Category Archives: Musings

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

Salvation History: a Play told in three acts

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I love the readings that are chosen for this celebration. I am convinced that all of Scripture is a single narrative that weaves and wanders its way through people and history to tell us a single story:  “God desires that all be saved” (1 Tim 2:4) These readings invite us to step back and look at the entire story of salvation from the first pages of Genesis, through the great hymn of grace in Ephesians, all the way to the quiet home in Nazareth where the angel Gabriel greets Mary. These three readings trace an arc through salvation history and reveal that God’s plan to save us has always centered on a woman, her Son, and the triumph of grace. It is like a grand, universal play written in three acts:

  • Genesis: The Wound and the Promise
  • Ephesians: The Plan from the Beginning
  • Luke: Grace Meets Freedom

Genesis: The Wound and the Promise

Our first reading from Genesis takes us to one of the saddest moments in Scripture: Adam and Eve hiding from God after the Fall.  Sin has entered the world. Fear has replaced intimacy. Trust has been broken. And yet God’s first response to human sin is not to abandon us, but to promise a Redeemer.

In Genesis 3:15 the Lord says to the serpent: “I will put enmity between you and the woman,
 and between your offspring and hers.” This single verse, called the Protoevangelium – the “first Gospel,” is like a distant star at the edge of salvation history. It points forward to a woman who will be the enemy of the serpent, not his partner; a woman whose child will not fall but will crush the power of evil.

The early Christians saw in this promise the beginning of Mary’s story. Eve’s disobedience brought the Fall; Mary’s obedience opened the door for the Savior.  Eve listened to the serpent; Mary heard and trusted the voice of God.

For Mary to stand in perfect opposition to the serpent she must be free, from the very first moment, from the wound and burden of sin. Genesis shows us the problem and announces the promise. The Immaculate Conception is the first precursor to the fulfillment of God’s desire that all be saved.

Ephesians: The Plan from the Beginning

Our second reading from Ephesians tells us that God’s plan of salvation is not something He invented after the Fall. St. Paul proclaims: “He chose us in him, before the foundation of the world, to be holy and without blemish before him.” Think about that. Before the world was made… before Adam and Eve walked in the garden… before there was sin… God intended to raise us up in Christ. Wow!

And in that eternal plan, God prepared one human person in a singular way: Mary, the woman who would freely bear His Son. The Church teaches that Mary was saved by Christ, as we are saved, as we depend wholly and solely on Jesus. But Mary was saved in a unique way. Christ’s saving grace reached into the very moment of her conception, preserving her from original sin so that she could be a wholly free, completely loving participant in the Incarnation. The moment in salvation history where God so loved the world, He sent his only Son into the world as one of us.

Ephesians shows us that grace is not random.  Grace flows from a plan “before the foundation of the world.”  And Mary is the singularity in the arc of that plan.

Luke:  Grace Meets Freedom

And then, in the Gospel, we see that plan come to the full. The angel Gabriel enters the quiet of Nazareth and speaks a word spoken to no one else in Scripture: “Hail, full of grace.” This was not meant as a simple compliment. It is an acknowledgment and description of who she is. Who she is! Grace is not something that occasionally visits Mary; it is her whole being. Her very life is like she feasted on the Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden. Her roots are the deep foundations of grace, her branches and leaves are her graced interactions with the world. “Blessed is the fruit of your womb.” She is full of grace and because of that she is completely free. When Gabriel asks her to become the Mother of the Messiah, Mary is able to give a free, unforced, wholehearted yes: “May it be done to me according to your word.”

This is the moment that Genesis foresaw. This is the moment that Ephesians anticipated. This is the moment when the Word becomes flesh because a young woman, prepared by grace, freely embraced her vocation.

What has been revealed in these readings?

This celebration and these readings are a wonderful source for our ongoing reflection about our lives here in the Season of Advent. 

We can be assured that God’s grace always comes first.  Before we act, before we choose, God is already at work preparing our hearts. The Immaculate Conception is the great sign that God’s grace precedes and surrounds all our efforts. Are we attentive to that already and always present grace? Are we willing to choose grace and let it form us as a person of faith?

In these readings, Mary shows us what redeemed humanity looks like. Where sin has wounded us, Mary enables us to imagine what healing looks like. Where fear paralyzes us, Mary shows us what trust looks like. She is the fulfillment of the promise of what God desires to do in us and for us.

All this and more, but especially Mary’s “yes”, is the pattern of Christian life. We may not encounter an angel, but each day the Lord asks us:  Will you trust me?  Will you let my grace work in you?  Will you say yes to the plan I have prepared for your life?

