Category Archives: Advent

The Days of Promise

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I hope you have been following the readings here during the final week of Advent. These have been the gospel readings:

  • Friday: the “annunciation” of the birth of Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist
  • Saturday: the Annunciation to the Blessed Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus
  • Sunday: the story of Joseph and the Word of God that came to him in a dream telling him to take Mary into his house and become the guardian of Jesus
  • Monday: as part of the Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth, the gospel is Mary’s exultant song of Hope: the Magnificat
  • Tuesday: the birth and naming of John the Baptist – “All who heard these things took them to heart, saying, “What, then, will this child be? For surely the hand of the Lord was with him.”
  • Today, Wednesday December 24th, we hear Zechariah’s song of praise known as the Benedictus.

God is doing what he promised. His word will come to pass. These events are “as he promised through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old.” The promise involves rescue: God will save his people from their enemies and from all who hate them. Such salvation reflects the mercy of God and the recollection of the covenant made with Abraham. In this way the hymn actually combines two sets of divine promises – those about David’s son and those made to Abraham. What God will do for his people he does through Messiah. The fresh fulfillment of both covenants begins with Jesus’ arrival.

But what is the goal of this salvation? Here is perhaps the most insightful part of the hymn. Zechariah is not retreating from life or looking only to a future reward in heaven. His heart’s desire is to serve God “without fear … in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.” This is the expression of an exemplary soul. The meaning of life comes in faithful service to a holy God. 

Such was the goal and purpose of Advent that we too might serve God without fear and in holiness all the days of our life. And to be reminded these are the days of promises fulfilled.

Image credit: Stained glass window, Sts. Joseph & Paul Catholic Church, Owensboro KY | PD

The Birth of the Baptist

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The gospel for the 4th Tuesday of Advent is from Luke 1:57 and following, describing the birth of John the Baptist. With the birth of John, God continues to fulfill what he promised in Luke 1:5-25. John’s father, mute till now, regains his power of speech as soon as the name designated by the angel is confirmed. The people are filled with fear — not terror, but awesome reverence in the face of God’s wonderful deeds. They are not simply shocked but show their awareness of deeper meaning in the events.

The birth and circumcision of John emphasize John’s incorporation into the people of Israel by the sign of the covenant (Genesis 17:1-12). The narrative of John’s circumcision also prepares the way for the subsequent description of the circumcision of Jesus in Luke 2:21. At the beginning of his two-volume work Luke shows those who play crucial roles in the inauguration of Christianity to be wholly a part of the people of Israel. At the end of the Acts of the Apostles (Acts 21:20; 22:3; 23:6-9; 24:14-16; 26:2-8, 22-23) he will argue that Christianity is the direct descendant of Pharisaic Judaism.

Though children were often named at birth in the Old Testament (Gen 25:25-26; 29:32-35), it appears that sometimes such naming was associated with circumcision. The presence of the parents at circumcision shows them as pious, law-abiding Jews (Gen 21:4; Lev 12:3).  However grounded in custom, many features of the naming of John are surprising. 

The crowd fully expects custom to be followed. They wish the child to be named Zechariah. Children were often named after fathers or grandfathers (1 Maccabees 1:1-2; Josephus Life 15; Antiquities 14.1.3 10; 20.9.1 197; Jubilees 11:15). Elizabeth rejects the crowd’s desire and goes her own way. The name she chooses is the one the angel gave Zechariah in v.13. The text is silent on how she knew this name, but that detail is unimportant. The choice of the surprising name indicates that God’s will has been fulfilled through human obedience. 

The protest of the crowd shows that they are unaware of what God is doing. Surely the father of the house will not sanction this breaking of custom. So they motion to Zechariah to find out what the name of the child should be. By repeating the name his wife gave, Zechariah echoes the instructions of the angel, not the crowd and custom. In typical Lucan fashion, the responses of the people are (1) amazement (thaumazo, v. 63) and fear (phobos, v. 65). Both of these words occur more often in Luke than in the other gospels. They are not words of faith. In addition, there is a possible contrast between Zechariah’s reaction and his neighbors. “He was speaking (laleo –something he couldn’t do in 1:20, 22). What was he speaking? Praises to God (v. 64b). The neighbors talk about or discuss [dialaleo] these things with one another (v. 65). The only other time this second word is used in Luke, it is the Pharisees who are filled with anger and discuss what they might do to Jesus (6:11).

