Homily for Sunday, 10 December 2023– Second Sunday of Advent, Year B

Readings of the day: Isaiah 40:1-5,, 9-11; Psalm 85:9-10, 11-12, 13-14; 2 Peter 3:8-14; Mark 1:1-8

We find ourselves at the beginning, sisters and brothers: “The beginning,” Mark’s Gospel proclaims by its very first words, “of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”

Mark wastes no time in revealing to us who Jesus is, “the Son of God,” and that his coming to live as one of us, in our human flesh—his advent—is “good news.” Spoiler alert! Mark does not even give us a nice, long account of Jesus’ infancy and childhood, to help us ease into the story, this “good news” he proclaims. Mark begins with the powerful preaching of John the Baptist, “the voice of one crying out in the wilderness.” By this point Jesus is already an adult. Jesus, the one John announces as “more powerful” than he is, has probably already attracted followers. He has caused some “good [and necessary] trouble” in the minds and consciences of many already, the minds and consciences of the comfortable and powerful of this world.

So much for starting at the beginning of the story! And today we are not even at the beginning of Advent. We are a full week into the shortest possible Advent this year—three weeks and a day between the first Sunday of Advent, a week ago, and Christmas Day. And I do not know about any of us, but as of now I have yet to do much at all to prepare for Christmas. Gift shopping? Not started. Visiting family and friends I may not have seen for a while? Okay, I have done some visiting. Taking time to be with, or at least to pray for, people in need—the sick, the poor, those who find this time of year to be a struggle for many reasons? Okay, but I could do better. Tidying my physical spaces—my room, my office—let alone doing a little Christmas decorating?! Yikes! I think, if Jesus were to step into my room now, let alone the spiritual room that is my heart, my conscience, he might sound a little like my mother did when I was a kid: “Did a tornado hit here, or what”?!

(By the way, I will offer this little advertisement for those of us who want to do some spiritual—heart, mind, conscience—tidying soon: St. Joseph’s College’s Advent penance service is this Friday at 7:00 pm).

So, in a way it is okay if we are a little behind on our Advent-Christmas preparations, if our spiritual let alone physical spaces look chaotic to say the least. Advent offers us a new beginning. God meets us where we are in our present; in fact God sends messengers ahead of himself and his Christ—John the Baptist, the saints, holy people we know and meet in our own lives—to draw us closer to him and to eternal life. That is the “good news”!

Yet Advent is a bit of a strange time of year. We are at a beginning of the Church’s liturgical year, of the story of our world’s first encounter with God in the human person of Jesus. But we are, at the same time, well into this story, after many encounters in history and in our own lives already with God’s “good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”

Last Sunday, the first Sunday, the very beginning of Advent, our readings at Mass gave the sense more of an end, or a story very much in progress, than a beginning. We began this time of Advent by hearing from near the end of the Gospel of Mark: Jesus, just before his passion and death, urging his disciples to “keep awake,” ready for the events of Jesus’ passion and death that would happen right after that point, but more importantly for an unknown “Last Day” when Jesus will return in glory. St. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians also oriented us toward that final “day of our Lord Jesus Christ,” exhorting the Corinthian Christian faithful to remain “blameless” until that day by the Lord’s strength and grace. The Psalm reinforced our plea for divine strength. And, a week ago, we heard Isaiah making final plans for the return of the people of Israel from a long exile in Babylon. That exile, it seems, had made the people of Israel stubborn; only a small “remnant” would return to their land to rebuild the nation and its temple in Jerusalem that had been the centre of the Jewish faith. So Isaiah pleads for divine intervention to break through Israel’s sin and hardness of heart: “O [LORD] that you would tear open the heavens and come down”!

Today, this second Sunday of Advent, our readings start back at beginnings: Mark speaks of “the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” The second letter of Peter gives us a sense of being closer to a beginning than an end. The people for whom 2 Peter is written have become impatient. The first Christians of that community had suffered persecution. Many had already died. 2 Peter reminds them that, in God’s time, this is only the beginning: “The Lord is not slow about his promise… but is patient with you, not wanting any to perish, but all to come to repentance.”