Perhaps the “big take-away,” Mary’s life teaches us that holiness begins not with perfection, but with availability and a heart open to God.

It is a lot to think about and reflect upon, but I hope that this Advent you take time to be available to the Lord with an open heart inspired by the life and gift of Mary, Mother of God.

Amen.

Image credit: Catholic News Service | Immaculate Conception | CC-BY

Protecting the Soul of the Warfighter

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Over the last month I have had numerous people ask me about my views on the U.S. military action in the waters, Atlantic and Pacific, off the coast of Central America. About half of the conversations began with some form of “since you are a Naval Academy (USNA) grad, former Naval officer, and a priest…”  Which makes sense as they hope a fusion of training and experience can offer a more insightful view of the ongoing dynamic.

At one level there is a complex legal question about the legitimacy of kinetic military action at all as opposed to law enforcement action. On the seas, military action is in the purview of the U.S. Navy while law enforcement in the U.S. Coast Guard. A long time friend, also a USNA grad, career naval officer, and PhD in international relations and security affairs – year ago did a Masters degree at Naval Post Graduate School, Monterey – some 35 years ago. While there he wrote an article that was published in US Naval Institute Proceedings: “Interdicting Drugs on the Big Pond.” Of the many insightful points of the article, he noted that the sea-based drug trafficking was quickly outstripping the Coast Guard’s ability to act in its law enforcement role. He observed that, in the role of national security, a path forward was the stationing of Coast Guard officers on US naval vessels to be able to bring authorized law enforcement to at sea encounters. It was insightful as it looked well “over the horizon.”

There are laws and precedence about declaring war, presidential authority to initiate armed conflict apart from Congressional action, and more. In the course of my lifetime we have moved from armed conflict between state actors (i.e. nations, including civil wars within nations) to armed conflict with non-state actors such as ISIS, Hezbollah, Abu Sayyaf, Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan and more. There are laws to designate such organizations as terrorist groups. This January President Trump designated several drug trafficking organizations as Foreign Terrorist Organizations (FTOs) and Specially Designated Global Terrorists (SDGTs), and has declared the U.S. to be in an “armed conflict” with them. The legality of such executive orders I leave to others eminently qualified and more knowledgeable than me.  Even if one accepts such designations, operations in international waters is one question, and that is just the start of the list of questions.

In the conversations one thing keeps cropping up – a conflation of the Law of War and rules of engagement (RoE) for combat. Any veteran who served in the last 20-25 years can tell you they have operated under these guidelines. RoE outlines the specific conditions and circumstances under which military personnel are authorized to use force. These rules are not static and can change depending on the specific mission, location, and conflict, and can include guidelines on lethal and non-lethal force, geographic restrictions, and specific instructions such as “do not fire unless fired upon” directives. RoE are based on international laws, but are specific military directives – and are not independent of the Law of War but are based upon them. A RoE can never violate the Law of War to which the United States is a signatory. The primary international agreements determining the Law of War are the Geneva Conventions of 1949 and their Additional Protocols of 1977, which protect victims of conflict (wounded, POWs, civilians) and set rules for conduct, alongside earlier Hague Conventions of 1899 & 1907 that govern methods and means of warfare, forming a core body of treaties supplemented by customary law. The laws of war reflect the mandatory, minimum level of lawful conduct, and all combatants are legally obligated to obey them at all times and in all conflicts. “Following orders” is not a defense.

Those agreements are incorporated into the Department of Defense Law of War Manual. Let me quote two passages: 

  • “The requirement to refuse to comply with orders to commit law of war violations applies to orders to perform conduct that is clearly illegal or orders that the subordinate knows, in fact, are illegal. For example, orders to fire upon the shipwrecked would be clearly illegal.”
  • “It is forbidden to declare that no quarter will be given.” A no quarter order is an order directing the warfighter to kill every combatant, including prisoners, the sick and the wounded. The DoD manual is specific, “Moreover, it is also prohibited to conduct hostilities on the basis that there shall be no survivors, or to threaten the adversary with the denial of quarter.”

What did the Secretary of Defense order/direct/make clear about the strikes in general? How was that understood and communicated down the chain of command to the Special Operations units that executed the kinetic strike against the boats, especially the September 2 engagement in which the initial strike severely damaged the vessel but there were at least two survivors who were clinging to the side of what was left of the vessel?  Executive declarations and subsequent orders aside, the Law of War established the bottom line of conduct that may not be breached. Any order to violate those laws and to carry them out constitutes a violation of the Law of War and subjects those people to action under the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ).