The praises to God are captured in Zechariah’s song, traditionally called the Benedictus from its first word in Latin. It is the NT canticle sung at Morning Prayers. Culpepper (“Luke,” New Interpreter’s Bible, p.59) writes:

The progression of thought in the Benedictus shows, however, that the true end of God’s redemption is not merely deliverance from political domination — as important as that is — but the creation of conditions in which God’s people can worship and serve God without fear…The ultimate purpose of God’s salvation presupposes deliverance from the enemy but is in fact undisturbed worship. Deliverance makes worship in peace — unhindered worship — possible. [p. 59]

Johnson (Luke, Sacra Pagina, 48) says much the same thing:

The canticle gives the reader the first sure sense of what “liberation” means for Luke. It is defined in specifically “religious” rather than political terms. Negatively defined, freedom means release from the power of enemies. But its positive content is worship and holiness of life. Thus John’s role in preparing the people for “restoration” involves the forgiveness of sins rather than the rallying of troops. Likewise the Messiah’s role is not one of violent revolt but rather of leading the people “in the path of peace.”

Previously, Johnson had noted how Zechariah fulfilled this canticle: “Luke has thereby made the experience of Zechariah a miniature enactment of his canticle: God’s mercy liberates the people to worship fearlessly; Zechariah’s release from muteness is expressed in praise” (p.57).

Zechariah’s canticle, like that of Mary, weaves traditional Hebrew quotations and themes into a hymn of praise. His hymn can be described as a “prophecy” under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Prophecy in this fundamental biblical sense does not mean primarily a foretelling of the future, as in modern parlance, but a divinely enlightened proclamation of the meaning of events. Zechariah sees in the birth of his son God’s remembrance of his covenant promises to David (2 Sam 7:8–16) and the definitive salvation for all the people. In the first part of the canticle, the salvation hoped for sounds roughly like the overthrow of national enemies (a concept of Messiah that would plague Jesus during his ministry), but in later verses salvation is understood more profoundly as freedom for worship.

The birth event of John the Baptist displays three unique features: (1) the old have given birth, (2) the child has an unexpected name, and (3) Zechariah’s handicap is taken away, whereupon he launches into praise about what God is doing. Such remarkable events cause the crowd to fear and reflect. Something different and surprising is happening, things worth remembering and considering. So they wonder, “What, then, will this child be?” Luke wants his readers to consider the same question. The story’s close indicates that “surely the hand of the Lord was with him.” Luke continues his purpose of giving the reader assurance of God’s faithfulness.

Luke’s way of ending this story of John’s birth is a good indication of his technique in keeping the reader’s attention on one episode at a time, even though several events are interlocked. Verse 80 has John growing up from infancy to manhood and taking his place in the desert even before Jesus’ birth is described. He is stationed there for his next appearance in the story thirty years later (3:1–3).

Image credit: Birth of St. John the Baptist, Artemisia Gentileschi, Prado Museum Madrid, Public Domain

A Song of Hope

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On the final days of Advent, the Church places on Mary’s lips a hymn that teaches us how to wait for Christ. The hymn is known as the Magnificat (Lk 1:46–56). This is not a quiet lullaby but a bold proclamation of what God is doing in Mary’s time, now, and forever.

Mary praises God not for what she has achieved, but for what God has done: “The Almighty has done great things for me” (Lk 1:49). It is a reading well placed in these last days of Advent. It reminds us that salvation begins with God’s initiative and not our own. While we often speak of “getting ready for Christmas,” in truth Christmas is a gift we receive. I wonder if we truly, deeply appreciated that we would be more ready to join Mary and proclaim, “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord.”

But the Magnificat also reminds us to not be complacent because the hymn reveals God’s great reversal. He lifts the lowly, fills the hungry, and scatters the proud. As we await the birth of Christ, Mary teaches us that God’s coming always disrupts injustice and restores dignity. So powerful was the message that governments banned the public recitation, singing, or display of the Magnificat because they found its message politically or socially threatening (Guatemala in the 1980s | Argentina in the later 1970s and early 1980s). God’s preferential concern for the poor was seen as a subversive message during a time of political violence and repression.