Peter’s message is very similar to that of John the Baptist in today’s Gospel. For John the Baptist, there is urgency to repentance to prepare for the coming of Jesus, the “one after” John. Yet, 2 Peter says, there is also urgency to know God’s mercy and peace, God’s meeting us in the sometimes-chaotic events of this world and our lives, even as we strive to repent, to tidy our spiritual spaces, our minds and consciences.

Our God has never been one to wait until we have everything in order—our hearts, our minds, our consciences—before coming to be with us in our present time. The second letter of Peter offers us a very typical (for a biblical text) vision of the end of time. It will be chaos: “The heavens will be set ablaze and dissolved, and the elements will melt with fire.” But 2 Peter invites us not to worry about this chaos. Instead, lead “lives of holiness and godliness,” practice conversion and repentance here and now; “strive to be found by [the Lord] at peace.”

Jesus promised to return at the end of time. I think we can be almost certain that the end of time, when Jesus will re-enter this world, will be chaotic. We do not know what the world will look like when Jesus returns on the Last Day. But we can remain at peace if we think back to the beginning, the first time Jesus entered our world. God took our human flesh in a world that was chaotic then. Jesus was born of the Virgin Mary into a poor, chaotic, smelly stable with barn animals, at a time when the Romans ruled Jesus’ homeland by force.

God does not wait for us to have everything in order before entering into our present in a way that changes our existence profoundly and irreversibly. Well before Jesus’ time, the prophet Isaiah was calling to a people still in exile in Babylon, preparing to return to, well, chaos and ruin—a ruined temple—in Jerusalem. And Isaiah says, “Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid.”

Isaiah’s cry to Jerusalem is something like, “Yes, what you see, what is left of your homeland is chaos, ruin. But God is not waiting. God brings comfort, peace, justice, salvation now.” As the Psalmist says, here and now, “justice and peace” are about to “kiss each other.” This is a new beginning for the people of Israel!

God does not wait for us to have everything in order. God enters and changes our existence when God wills it. That is what we celebrate this Advent season, sisters and brothers! God has already entered this world, amid its chaos—our not having everything quite in order—many times. Ultimately, God entered our world in the human person of Jesus Christ, into a poor, chaotic, smelly scene, a nation ruled by foreign force.

Finally, Jesus promises us that he will enter our world again on the Last Day. All we can do to be ready for the Last Day, Jesus’ return in glory, is the same thing we can do be ready for this day, for the next day, the day after that, and so on: Remember how God has intervened in our world in the past. Remember that God did not wait until we had everything in order to bring peace, justice, order, comfort, mercy. May we be at peace, knowing and reflecting on this. Our time of Advent takes us back to those beginnings even as we anticipate with hope the Last Day, Jesus’ return in glory.

Today, in the midst of Advent, we remember the beginning of God’s comfort to Israel, still in exile, through the prophet Isaiah. We remember the preaching of John the Baptist, a message of repentance and hope. We pray with the Psalmist for a time when “justice and peace will kiss each other.” We remember 2 Peter’s exhortation to remain at peace. These have been our new beginnings in history, God entering our story when we most need God, with peace, justice, order, comfort, mercy. This is the “good news” our Scriptures proclaim today, “the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”

Homily for Tuesday, 3 January 2023– Christmas Weekday

Readings of the day: 1 John 2:23-3:6; Psalm 98:1, 3cd-4, 5-6; John 1:29-34

Optional Memorial: The Most Holy Name of Jesus

In these days between Christmas Day and the Baptism of the Lord, which marks the end of the Christmas season, we hear a lot from the Gospel and letters of John at Mass. And there is, in these readings we hear, a pattern. Our readings from John’s Gospel and letters remind us of who God is (or who Jesus is) and who we are.

Neither who Jesus is nor who we are changes. Jesus is, has been, and will always be “the Son of God.” We are, have always been, and will always be “called children of God.” But our perception of who Jesus is and who we are is what changes. Our faith is not static. Could we not say that our faith is a constant process of growing into our realization of those central truths of who we are, “children of God,” and who Jesus is, “the Son of God,” God made flesh?