The “bottom line”nature of the Law of War as implemented via international agreement and incorporated into the Department of Defense Law of War Manual is essential. Essential because no president or senior officer may abrogate the law or its intent because of what is at stake – the soul of the warfighter.

The laws of war are an effort to contain the brutality of combat and war. These limits make peace possible. Recently I produced a series of articles on the War in the Pacific. When one reads about Guadalcanal, Biak, Saipan, Pelilui, Manilla, Iwo Jima, and Okinawa one wonders how the war in the Pacific was so unrelentingly horrific and so different from the war in Europe (the Russian front aside). I would suggest that the Japanese military did not share a common value with the Allies that gave credence to anything remotely similar to the Law of War. Before WW2, the law of war was defined by the Hague Conventions and the 1929 Geneva Conventions on Prisoners of War. To be clear, Japan signed the 1929 POW convention but did not ratify it, though they pledged to follow rules. The history of the War in the Pacific and in Asia make clear that the Japanese army never made the slightest pretense of complying with the laws of war. Theirs was a checkered history of rescuing sailors from the ocean; some were simply shot. Of those rescued and those captured, the records were consistent. They tortured prisoners and used them as slave labor and for a few unlucky, performed biological experiments. Those responsible were subject to War Crime trails.

It is fair to say that the Allies operating in the Pacific and Asia were not free of violations. As the war trudged on and knowledge of Japanese crimes became known and circulated, incidents of fury and revenge happened. Added to this was the battlefield experience that the Japanese would not surrender. In the battles after Guadalcanal, less than 3% of Japanese garrisons were captured and most of those unwillingly. It was only because they were diseased, starving and left behind. The bushido of the Japanese army was that death was preferable to surrender. Slowly the object of war in the Pacific was changed from from victory to annihilation in the face of a defeated enemy who would not surrender.

The Laws of War also serve to help preserve a soldier’s soul. The foundational documents of our nation are based upon the idea of the dignity of the human person. Even more so the foundations of our Catholic faith which holds that human beings possess incalculable worth. It is a foundation that is deeply ingrained in an individual’s moral code.

If our warfighters are ordered to contradict this intrinsic value, we can inflict a profound moral injury on them. These are injuries that burden them, haunt their memories, and they may carry for a lifetime. Even when they follow the Law of War and RoE, they can be haunted by their own actions or inaction in something they witnessed and unable to stop. Armed conflict is something that might be necessary, but I would suggest the experience of it leaves an indelible mark on the spirit and soul. Moral injuries in combat are unavoidable even when following the RoE and Law of War. What is avoidable is the guilt of criminal conduct by deliberately killing the people we are charged to protect.

Be they drug smugglers or not, one should have compassion for the two men who clung to the side of their sinking vessel and faced the uncertainty of what was to be their fate. Their fate is known to God alone. But years from now, somewhere in the quiet of the night, a veteran will be haunted by the actions of that day.

The Law of War and RoE are in place to protect the soul of the warfighter as best as can be expected. They are in place to protect and defend the honor and integrity of the American military, one of the most-trusted institutions in the United States. They are in place to remind us who we are as a nation and who we are as people before God. For we are that and nothing more.

Still in Need of Conversion

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In today’s reading from Isaiah, we hear a beautiful vision: “The deaf shall hear… the eyes of the blind shall see… the lowly will find joy in the Lord.” These words are full of hope, and we rightly cherish them during Advent. They promise renewal, justice, and a people restored to God. But if we read the whole chapter, Isaiah’s hope comes only after a very hard truth. Before the healing comes the diagnosis. Before the restoration comes the revelation of what is broken.

Isaiah speaks to a faithful remnant, people who want to follow God and so cling to the covenant. But he also tells them that they are still part of a larger community of people who have become blind, deaf, self-satisfied, unjust, and spiritually forgetful. It is a remarkable tension: Israel is both remnant and rebellious; faithful, yet deeply flawed; and chosen, yet still wandering.

That well describe many of us here in the first week of Advent

We are the faithful remnant. We are here at daily Mass listening to the Word of God. We pray. We serve. We try to love our families and neighbors. We want the Lord to come and find us ready.

But we are also the people Isaiah warns. We are not separate from the blindness and deafness he condemns; some of it lives quietly within us. We hear God’s Word, but we can be deaf to the parts that challenge our comfort. We see God’s blessings, but we can be blind to our own patterns of sin. We pray with our lips, yet our hearts drift into distraction, self-protection, or indifference. We want justice, but sometimes resist the personal conversion that justice requires. We admire God’s mercy, but can be slow to offer it to others.