Advent hope is not pious prayer but is meant to be a song of Hope that has the power to transform.

But perhaps most importantly, Mary reminds us to anchor our present moments in God’s ancient promises: “He has remembered his promise of mercy” (Lk 1:54). In these last days before Christmas, the Magnificat assures us that God is faithful. What He promised to Israel, He fulfills in Christ.

As we prepare for the Lord’s coming, may Mary’s song become our own—one of trust, humility, and joyful expectation.

The Obedience of Faith

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The second reading today is from St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans. By any measure Romans is a complex book with enough theological content to last a lifetime. But in our reading, taken from the opening chapter, there is a phrase, often overlooked, which captures the heart of the Christian life: “the obedience of faith” (Rom 1:5). The “obedience of faith.” It almost seems like a contradiction. Obedience can sound passive or forced – something from the exterior. Faith is something we associate with the interior life, but Paul joins them together. For St. Paul, faith is not merely believing certain truths. Obedience is not blind submission. The two acting together is to entrust one’s life to God so that our interior and exterior are in harmony with God’s will. In the gospel, St. Joseph is a living example of the obedience of faith.

Joseph is in a bit of a pickle. Somehow, he has come to know that Mary is with child and he knows he is not the father. From Joseph’s perspective, Mary’s pregnancy made no sense. The situation threatened his honor, his future, his reputation, and his understanding of God’s plan. Matthew then reveals something about Joseph’s character: “Joseph her husband, since he was a righteous man, yet unwilling to expose her to shame, decided to divorce her quietly” (Mt 1:19). That’s the plan anyway. It was not sinful. It was a plan that merged mercy and obedience to the Law. All things considered, it was a reasonable plan. Quietly stepping away seemed the most just and compassionate solution.

And yet—God interrupts Joseph’s good and reasonable plan with a greater one.

In a dream, the angel tells Joseph: “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home” (Mt 1:20). I think we are conditioned to react, “Huh…OK, an angel… don’t overthink this … I mean it’s an angel of the Lord and everything… just do it, just obey.”  But if we pause for a moment we might notice what the angel does not say. He does not explain everything. He does not promise it will be risk free, easy or even give a hint as to the next step beyond taking Mary into his household. But he does reveal a great plan in the works: This child is from the Holy Spirit. This child will save his people from their sins. 

And Joseph must decide whether to entrust his honor, future, and reputation to God’s plan. Will he entrust his life to God?

Matthew’s description of Joseph’s response is striking in its simplicity: “When Joseph awoke, he did as the angel of the Lord had commanded him” (Mt 1:24). There is no indication of questions, there is no bargaining, no conditions or stipulations. There is simply the obedience of faith.

Joseph surrenders control, not because he understands everything, but because he trusts the One who speaks. His obedience is not weakness. It is courage. It costs him security, reputation, and the comfort of certainty. But through that obedience, Joseph becomes guardian of the Redeemer and spouse of Mary.

Advent is not only preparation for Christmas; it is a season for us to learn about trust. Like Joseph, many of us enter Advent with our own plans, expectations, and hopes. We are regular people who want clarity before commitment. We want certainty before agreement or surrender. But Advent teaches us that God often asks for obedience before understanding.

What might the obedience of faith look like in our lives? It may look like:

  • Trusting God when our plans fall apart.
  • Choosing fidelity to our commitments when walking away seems easier.
  • Accepting a responsibility we did not choose and might really rather avoid.
  • Remaining faithful when the future is unclear and circumstances reveal an easier path.
  • Saying “yes” to God without seeing the full picture, without bargaining, and despite our fears.

Faith does not eliminate fear. Faith acts despite those fears.

Joseph never utters a single word in Scripture, but his actions have a lot to say. A lot to teach us. He shows us that holiness often can be found in the quiet places, the hidden places, when good people act in faith when “reasonable” people caution and direct you to a safer path.

The lives of the Saints tell the stories of the obedience of faith. One day in an abandoned chapel outside Assisi, the Word of God came to St. Francis: “Rebuild my church.” He obeyed in faith. One night long ago in Nazareth, the salvation of the world entered history not only through Mary’s “yes”, but also through Joseph’s obedience.