Over this Christmas season, I have been able to spend some time with my youngest nephew, August or Gus, who is almost a year old. Gus received several articles of clothing from family and loved ones over Christmas. Those of us who have had (or still have) young children or grandchildren will appreciate this: It is very difficult, I find, to know what size of clothing to buy for a baby. Many people bought Gus clothing sized for an eighteen-month-old. Now, most of those eighteen-month-old clothes are a little big for him (although he is already beginning to fit comfortably into some of them). In six months, will he have outgrown some of those outfits already?

This is a similar reality to our Christian faith, sisters and brothers. Who we are and who God is do not change. But faith is an invitation to grow into, and maybe even eventually to outgrow, how we perceive God and how we perceive ourselves before God now.

If the great John the Baptist had to put on the “baby clothes” of faith, before he was baptizing people in the Jordan—and before he baptized Jesus himself—how much truer is this of us? John admits that, not long before he baptized Jesus, he “did not know” Jesus. But, John says, “the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, ‘He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’” Only then is John the Baptist able to testify to Jesus “that this is the Son of God.” Only then is John the Baptist ready for the next size up in faith clothing: “That will be one camel hair onesie, please, men’s size, hand washable in a river.”

And the same is true of us, sisters and brothers. The First Letter of John says, “Beloved, we are God’s children now.” We have always been and will always be God’s children; this will never change. But the same letter goes on to say that “what we will be has not yet been revealed.” Yet when God “is revealed,” 1 John says, “we will be like him, for we will see him as he is.”

This is quite a bold statement: We will grow in our faith. We will outgrow our present faith clothing. In fact, our faith will grow so much that, sometime between now and when we are in heaven, when God’s presence is revealed to us fully, we will need extra-extra-large, God-sized clothing, because “we will be like” God. We, like John the Baptist, if we are not able to do so already, will be able to point to Jesus and testify that he “is the Son of God.” We will be able to point to other people in our experience who live as Jesus Christ did, who are the saints living among us, and say, “this is a daughter, this is a son of God, beloved of God.”

It looks as though we will need to start looking for the next-size-up outfit!

Homily for Sunday, 1 January 2023– The Solemnity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God (Octave of Christmas)

Readings of the day: Numbers 6:22-27; Psalm 67:1-2, 4-5, 6-7; Galatians 4:4-7; Luke 2:16-21

Happy New Year, sisters and brothers, and a Happy Solemnity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God!

For as long as I can remember, I have treasured the blessing God gives to the children of Israel through Moses and Aaron in the Book of Numbers. When I was a deacon and for my first year as a priest, I served at St. Kateri Tekakwitha Parish in Rochester, New York. Just inside the front door of our rectory at St. Kateri was this prayer. So, it seems appropriate that I offer us, my sisters and brothers of St. Joseph’s College, the same blessing: “The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.”

Sisters and brothers in Jesus Christ, we are still in the season of Christmas. Today is what we call in the Church the Octave Day of Christmas, the eighth day of Christmas, including Christmas Day itself. And the Octave of Christmas, New Year’s Day, is always celebrated in our Church as the Solemnity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God.

The Gospel reading we have heard today from Luke is the continuation of the Gospel reading many of us would have heard if we were at Mass on Christmas Eve. At Christmas Mass at Night, we hear of shepherds who receive a message from “an angel of the Lord” that the Saviour of the world, Jesus Christ, “has been born to us this day in the city of David,” Bethlehem. And the shepherds are to find this newborn Saviour, of all places, “wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”

Today those shepherds have arrived at the place where Jesus was born, in a manger in Bethlehem. Luke’s Gospel says that the shepherds “went with haste to Bethlehem and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger.” And the shepherds seem to have left in just as much haste as they arrived.

The shepherds who visited Jesus, Mary, and Joseph while Jesus was a newborn in the manger in Bethlehem also seem not to be the type to keep secrets too well (although who could blame them, really; they were the first people on Earth, besides Mary and Joseph, to meet God in the flesh). When the shepherds leave, Luke says, they tell everybody around them “what had been told them about this child.”

The shepherds’ news to the world was news worth proclaiming, that is for sure. It was amazing news, in fact: God, the Saviour of the world, born as a human infant in a manger in Bethlehem, City of David. Luke’s Gospel tells us that “all who heard [this] were amazed at what the shepherds told them.”