Isaiah is not just speaking to the miscreants and wayward. He is speaking to all of God’s people, including those conscientiously trying to walk in faith. This is why the Church gives us Isaiah in Advent. Not to condemn, but to awaken. Not to shame, but to shake loose what has grown numb or complacent in us. 

The good news is that God does not reveal our blindness to punish us. He reveals it to heal that blindness. Isaiah says: “Those who err in spirit shall acquire understanding, and those who find fault shall receive instruction.”

This is a promise directed not to strangers, but to us. If we admit what is not yet right in our hearts, God will teach us. If we bring Him the parts of us that resist Him, He will give understanding. If we acknowledge our spiritual deafness or blindness, He will open our ears and eyes.

Advent is only a few short weeks, but we can still name our blindness and deafness. And then ask God to show us how we might be part of the problem. We can examine our prayer life. Is it routine? How is our attitude? Are we becoming more jaded? Impatient? Uncharitable? 

Advent is not only about waiting for Christ. It is about making room for Him and making room requires clearing away what blocks the door. But it is also remembering that all this is spoken with a hopeful message surrounding it all: God already sees the remnant in us. He can heal what we cannot. He can restore what looks worn out. He can remove what blinds us or renders us deaf.

Advent offers that grace now that we might be ready, not only as the faithful remnant who hope, but as the people who allow themselves to be ever changed and growing so that the promise of Isaiah will be fulfilled in us: “The lowly shall find joy in the Lord.”

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

From his roots

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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). Why hope-filled? Because Isaiah is speaking to a people who have watched their nation fall. The royal line of David, the great tree of kings, has been cut down. All that remains is a stump: lifeless, abandoned, barren. From a human point of view, the story is over.

But Isaiah teaches us one of the great Advent truths:  God does His best work in 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.

Isaiah goes on to describe the Messiah endowed 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). The Messiah is the One for whom Israel waits.

This is the One we await at Christmas yet the One who already reigns. He is the One who can renew what seems dead in us. And what might seem dead or dying in our lives?

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.

Trust, 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 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.

Forgiveness 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.

Our prayer life, because of everything above and even more. We are 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.”.

Advent is a time to 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 is coming. A shoot is already sprouting. In Him through Him and with Him you are being restored and renewed.

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

At the beginning

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Today is the first weekday of the Season of Advent. The gospel reading is the account of a centurion who approached Jesus and asked that his servant, paralyzed and suffering, be healed. Does it strike you as odd that this is the gospel? It seems like something suited to Ordinary Time rather than Advent. Or does it? I think that here at the very beginning of Advent the choice of this gospel is quite appropriate for Advent. Let me suggest six reasons why this gospel is a great choice.

It highlights Advent’s central theme: It is Faith that welcomes the Messiah. The centurion expresses one of the most remarkable statements of faith in all the Gospel: “Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof; only say the word and my servant will be healed.” (Mt 8:8) At the start of Advent, the Church places before us the posture we must have to welcome Christ: humble, trusting, expectant faith. This faith is so exemplary that the Church echoes it at every Mass before Communion.

This gospel reveals that Christ came for all nations. Advent looks forward not only to Bethlehem but to the final coming of Christ, when all nations gather before Him. Jesus’ response would have been startling to the listeners in the 1st century: “Many will come from the east and the west, and will recline with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob…” (Mt 8:11) The centurion is a Gentile, yet he recognizes Jesus more clearly than many in Israel. This scene is a partial fulfillment of Isaiah’s Advent prophecies which proclaim that all nations will come to the Lord – “In days to come, the mountain of the LORD’s house shall be established as the highest mountain and raised above the hills. All nations shall stream toward it. (Isaiah 2:2)  Here at the very beginning of Advent we are reminded that Christ’s Kingdom is universal. It is for outsiders, seekers, and anyone drawn to the light of Christ.

The gospel mirrors our Advent longing: “Come, Lord Jesus” The centurion comes seeking the Lord, confident that Jesus’ arrival brings healing. Advent is the season we sing “O’ Come, O’ Come Emmanuel” expressing our longing, a longing embodied by the centurion. He seeks Christ, calls out to Him, and trusts His word even before seeing results. It holds up for us a model of our Advent posture: not passive waiting, but active reaching.

Advent’s weekday readings are filled with Isaiah, a prophet whose words shaped Israel’s hope for the Messiah. This gospel emphasizes the Power of the Word of Christ. The centurion believes Jesus’ word alone is enough: “only say the word and my servant will be healed.” (Mt 8:8)  From the Word made flesh, the Word goes out to accomplish its mission. We are given an example that God’s Word fulfills what it promises. As Isaiah foretold and as the centurion believed, the Word made flesh is coming and will accomplish healing and salvation.

