From Conditor Alme Siderum

Creator of the stars of night,

Thy people’s everlasting light

Oh Christ, thou savior of us all,

We pray thee hear us when we call

From Vox Clara ecce intonat:

Hark! a thrilling voice is sounding;

“Christ is nigh,” it seems to say,

“Cast away the works of darkness,

O ye children of the day.”

 

Wakened by the solemn warning

Let the earthbound soul arise;

Christ, her Sun, all ill dispelling,

Shines upon the morning skies.

 

 

 

From the Li­tur­gy of St. James, 4th Cen­tu­ry (Σιγησάτο παρα σὰρξ βροτεία):

Rank on rank the host of heaven

Spreads its vanguard on the way,

As the Light of light descendeth

From the realms of endless day,

That the powers of hell may vanish

As the darkness clears away.

From Veni Redemptor Gentium:

Thy cradle here shall glitter bright,

And darkness breathe a newer light,

Where endless faith shall shine serene,

And twilight never intervene

 

Enjoy this Advent and watch for the Light, it will surely come

Written by Br.  Gabriel Torretta, OP

Advent is a time of preparation. But preparation for what? The Church only exists because Christ has already come to us, so Advent might just seem like a collective form of play-acting, where we pretend that we don’t know what’s coming, like naughty children who have long since found where their parents hide the presents, but still have to act surprised on Christmas morning. And that’s what Advent would be if Jesus Christ were just another historical figure whose birth we celebrate, like George Washington or Martin Luther King.

But Jesus is not just a historical man who lived in the distant past. Jesus is the Messiah, the Chosen One of God, God-made-man. His birth, life, death, and resurrection restructured human life in the world—eternity is now always present to us in the living person of Jesus Christ, reigning in heaven.

God became man and lived on this earth in Jesus Christ; in heaven he reigns now, present to us in the liturgy, the sacraments, and the life of prayer; at the end of time he will come again, glorious in his judgment of the living and the dead. Advent allows us to prepare for—to reflect on and be changed by—these three ‘comings’ of Christ: in history, in our hearts, and at the last judgment.

Throughout Advent we will be presenting a series of short meditations that focus on the transformation that God offers us in Jesus Christ. To prepare our hearts for Christ’s Second Coming, we will explore the New Law that Jesus gave us to transform us by his grace: the Beatitudes, the Law of the heavenly Jerusalem. At the same time, we will reflect on the historical coming of Christ, praying with the mysteries of Mary’s life and looking to be made like her, as she was made like Christ.

Today’s meditation: Ask God to show himself to you in a new way this Advent. Spend some time in prayer, reflecting on the three ‘comings’ of Christ.

Check back on Thursday for the next reflection of the Advent 2011: Live Anew Series.