But Luke’s Gospel, characteristically so detailed about the events of Jesus’ life, so quickly passes over these amazing events of Jesus’ birth: “The child lying in the manger” tended to by Mary and Joseph, the shepherds arriving and then leaving the manger scene just as quickly, telling everybody they could find about the amazing events they had witnessed, and then returning to their fields, their livelihoods, but “glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen.”

These first eight days of Christmas have passed by so quickly, have they not? And that is even if we have found time to glorify and praise God for all we “have heard and seen,” all the times and all the people in whom we have encountered the human face of God in a special way. We are doing just that right now, sisters and brothers, the worship of the shepherds, glorifying and praising God for all we “have heard and seen.”

Yet it all happens so quickly. And, on this Solemnity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God, we hardly hear anything about Mary. Rightly, especially because we are still very much in this Christmas season, our New Testament readings today, from St. Paul’s Letter to the Galatians and Luke’s Gospel, all focus on Jesus. We are still celebrating Jesus’ birth. So why, when we are still so focused on celebrating the Nativity of Jesus, do we insert today’s celebration of Mary as Mother of God into this Christmas season?

The doctrinal and historical reasons for celebrating the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God on this eighth day of Christmas are many and complicated. The Council of Ephesus in 431 gave Mary the official title of Mother of God, to distinguish from Mother of Christ, a popular title given to Mary at the time. This is to say that Mary is not only the mother of the human Jesus Christ, as if Jesus could not be God and human at the same time after his birth. So to give Mary the name Mother of God is, indirectly, an affirmation that Jesus the Christ, human from his conception in Mary’s womb, is also God.

Vatican II’s Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, Lumen Gentium, says that “clearly from the earliest times [of the Church] the Blessed Virgin is honoured under the title of Mother of God.” This is true, yet only since the mid-1700s has a day been set aside specifically to honour the motherhood of Mary, in a way that is not overshadowed by other important events in her life, like the Annunciation or her Assumption, body and soul, into heaven. And only since 1969, under Pope Paul VI (talk about recent!), has the feast day dedicated to the Maternity of the Blessed Virgin Mary been returned to January 1. Some countries, like Portugal, had celebrated the Maternity of Mary in October.

I like to think of this January 1, Solemnity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God, as the Church’s Mothers’ Day of sorts. This celebration proposes for us Mary as the ultimate of mothers, the one chosen by God to bear his Son in human flesh into the world. And, for the same reason as I pray this on Mothers’ Day on the second Sunday in May, I pray (and I invite us to pray with me) for all mothers, still living on earth and those in heaven. I invite us to pray for all future mothers, would-be mothers who have had difficulty conceiving, mothers who are raising children in poverty and other difficult circumstances, and mothers whose children have died. Mothers of our Church, my sisters in Christ: I dedicate you to Mary, Mother of God and I ask Mary to bless you with joy, peace, and strength in your vocation as mothers.

I have been reflecting on how little Mary is featured in our readings today, how our New Testament readings focus mostly on Jesus. This is appropriate, especially since we are in the midst of the Christmas season. But Luke’s Gospel today includes one short mention of Mary, one I think is very important, particularly on this Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God. Luke says that, as the shepherds arrived and then left the manger scene, and then told the world about Jesus’ birth to everybody’s amazement, “Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.”

Mary, ever the humble mother, our Mother and the model and Mother of the Church, gives us the ideal example of silently treasuring and pondering before her newborn Son, the Saviour of the world. I imagine the shepherds and everybody who visited Jesus, Mary, and Joseph during those days in Bethlehem, returning home more at peace than when they arrived at the manger scene. They returned home treasuring and pondering as Mary did, “glorifying and praising God.”

Sisters and brothers we, too, through this celebration of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God, ask the Lord for the grace to treasure and ponder, to glorify and praise God by our words, our actions, our worship. May we be the living blessing to the world and everybody we meet—the blessing Jesus communicated to humble shepherds through his mother Mary, and that God gave the people of Israel through Moses and Aaron in the Book of Numbers: “The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.”