Here in these final days of Advent, the Church invites us to ask where God is asking each one of us to trust Him more deeply. Sometimes that will ask us to name our fears (loss of honor, an uncertain future, etc.). Sometimes it asks us to let go of our reasonable and prudent plan in exchange for the unknown.

The readings remind us that we are called to a life lived in the obedience of faith.” Joseph shows us what that looks like in flesh and blood.

To live that life, we don’t have to have everything figured out, but we are asked to be ready to obey when God speaks. For when faith obeys, Christ is born anew in the world and in us.

Amen

Image credit: Ceiling detail Battistero di San Giovanni | Florence | 13th century | photo by Marie-Lan Nguyen | Wikimedia Commons  | CC-BY 2.5

Contrasts

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Today’s first reading is taken from Judges 13:2–7, 24–25 and talks about Samson. The paired gospel is from Luke 1:5-25 in which an angel of the Lord comes to Zachariah to tell him that he and his wife Elizabeth, long considered barren, would have a child. At first blush it is an odd pairing – at least to my mind.

Samson was the last of the Judges of the ancient Israelites mentioned in the Book of Judges; he appears in  chapters 13 to 16. The “judges” were leaders (often military leaders) that the Lord appointed to deliver the Israelite people out of their current predicament with hostile neighbors. This is the age before the monarchs of Israel.

Samson’s mother was thought unable to have a child but in a miraculous turn of events she gives birth to Samson and dedicates him to the Lord. As a result he possessed immense strength enabling him to perform seemingly superhuman feats, including slaying a lion with his bare hands and single handedly killing an entire Philistine army with a donkey’s jawbone. These are the episodes most often featured in Christian comic books. In the final scene of his life, betrayed by his close associates, he is captured by the Philistines and is about to be offered as sacrifice to the pagan god Dagon. He used his superhuman strength to bring down the columns – collapsing the temple and killing both himself and the Philistines.  Superhero action aside, Samson is a vengeful bringer of death; there really is nothing in his character and life that is anything we would consider Christ-like. And yet the readings are juxtaposed in a way that calls for reflection of what we are to understand from the pairing. Both readings point to God’s saving plan beginning with a miraculous birth, but in what ways does Samson foreshadow John the Baptist or Jesus and in what ways is Samson different? Perhaps the pairing of readings is to cast Samson and John the Baptists as the ones who point to Jesus. In any case, both readings present the same divine pattern: God begins salvation not with armies or institutions, but with a child announced by God. 

In Judges 13 Samson’s mother is barren but an angel of the Lord announces the birth. One sees the pattern to be repeated in the annunciation to Zechariah. In each instance, the child is chosen before conception for a role in the Divine Plan – a plan that the parents do not initiate. It is God’s initiative by which the child is set apart before birth and his life is meant to serve God’s saving purpose for Israel. In his role as deliverer Samson imperfectly foreshadows Jesus in his role as Savior. We can compare and contrast this and perhaps tease out an understanding of why these readings are paired in Advent.

  • Samson is dedicated by his mother and is consecrated to God’s purpose. Jesus is not consecrated by vows, rather by his identity.
  • Samson’s role is partial and incomplete: “He shall begin to deliver Israel from the hand of the Philistines” (Judg 13:5) – limited to a single nation. Jesus comes to save Israel and the world from sin and death. His salvation is total and definitive. Samson points to a “deliverer,” but not the final one.
  • In Judges 13:25 we are told that “The Spirit of the LORD stirred him.” But as the story unfolds it is not clear Samson let the Spirit lead him. Jesus is conceived by the Holy Spirit, anointed at baptism by the Spirit and acts consistently under the Spirit’s guidance.
  • Samson is physically strong but spiritually weak. His strength is external and he repeatedly gives in to lust, anger, revenge, and impulsiveness. He breaks the very vows that consecrate him. Jesus, by contrast, shows strength through obedience, triumphs through humility, resists temptation in the wilderness, and is faithful unto death It might be said that Samson saves by force; Jesus saves by fidelity.
  • And consider the way Samson “delivers:” he kills enemies directly, his victories increase conflict, and his final act is destructive to others and himself. His death is simply tragic as he dies in despair and vengeance. Samson dies with his enemies. 
  • Jesus refuses violence, heals enemies, absorbs violence rather than inflicting, and saves via his own death on the cross – a gift that leads to resurrection – all given in love. Jesus dies for his enemies and his gift becomes the source of new life. 
  • Samson is morally inconsistent. His life is marked by compromise. His calling is real, but his obedience is partial. Jesus is the faithful Son who completes the Father’s will perfectly and as a result brings salvation to completion.