The readings for the early Season of Advent carry themes of healing and restoration. The first days of Advent feature several healing miracles: the centurion’s servant, healing the two blind men who cry out to him, sending apostles out with the specific mission of healing, and others. These early readings present Christ as the One who restores creation, heals what is wounded, and makes all things new. This is the very mission promised in Isaiah and fulfilled in Christ’s coming at Christmas and in glory.

And last but not least, this gospel anticipates the Eucharist. The centurion’s words echo through the liturgy: “Lord, I am not worthy…” Placing this Gospel early in Advent highlights the link between Christ who came at Bethlehem, Christ who comes at every Mass, and Christ who will come again in glory. As many have noted: these are the “three comings” of Christ during Advent.

It is a great choice for the first weekday of the Advent Season.

Image credit: The Healing of the Officer’s Son | James Tissot, c.1880 | Brooklyn Museum | PD-US

Standing in Hope

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Over the last several weeks as we near the end of the liturgical year, the Church has chosen readings that are quite apocalyptic. The readings from the Book of Daniel and the gospels – are they meant to scare us into fearful compliance with the demands of God? The imagery easily serves as a source of all manner of end times predictions of death, doom and despair. Yet, that is not the reason why the Church selected these readings. What is common to all the apocalyptic texts is the final triumph of God. We are called to turn our eyes toward the final triumph of God and to recall where our hope truly lies.

Daniel lived in chaotic times. We live in chaotic times. Think of the past year: wars in Ukraine, Gaza and Israel, Syria, Myanmar, Sudan, Yemeni, Haiti, Ethiopia, Rwanda, and Congo – and those are state actors. There are all kinds of conflicts among non-state actors. Sabre rattling, trade wars, the war on drugs, gun violence, political acrimony reaching ever new levels of accusation and calumny.

There’s a word you don’t hear much. Calumny: the act of maliciously misrepresenting someone’s conduct to harm that person’s reputation. There are days when I think the majority of political party statements are calumnious in their nature.  

In Daniel’s vision the chaos arose from the sea, the usual source of such Old Testament beasts. In Scripture, the sea represents chaos, evil, and the forces that oppose God. The beasts symbolize earthly political and military empires – violent, unstable, rising and falling with history. And yet, after all the terrifying beasts, Daniel suddenly says: “As the visions during the night continued, I was watching and saw one like a Son of Man coming… He received dominion, glory, and kingship” (Dan 7:13–14).

This is the heart of the reading: human kingdoms rise and fall, but God’s kingdom, given to the Son of Man, endures forever. Daniel and all the prophets remind us that the last word is not chaos, but Christ and the Kingdom.

It is easy to be mesmerized by the chaos. It is like watching a tornado; we just can’t seem to look away. In the Gospel Jesus uses the fig tree to remind us to learn to see God at work: “When you see it put forth leaves, you know that summer is near. In the same way, when you see these things happening, know that the kingdom of God is near” (Lk 21:30-31). Jesus is telling us to read the signs, to learn how God works in our lives.

The fig tree does not leaf out suddenly. It happens quietly, gradually, almost unnoticed. The same way God’s grace unfolds in our lives. It is there amidst the chaos in a world full of noise, fear, and “beasts” of every kind such as division, conflict, sin, moral and confusion. Mixed right in with signs of His presence: acts of charity, the persistence of faith, forgiveness offered, hope renewed and much more.

Tornadoes demand our attention. Signs of the kingdom demand no such thing but patiently wait to be noticed.

Like the first reading, the gospel is a call to hopeful watchfulness. Daniel says: “Do not be afraid of the beasts; God remains King.” Jesus says: “Watch with faith; the Kingdom is already blossoming.”

Each reading proclaims: no matter how dark the world seems, God’s Kingdom is closer than we think. It is already growing, becoming, patiently waiting for us to spread its borders. “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away” (Lk 21:33).

Empires pass. Cultures pass. Trends pass. Even our worries pass. But Christ’s word, His promise, His presence – these do not pass away.

We can name the beast, the chaos and our fears. But where might we also see the first small leaves of the Kingdom God is quietly unfolding? We need not deny the reality of struggle. But we are not defined by it.

We are defined by the Son of Man who already reigns and who already draws near.

Image credit: Flevit super illam (He wept over it) | Enrique Simonet (1892) | Museo del Prado, Madrid | Wikimedia Creative Commons | PD-US