Homily for Friday, 24 December 2021– The Nativity of the Lord, Mass at Night

Readings of the day: Isaiah 9:1-6; Psalm 96:1-2, 2-3, 11-12, 13; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:10-14

At the end of 1932, Dr. Akiva Posner was the rabbi of a community of about 500 Jews in the town of Kiel, Germany. He returned home quickly to his wife Rachel and three young children, in time for sunset on the first day of Hanukkah, also the beginning of the Sabbath, to light the first of eight candles on the menorah on the window sill of the family’s apartment.

In Judaism, Hanukkah and its menorah have long been a symbol of resistance to oppression. The celebration of Hanukkah dates back to the revolt led by Judas Maccabeus (or Judah Maccabee) against the brutal occupying power in Israel, the Greeks under Antiochus IV “Epiphanes,” about 160 years before the birth of Jesus. Antiochus’ self-proclamation as “Epiphanes” was revealing enough as to who he thought he was: “Epiphanes” means “One who is made known”; Antiochus proclaimed himself to be a god. And he made the Temple of Jerusalem, Judaism’s most sacred site, into a place of worship of the Greek pagan gods.

In our Bible, in the Books of the Maccabees, we have the account of the Maccabean defeat of the Greeks, and the rededication of the Temple for worship of the one God of Israel. The Greeks had destroyed the vessels in the Temple that held fresh olive oil to keep the menorah lit for all eight days of the celebration of the rededication of the Temple. But the menorah’s central light, the shammash or “attendant” from which all the other lights are lit, stayed burning the whole time with the little oil the Maccabees had left.

Before her husband, Rabbi Akiva, returned home for the first sundown of Hanukkah, 1932, to light the family menorah, Rachel Posner took a striking, famous photo of the menorah against the window. Across the street from the Posners’ home in Kiel was a newly-dedicated Nazi Party headquarters in Kiel, with its stark brick exterior hung with swastika flags.

 

On the back of her photo of the menorah against this backdrop of evil and repression, Rachel Posner wrote:

“Juda verrecke.”

Die Fahne spricht;

“Juda lebt ewig.”

Erwidert das Licht.

“Death to Judah.”

So the flag says;

“Judah will live forever.”

So the light answers.

For our Jewish sisters and brothers, Hanukkah, which is usually at around the same time of year as our celebrations of Advent and the Nativity of our Lord Jesus, is the commemoration par excellence of the light and of life answering darkness and death. Hanukkah is also called Chag HaUrim in Hebrew, the Festival of Lights.

“So the light answers.” The light has answered the darkness, chaos, and death from the very first moment of creation, when God’s Spirit breathed over the face of the deep; the primordial chaos: “Let there be light.” And so the light answered. And so the light has answered many times in Israel’s history as God’s people. We hear today from the prophet Isaiah an affirmation of the light’s answer, God’s answer to darkness, chaos, and death. “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shone,” Isaiah says.

I find it a bit unusual that this prophecy from Isaiah is in the past tense. Isaiah proclaims that the people have already “seen a great light”; the light has already shone. I think we could pardon the people of Israel of Isaiah’s time if many (or most) of them were not able to accept and believe the message Isaiah proclaimed to them. In Isaiah’s time, Israel (and Judah, the southern part of Israel that includes Jerusalem and its temple) was surrounded by much more powerful empires: The Assyrians, the Egyptians, the Babylonians. And the Assyrians had invaded Israel from the north and progressed as far as the gates of Jerusalem. Israel’s and Judah’s kings were weak leaders in Isaiah’s time, trusting more in their treaties with other nations to keep these more powerful nations from invading Israel than they trusted in God. Judah, including Jerusalem, was extremely poor during this time. Yet it is at that time in Israel’s history when the prophet Isaiah exclaims, in past tense, that “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light”; that “on them light has shone.”

The light has answered the darkness, chaos, and death, Isaiah proclaims. This despite the observable fact that “death to Judah” and to Israel seemed to be around every turn. But “so the light answers.” Enough people were persuaded by Isaiah to trust that God’s light had never been extinguished over Israel; that Israel’s God was and would forever be Emmanuel (another of Isaiah’s prophecies), “God-with-us.”