I think the Church gives us Samson during Advent to teach us something essential: God has always worked through human weakness, but that is not enough to save us. Every flawed deliverer increases our longing for the true one. Samson shows us how far God’s grace can take a person and how incomplete salvation remains without perfect obedience. Jesus is what Samson points toward but cannot become.

The readings remind us God is ever active in history, consistent in promise and covenant, and loved the world so much He would send his only Son – not to deliver us, but to redeem and save us.

Image credit: Samson slaying the lion | Peter Paul Rubens |  El Imparcial, Madrdi | PD-US

On their own land

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The first reading today is from Jeremiah, the prophet to the nation during times of crisis in the final days of the kingdom of Judah. The prophet was given the daunting task of prophecy to Jerusalem who was at the end of a “death spiral” of horrible leadership under the kings of Judah, the descendants of King David. In the midst of his oracles against and city, king and people, the prophet proclaims: “Behold, the days are coming, says the LORD, when I will raise up a righteous shoot to David; As king he shall reign and govern wisely.” (Jer 23:5). 

Here is the season of Advent we hear and understand Jeremiah as speaking of “the days” being some 580 years later long after the crisis of the Babylonian Empire and the coming Exile. We hear the trace of the messianic prophecy of Jesus – the “righteous shoot” that will bloom from the stump of Jesse (cf. Isaiah 40). In Jeremiah’s day, I suspect the people knew their days were numbered as none would be able to stand against the power of Nebuchadnezzar and his Babylonian armies. They were sure to be dispossessed of the land and their inheritance. But to them Jeremiah says that the children of Israel “…shall again live on their own soil.” (Jer 23:8). Even if dispossessed, they would return to claim their inheritance.

In our days, the Righteous King has already come, bringing the Kingdom of God to those who claim their inheritance – and so it has been for more than 2000 years… There are certainly days when here in the United States we can feel like the faithful remnant of Jerusalem in Jeremiah’s day. According to Pew Research landscape studies, Christianity has been declining in America. In 2007, 80% of people identified as Christian; by 2024 that number had decreased to 62% of the population. By 2024 only 45% of young adults identified as Christian. In that same period between 2007 and 2024, the share of U.S. adults identifying as Catholic declined 21%.

As I read Jeremiah and consider the Pew Studies, one can be disheartened that, as a people, we are being “dispossessed” of our inheritance of faith. But at the same time, I am encouraged. All across the United States, Catholic parishes are experiencing a phenomenon of increased numbers of people in the OCIA programs, the means by which people come into the Catholic faith as adults. It is a movement in which I hear the echo of Jeremiah: “they shall again live on their own soil.” (Jer 23:8)

My unscientific sampling of Catholic parishes points to a doubling of the numbers of participants in OCIA just from last year with a marked increase in the numbers of adults seeking the Sacrament of Baptism. A statistical blip? Time will tell. A renewal of faith? I certainly hope so. Time will tell. But it strikes me that we need to be people that are not satisfied that the Messiah has come but even if we are but a faithful remnant, to be aware that the promise of the Messiah and the Kingdom are everlasting and we are called to witness to those signs among us.

Jeremiah | detail of Sistine Chapel | Michelangelo | PD-US | Pexels CC-0

A call to remember

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Today you might ask a new neighbor or a new parishioner, “Where are you from?” It is a normal question. Growing up in the South it was equally likely for someone to ask, “Who are your people?” Today’s gospel is the answer to that question, which at first hearing, sounds like just a long list of names—Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, David, Solomon, and those are just the ones you recognize. It is the kind of passage we are tempted to skim over quickly or just flat out skip all together. But St. Matthew begins his Gospel in this way for a reason: he is showing us that Jesus is not an isolated figure who appears out of nowhere. Rather, He is the fulfillment of God’s promises, and His life is deeply rooted in the history of Israel.

