Homily for Sunday, 22 December 2013

4th Sunday in Advent

Readings of the day: Isaiah 7:10-14; Psalm 24:1-2, 3-4, 5-6; Romans 1:1-7; Matthew 1:18-24

In these last days of preparation for Christmas, we are about to hear, at least a few more times, one version or another of the story of Jesus’ birth. Do not many of us take great delight in hearing the story of the Nativity, especially when small children re-tell it? We are moved by the great sense of peace and comfort when we hear of Mary and Joseph, the newborn Jesus in the manger, shepherds, angels singing beautifully under the cold starry sky, and so forth…

But have any of you ever thought about how the event of Jesus’ birth made some of the people first involved in it very uncomfortable and anything but at peace?

Today, at the beginning of his account of “how the birth of Jesus Christ came about,” Matthew introduces to us Joseph and Mary. Let us put ourselves in Joseph’s position: You arrive at home after a long, hard day at work in the carpentry shop. You find out from relatives and from the gossip in Nazareth that Mary, whom you have committed to wed, is pregnant. You ask, “How could this be?” This is terrible news! Mary risks being stoned to death if the wrong people find out that she is pregnant.

While you are praised by Matthew as “a righteous man” for looking primarily after Mary’s well-being, you must think of a way to dismiss Mary “quietly” before anyone else finds out she is pregnant. News that this child she is carrying is “through the Holy Spirit” makes no sense; your worry for Mary is not alleviated. “Who is this God, who would cause me and Mary such scandal?” But you trust in God and in God’s angel messenger, and without a word you take this pregnant, unwed teenage girl into your home.

What about if we were to recount the Christmas event from Mary’s perspective? You encounter a strange character who identifies himself as an angel from God. The angel says that God has chosen you to be the mother of Jesus, the Son of God. You ask amid your confusion, “How can this be, since I am a virgin? What will Joseph think when he finds out? What about my family? What about the people of Nazareth, who may stone me if they find out? This makes no sense. Who is God, and why would God cause me and Joseph such scandal?”

Re-cast in this way, suddenly the events leading up to Jesus’ birth might make us uncomfortable. Gone is the sense of peace we often feel in hearing the Nativity story or in our Christmas hymns.

In a few short months, our preparation to celebrate Easter will take us through Good Friday. We more readily understand the cross of Christ to be a scandal: The man believed to be the Son of God, humiliated; hung to die like a common criminal! But do we ever ponder, as we have said in our Prayer of the Faithful throughout this Advent season, how “the wood of the cross” is connected to “the wood of the crib” of the Christ child?

Just as Jesus’ life on earth ends on the cross, which is easy for us to understand as scandal, have you noticed that it also begins with scandal: An unwed teenage mother; her husband-to-be reduced to stunned silence; a child born weak, poor, and homeless; the Holy Family unwelcome in a world scandalized at first sight of its Savior?

Imagine if our world today, from time to time, might be scandalized in seeing and hearing the Gospel proclaimed by us, the disciples of its Savior.

I do not mean “scandalized” in the sense that the world around us be taken aback at the opulence or abuse of power and authority of many Christians. For the times when the sins of Christians have caused scandal, we are called to do penance. I mean that the measure to which we Christians truly proclaim the Gospel of Christ by lived example might astound some people; move them to a degree of disquiet and discomfort. Some may be moved to become Christians themselves or to deepen their faith. Others may never move beyond the stage of scandal, and so truly living the Gospel will leave us open to criticism; to denigration; to sharing in the dishonor not only of Christ’s cross but also of his first coming into our world.

In fairness, a great number of Christians risk their lives daily for the Gospel that is scandalous to those who persecute these courageous disciples. And yet too many others in our Church still are lulled by the security of affluence and power into unwillingness to proclaim Christ fully: Christ the poor man; Christ crucified; Christ the scandal.

Have you heard, though, how Pope Francis has repeatedly challenged all of us to proclaim this Gospel that risks scandal; to leave behind our security and comfort in doing so?

In his recent Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii Gaudium, Francis writes, “I prefer a Church which is bruised, hurting, and dirty because it has been out on the streets, rather than a Church which is unhealthy from being confined and from clinging to its own security.”

Just before this in the same letter, the pope asks, “To whom should [the Church] go first? When we read the Gospel we find a clear indication: not so much our friends and wealthy neighbours, but above all the poor and the sick, those who are usually despised and overlooked.”

My sisters and brothers in Christ, our Lord came into the world two thousand years ago as poor; despised by many; overlooked by others. The people who are most like our Lord in these ways are the people to whom we are invited to proclaim Christ first.

Do you know of anyone who is poor? There are many poor here in Rochester, the fifth-poorest city in our country according to a recent Democrat and Chronicle article. Do you know of anyone who feels estranged from our Church? Do you know of anyone who is sick or in despair? If nothing else, do you know of anyone in need of prayer?

If we leave behind our security and meet and welcome these people first, we are likely to cause discomfort. If we are anything like Pope Francis, we may, albeit improbably, garner “Person of the Year” recognition from some unlikely sources. But we are more likely to be disparaged as a sign of contradiction in a culture of ideological polarization; a culture that clings to its own comfort, prosperity, and security.

Perhaps we might be labeled as scandalous, that is, if we are anything like our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ…

Before Pope Francis; before us, the Christ we profess to follow came into our world weak, poor, and homeless. He invited us to live as he lived in this world; to take his Gospel to the streets; to risk becoming “bruised, [hurt], and dirty.” Who is this God made human, and why does he cause us such scandal?