But to continue to trust in God, in God’s light proclaimed by prophets like Isaiah, would be far from easy for the people of Israel. Their nation would be invaded and occupied by the more powerful nations around it, one after another. The people of Israel would be exiled to Babylon, and return to their homeland only to find their temple destroyed; their society and their religious traditions in need of rebuilding. There would be the later invasion and occupation by the Greeks, a rising world power just before the time of Jesus, and then the Romans.

All the while the dominant message seemed to be, “Death to Judah.” Death to Israel. Why persist in building and trying to rebuild a nation? Why persist in believing that God and God’s prophets would save the nation, Israel, from occupation, ruin, chaos, and death?

Amid what seems like the dominant message—gloom, darkness, chaos, occupation, death—once again the light has answered, we believe and celebrate today, in the birth of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Luke’s Gospel begins tonight by mentioning the people who held political power in Israel of Jesus’ time: Caesar Augustus and Quirinius, “governor of Syria.” They were the occupying power; a Roman power that ruled by conquest, brutality, might-makes-right. Their power spelled “death to Judah”; death to Israel as a nation of God-with-us.

But it is into this world at that time and in that place, Roman-occupied Israel, that God chose to enter our human existence, through the Virgin Mary, under the saintly care of Mary and Joseph, into a manger in tiny Bethlehem, of all places. “So the light answers.” The light—God’s answer to the seemingly-prevalent darkness, chaos, and death—would first be revealed to humble shepherds “living in the fields.” These shepherds, who would be greeted by the “Angel of the Lord” with “good news of great joy for all the people” were, if we can imagine, even farther on the outskirts; the periphery of society than Bethlehem was on the periphery of Judah; of Israel.

There, to shepherds tending their fields, the light has answered first. In Bethlehem, “a child”—God’s own Son—“has been born to us.” This light; this good news of God who has become human, like us in all things but sin, is now entrusted to all of us. God’s luminous answer to darkness, chaos, and death—light, order, life, salvation—is, as Luke says to us tonight, “good news of great joy for all the people.”

What will we do to ensure this “good news of great joy” reaches “all the people”; that it reaches a world continually and desperately in need of God’s light, God’s joy that the birth of God’s Son brings? The Letter to Titus says to us tonight that this “good news of great joy” we receive and celebrate tonight changes our relationship with the world. “The grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all,” the Letter to Titus says. The same letter urges us “to renounce impiety and worldly passions… to live lives that are self-controlled, upright and godly.”

In short, the Letter to Titus invites us to live as a people who has received that “great light” that prophets proclaimed from long ago. The Letter to Titus invites us to live as the people who has received the greatest gift—salvation in and through God’s taking flesh in the person of Jesus Christ—that we could possibly receive, because we have received the greatest gift possible.

So the light has answered. And so, through us, God’s light continues to answer in our world. It may seem sometimes that darkness, chaos, and death have the upper hand in our world. It is even worse when events seem out of our control: A new and more contagious variant of a virus that has raged around our world for two years now, for instance. Our response to this; our response to acts of violence and injustice that still afflict our world; our response to attitudes and structures of sin latent in our very social fabric must be to proclaim and to live by the light we know we have been given and entrusted with.

There are and will be, in a figurative sense, many flags (although few as blatantly ugly as the swastikas hung across the street from the Posners’ apartment in Kiel in 1932); many signs in our world that will cry out: Darkness, chaos, death. Against this backdrop, we celebrate here tonight the birth of our Lord. We renew our commitment to carry in faith this light to our world by our celebration here tonight; by our acts of kindness; our acts of concern especially for the least well off; our acts of concern for the common good of all people, even over our good as individuals.

Against a backdrop that too often cries out, “darkness, chaos, death,” we celebrate and re-commit to live, beginning anew here and now, by the supreme and saving gift we have received by the birth of a Saviour, the Lion of Judah; the Lamb of God who would give his life to “take away the sins of the world.”

“Death to Judah.” So the flag says; “Judah will live forever.”

We as God’s people will live forever. The birth of our Saviour, Jesus Christ, has made it so.

And so the light answers.

Homily for Tuesday, 22 December 2020– Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Advent

Readings of the day: 1 Samuel 1:24-28; Responsorial Canticle: 1 Samuel 2:1, 4-5, 6-7, 8abcd; Luke 1:46-56

Here is bit of Catholic trivia for us: How many Catholics have been named Time Magazine’s “Person of the Year”? The answer is fifteen.