Each of these names carries a story. Abraham reminds us of the promise that God would bless all nations through his descendants. David points to the royal line and the expectation of a Messiah, a son of David who would shepherd God’s people. Even the less famous or less noble figures—like Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba—remind us that God works through unexpected people, through sinners and outsiders, to bring about His plan.

Matthew is teaching us that the Old Testament is not just background information; it is a living testimony to who Jesus is. Without Abraham, we don’t understand what it means that Jesus is the fulfillment of the covenant. Without David, we don’t grasp why the Messiah must be a king. Without the prophets, we would not recognize in Jesus the one who is born of a virgin and called Emmanuel, God-with-us.

This passage invites us to treasure the Old Testament as the story of God preparing the world for Christ. The genealogy reminds us that our faith is not built on myth or imagination, but on real people, real history, and a real promise fulfilled in Jesus.

So when we read the Old Testament—whether it’s the faith of Abraham, the courage of Ruth, or the prophetic hope of Isaiah—we are not just reading ancient stories. We are hearing witnesses who point us to Christ. They remind us that God has been faithful throughout history, and that He remains faithful in our lives today.

May this genealogy, then, not be for us a list of names to hurry past, but a call to remember: the whole story of Israel is our story too, and it leads us to Jesus, Emmanuel, God-with-us.

Image credit: Pexels, CC-0

Advent Landscaping

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Isaiah certainly has away with words. In the first reading for today’s Mass, Isaiah describes mountains being leveled, valleys being filled, and rough places being made smooth. It is a complete revision to the topography of the wilderness. Even in its earth-bound description, it is cosmic in its scale. Can you imagine the earth moving equipment and explosives needed to reshape this wilderness landscape?

But then again, Isaiah is not primarily talking about landscape. He is talking about the human heart. “Prepare the way of the Lord…make straight a highway…for our God.” He is admonishing us to remove anything that keeps us from seeing God’s glory. Isaiah is announcing that when God comes, nothing, not mountains, not valleys, not rugged passes, should stand between the human heart and God’s presence. Advent is the season when we hear this call anew and is our signal to let grace reshape our inner terrain.

What might all this mean for us during Advent?

“Every valley shall be filled in.” We speak of the highs and lows of life; of the hills and valleys along the way. A valley is a place where we feel spiritually or emotionally low. The place where we encounter discouragement – and often silently or alone. Perhaps it is a fear that prayers are unanswered, a sense we are failing or have failed, or a point we give up and no longer believe that change is possible. To that Isaiah proclaims: God wants to fill those valleys with hope.

Isaiah told the people of Judah and Jerusalem long ago, when the barbarians were at the walls, when the leaders had compromised faith and covenant, when hope was a dying ember that theirs was the God of Hope. The God who comforts His people lifts up the discouraged so as to remind us that He has not abandoned us, that His promises still stand, and that His coming is nearer than we think.

“Every mountain and hill shall be made low.” In our age we speak of mountains of money or we hold mountains as impenetrable fortresses where we are kept safe. But in Old Testament scripture, mountains often represent pride, self-reliance, or stubbornness—anything that rises up and blocks our view of God. Here Isaiah likely has in mind “mountains of pride.” Isaiah says these mountains must come down. Not because God wants to diminish us, but because pride blocks our sight. We cannot see the glory of the Lord when our own achievements or opinions tower in the foreground.

During Advent we might ask is our “mountain of pride” blocking our view of God or serving as a barrier to His voice? What part of our life do we insist, “I know best,” even when God is nudging us in another direction? Pride is just one mountain. Advent is a time to recognize and name your particular mountain and begin the landscaping project.

“The rugged land shall be made a plain.” Rugged, uneven ground makes walking difficult. It interrupts our pace and gait making it easy to stumble and fall. I suggest that these represent the patterns of sin, the habits we excuse, or the choices that keep tripping us up.

Advent is a season when God invites us to let grace smooth out what has become rough in us. The Sacrament of Reconciliation is one of God’s great tools for leveling uneven paths so that His coming is not hindered by obstacles we refuse to let go.