The fifteenth and latest, of course, is U.S. President Elect Joe Biden, alongside Vice President Elect Kamala Harris (not a Catholic) for 2020. But the sixth of these fifteen Catholics to be named Time’s “Person of the Year” was Apollo 8 astronaut Bill Anders, alongside fellow Apollo 8 crew members Frank Borman and Jim Lovell, in 1968. Anders took a famous photograph of the “earthrise” from just above the surface of the moon.

In the Time interview for 1968’s “Person of the Year” issue, Anders asked rhetorically about his “earthrise” photo that made him consider how insignificant the Earth is in the universe: “Are we really that special”?

In Luke’s Gospel today, in a similar but somewhat more eloquent way than Bill Anders, Mary acknowledges that, well, we are really not all that special. In fact, we are nothing on our own, but we are everything to and with God. Mary prays in her “Magnificat” that we hear today: “My spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, for he has looked with favour on his lowly servant.”

I credit a former director of campus ministry at St. Joseph’s College [of the University of Alberta in Edmonton] for first pointing out to me that Mary’s “Magnificat” is almost verbatim the prayer of Hannah in the Old Testament in thanksgiving after conceiving her son Samuel. Hannah prays, and we hear in our Responsory Canticle today, “[God] brings low; he also exalts.”

To us, really not all “that special” as Bill Anders once pointed out, God has appeared to us as a fellow “lowly servant”; as human. And so we enter into these final preparations for our Christmas celebration of God having “looked with favour on” us, his “lowly servant(s),” a tiny speck in this immense universe and, by his Son, Jesus Christ, having exalted us; having become human like us; having made us special beyond all telling; having saved us.

Homily for Sunday, 7 January 2018– The Epiphany of the Lord

Readings of the day: Isaiah 6:1-8; Psalm 72:1-2, 7-8, 10-11, 12-13; Ephesians 3:2-3a, 5-6; Matthew 2:1-12

This homily was given at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Parish, Sherwood Park, AB, Canada.

What is the Epiphany, the feast we celebrate today? Growing up, the Epiphany always had the feel of the end of something. Practically, the Epiphany marked the end of the Christmas season. (In the Church, officially, Christmastime ends with the Baptism of the Lord, which we celebrate tomorrow). The Epiphany was the “best before date” of the Christmas tree. Decorations were taken down and put into storage for another year. Family and friends who had visited over Christmastime had gone home; back to work or school; back to their regular, everyday lives. The seemingly endless supply of turkey sandwiches made from Christmas and New Year leftovers had finally dwindled. Christmas carols would no longer be sung or played after the Epiphany. And, on the Epiphany, our three wise men figurines would at long last complete their exhausting journey across the living room to the Nativity scene… Of course, we might imagine, the real journey of the wise men, of which we hear in today’s Gospel and of which our Nativity scene figurines remind us, was truly exhausting, even if they did travel with joy to meet our Saviour!

Even in the Church, the Epiphany has the feel of an ending; a destination. In fact this, I would say, is the purpose of every Mass; every time we gather to worship in this place, not only the Epiphany. Like the wise men in Matthew’s Gospel, we bring gifts. We bring ourselves here to adore the Christ, our Lord; “to pay him homage.” And yet what if I were to say that, while the Epiphany, like every time we gather here to worship, is a kind of destination, it is also a beginning?

After all, what is an “epiphany”? “Epiphany” is originally a Greek word that means “showing forth” or “making known.” And so who is made known on the Epiphany? Of course, God is made known; Jesus Christ, God made human, is made known on his Epiphany.

Our readings today are clear that this celebration of the Epiphany is God’s Epiphany; God’s being “made known” to and in our world. St. Paul uses the language of making known word for word in his letter to the Ephesians from which we hear today. The message St. Paul proclaims, that of his “commission of” and ongoing encounter with “God’s grace,” is a message centered on an ongoing epiphany over time. Through St. Paul’s letters, our Gospels, our Bible— Old and New Testaments— God’s Epiphany has been made timeless. And God continues to be made known to us today.