“Then the glory of the LORD shall be revealed.” Isaiah’s whole point is this: When the obstacles are removed, we see God. The glory of the Lord is not something God hides; it is something we fail to see when the terrain of our heart is cluttered or distorted. Advent reminds us God is coming. Clear the way so you can recognize Him when He arrives. Be attentive because God’s coming is not only a future event. He comes to us today in Scripture, in the Sacraments, in moments of grace, in the quiet voice of conscience. But we only perceive Him clearly when our interior landscape is open and straight and uncluttered.

Advent is not simply a countdown to Christmas. It is a spiritual landscaping project. So today, in this Eucharist, let us ask for the grace to let Him fill our valleys, lower our mountains, and smooth our rugged paths. Then we will see, not just with our eyes, but with our hearts, the glory of the Lord who comes to save us.

Image credit: Prophet Isaiah, Mosaic, Right of Lunette, South Wall of Presbytery, Basilica of San Vitale | PD-US | Pexels

Hope Restored

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Readings from the Prophet Isaiah are part-and-parcel of Advent. This past week all the first readings were from Isaiah taken from various chapters and all well chosen for the Season of Advent. Every reading proclaimed verses which, to our Christian ears and understanding, are promises of a Messiah to come – a covenant promised fulfilled. It is a message of Hope for us. The words were a much needed beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounded the people of Jerusalem in the prophet Isaiah’s own time. 

The audience was the people of Judah and Jerusalem in the late 8th century B.C., during the reign of King Hezekiah. More specifically, Isaiah addressed three groups of people. Firstly, Isaiah addressed the leadership of Jerusalem (political and religious). Isaiah often portrayed them as blind, deaf, and stubborn (cf. Is 29:9–16) because they paid more attention to pomp, circumstance, gold and glory. They were not leading the people into covenant with God, much the opposite. And so Isaiah also spoke to the wider population, those led astray and whose spiritual perception had become dulled. 

The glory days of King David are long gone and by comparison, the great tree of Jerusalem is like a stump: lifeless and increasingly barren. And now the Assyrians are at the gates of Jerusalem. They have conquered 10 of the 12 tribes already. Jerusalem is next. Hope is quickly fading like a dying ember as the hour approaches midnight.

But there is another group within the city. The prophet Isaiah also addressed a faithful remnant – people who are righteous before God and yet their world is crumbling. They need reassurance that God will act to save and restore the situation that is clearly going astray. They need hope that a Messiah would come to set things aright. Today, our first reading gives us one of the most hope-filled visions in all of Scripture: “A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom” (Is 11:1).

That single line can be an anchor for your Advent reflections. Why? But Isaiah teaches us one of the great Advent truths:  God does His best work with stumps.

When everything looks finished, when the situation looks hopeless, when the future seems cut down to the ground, it is then that God begins something new. The “shoot” is small, fragile, humble. But it is alive, and it carries the promise of a new Kingdom. Someone small, fragile and humble was born in a manger in Bethlehem. It was the beginning of something new. Someone who was revealed, just as Isaiah said, with the gifts of the Spirit: “a spirit of wisdom and of understanding, a spirit of counsel and of strength, a spirit of knowledge and of fear of the Lord” (11:2). He was the One for whom Israel waited. He is the One we await at Christmas yet the One who already reigns. He is the One who can work with the stumps in our lives – that part of us that seems cut down or dying. What might that be?

Hope, because there are days when the news feels overwhelming; when the world feels unstable; or when personal disappointments pile up. Hope can feel like a cut-down stump. Yet Christ is the “shoot” who revives it.

Maybe trust seems dead or dying in our lives because we experience betrayals, family wounds, and broken promises. A person can feel unable to trust others, family members, themselves or even God. Trust can feel like a cut-down stump. Yet Christ is the “shoot” who revives it.

Compassion and tenderness seem absent because stress and busyness can harden hearts. We become too preoccupied and so we respond more with irritation than empathy. We find we can neither give or receive compassion. It can all feel like a cut-down stump. Yet Christ is the “shoot” who revives it.

Has our ability to forgive been cut back? Are we still a forgiving people? Forgiveness might be absent because we carry the burden of memory and hurts that we can’t shake, can’t set down. Resentments have settled in over the years and petrified a part of our heart. It feels even worse than a cut down stump. Yet Christ is the “shoot” who revives it.

What about our prayer life? Because of everything already mentioned and even more, we may be bereft of courage, of joy, of wonder, and patience. Prayer feels dry, mechanical, or absent. It seems “dead,” as though not even the stump is left. Christ can awaken it with one small word spoken into a dark night: “Lord, help me to pray.”

“Lord, help me to hope, trust, be compassionate, and forgive… even when I don’t feel like it. Lord, take my stumps and from them may your grace give forth a bud that will blossom.”

Advent is a time to be attentive and bring “our stumps” to prayer and to the Sacraments, especially the Eucharist. Bring them and give them over to the One who brings life out of nothing.

“A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom” (Is 11:1) The Messiah has come and will come again – but He is with us even now in the Word of God, the Eucharist, and in the Spirit. A shoot is ever and already sprouting. In Him through Him and with Him you have the possibilities of being restored and renewed so that from you the bud of Christ will blossom.

And in time from that bud shall come a new, strong, tall tree upright before God.

Amen

Image credit: Prophet Isaiah, Mosaic, Right of Lunette, South Wall of Presbytery, Basilica of San Vitale | PD-US | Pexels

Being Attentive

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Each Friday, the daily Mass includes the children, teachers and staff of our parish elementary school. And so the readings are taken from the Children’s Lectionary – while the themes are the same, the readings may be different. The post at 9:00 am today was a homily that would have been for one of the readings of the day -Isaiah in particular. This post is a reflection for elementary school students on Luke 12:35-38 – be prepared and keep the lamps burning.

Without a doubt the gospel is about being ready, being prepared. Even the opening verse says, “Be ready and keep your lamps burning.” And absolutely do that, be prepared for Christmas. Make room in your hearts for Jesus’ coming: be kinder, be more patient (especially when things don’t go your way), express your gratitude by saying thank you and letting people know you appreciate them – and make more time for prayer.  All of these are ways to prepare for Christmas.

But you know what stands out for me in that gospel? The servants are paying attention. Their eyes are open, their ears are listening, their hearts are awake. They don’t want to miss the moment when their master arrives. Jesus is not just saying, “Be ready.” He’s also saying: “Pay attention to Me. Don’t miss the ways I come to you.” During Advent, that is one of the most important things we can learn—how to pay attention to Jesus. How can we do that?

Pay Attention to People Who Need Love. Sometimes Jesus comes to us in a person who needs something: someone sitting alone at school, a sibling or classmates who seems sad. A parent who looks tired. When we pay attention, we notice these things. And then we can pray that Jesus help us to do or say the right thing. Or maybe combining “bring prepared” and “paying attention” we can start the day by praying: “Jesus, help me notice who needs kindness today.”  Now you are specially prepared to be attentive to the needs of others. And in this way you are attentive to Jesus living in others.

Pay Attention to Quiet Moments. Advent is a busy time—lights, music, shopping, parties. But Jesus also comes in the quiet moments, when our hearts can hear Him best. During Advent you might:

  • Sit silently for 20–30 seconds and talk to Jesus in your heart
  • When you see an Advent wreath and remember Jesus is near
  • When you see someone who needs kindness, say a small prayer on the way to school

These simple moments help us and remind us to pay attention to Jesus’ gentle voice.

Pay Attention to Goodness. Jesus often shows Himself through good things around us: a friend’s smile, a teacher’s patience, a sunset, a moment when you felt forgiven, a time when you did something kind or loving. During Advent, try to notice the good things God puts in your day and simply say: “Thank you, Jesus, for being with me.” Gratitude helps our hearts stay open, making room for Jesus.

Paying Attention to the Christmas Story. Sometimes we can get so excited about gifts and decorations that we forget the real story. During Advent, you can pay attention to Jesus by intentionally looking at a nativity scene and thinking about each person in the scene. Read a Bible story about Jesus’ birth with your family. When you see a Santa Clause in a book or in the shopping mall, smile and remember Mary and Joseph making their way to Bethlehem.  Amidst all the family traditions, always remember who we’re waiting for.

Each day of Advent, try to be attentive to moments when Jesus is close—and respond to it. It might be a person, a prayer, a good action, or a quiet moment. This is how we “pay attention” to Jesus as Christmas draws near.

So today, let’s ask Jesus to help us: Open our eyes to see Him. Open our ears to hear Him. Open our hearts to welcome Him. That is the Advent way of paying attention to the Lord who loves us.