God’s Epiphany, God’s making himself known to our world, began from the moment God breathed his spirit over the deep and said, “‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.” God’s Epiphany continued through the Law of Moses and the prophets, the “revelation” to which St. Paul refers in his letter to the Ephesians. God has been made known to us in full as Jesus Christ, God’s Epiphany in human form. And God’s Epiphany, this process of eternity being made known to us in and over time, will be completed at the end of time when Jesus Christ returns in glory.

Is it not remarkable, though, that in all this process of epiphany, God does not make himself known as an obviously powerful ruler? In fact the only earthly ruler involved in this Epiphany event as Matthew presents it is the weak and fearful Herod. No, among the first people to experience this high point of God’s Epiphany, the birth of our Messiah, Jesus Christ, are magi from the East, probably astrologers, who looked to the stars for signs of the divine. They are outsiders; non-Jews from another land. They do not even belong to Jesus’ own people.

Yet God includes these magi among the first to witness his greatest Epiphany, the Lord and Saviour of the universe God created and blessed, the stars to which the magi looked. God meets these magi where they are. And from there God guides the magi to the Messiah by a star, the best way these magi knew to encounter God.

God guides the magi from the truth they know, the presence of God in the created universe, already a kind of epiphany or God’s “making known,” to a still greater Truth. The God of almost fourteen billion majestic light years (and counting) of visible universe now makes himself known to magi as a baby in a manger in Bethlehem!

God encounters these “wise men from the East,” searchers for God in the stars, and guides them by a star to where God is made known to the world as a human infant in a manger. God guides these magi from truth to Truth; from epiphany to Epiphany. The magi arrive with their “gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh” to adore the newborn Messiah. Matthew says that “when they saw that the star had stopped, the magi were overwhelmed with joy.” In their great joy, “having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod”— because true joy never denies the sin of the world that Herod represents, nor will the sin of the world ever extinguish our joy in God made known to us— the magi return “to their own country.”

It is at this point, where Matthew’s Gospel leaves off today, when the work of the magi is only beginning. Back in “their own country,” we might imagine, the magi will be entrusted with proclaiming the Epiphany, God of the heavens made known as a human infant in a manger, to their own people. And the same is true of us. Our work of Christmas; our work of being God’s Epiphany, of making God known in our world, begins ever-anew, here and now.

We are, in a sense, the magi of our time, whom God is leading from truth to Truth, to make God known in our world, to bring with us the gift of our presence; our worship; our joy; our works of justice and peace to pay homage to our Messiah. After this Eucharistic celebration, we will return to our homes. In the Church, we will return to Ordinary Time; to keeping time until Christ returns in glory. Our friends and extended family members may have returned to their homes, too. Decorations have been stored for another year. Christmas trees have been taken down. But we, like the magi, are not at the end but at the beginning of a journey, on the cusp of an epiphany, because we are God’s Epiphany to our world today.

How is this so? Howard Thurman, an African American theologian and civil rights leader in the United States in the 1960s, wrote a poem entitled, “When the Song of the Angels is Stilled” to remind us of how we are to make God known to our world by our striving for social justice. Our work for justice only begins with our Christmas and Epiphany celebrations, Thurman once said, “When the song of angels is stilled.”

A few days ago, a Sister of St. Joseph who taught a course on Catholic Social Teaching I took in seminary in Toronto shared an adaptation of Thurman’s poem, written by Michael Dougherty, co-chair of the Social Justice Committee at Sacred Heart Cathedral in Whitehorse. (Dougherty’s reflection is in the next-to-most-recent edition of the Prairie Messenger, for anybody who wants to find it and pray over it.) Dougherty writes:

When the carols have been stilled,

when the star-topped tree is taken down,

when family and friends are gone home,

when we are back to our schedules,

the work of Christmas begins:

To welcome the refugee,

to heal a broken planet,

to feed the hungry,

to build bridges of trust, not walls of fear,

to share our gifts,

to seek justice and peace for all people,

to bring his light to the world.

My sisters and brothers, these are ways in which we might be like the magi to our time; to our world. Our “work of Christmas”; our work of bringing God’s Epiphany to our “own country”; to our world, making the light of Christ, our God, known in our world and in our time, now begins.