My Gaudete

Today is the third Sunday of Advent, named on the Church calendar, as many Sundays are, for the first word of either the Epistle or the Gospel of the day, according to the lectionary before the liturgical reform. I believe that most of these readings now make up the Sunday readings for year A of the lectionary cycle. The epistle reading for today (Phil 4:4-7) begins, "Rejoice in the Lord always." The command form used in Latin to mean "rejoice" is gaudete. Hence, Gaudete Sunday. It is upon this Sunday of Advent that a little of the gloomy blue
is drained from the priest's vestments, leaving them rose in color ("It's not pink!" they're often heard to say).

And it was upon this Sunday, at about 2 p.m. I found myself unexpectedly standing in the rain along 16th St. NW, a heavily trafficked corridor, next to the-wreck-that-had-been-my-car-only-minutes-before. It was cold, and I was dressed nicely for a community service activity to which I had been running late, at which I would now be unable to attend, waiting for a tow truck and a ride from my roommate. It was only seconds after the car accident that my brain whirred, "I don't have full-time work. I don't have much savings left. My car is totaled. How can this be? Why me?" When I saw that the other driver was uninjured (as was I) but that her car had only some scratches and cracks in the bumper, my sense of the world's mocking unfairness only increased. But now, fifteen or twenty minutes after the accident, as the rain drizzled on my forehead, I realized, "This has all happened for a reason." In that moment of a grace, I felt a thorn or splinter remove from my heart, and the self-pity evaporated. The self-pity and the fear were alleviated. One moment they were there, and at the next they were not. Instead, a confidence of the all-encompassing providence of God's will began to penetrate into my heart.

Then a confirmation came to me from God. Actually, she drove up. She was an Ethiopian woman, and she rolled down her window and said me, "Are you alright?" When I nodded, she burst into a smile that chased away the clouds in my heart and made me smile as she cried, "Praise Jesus! I am so glad that you are well! See, it is a miracle, and for some purpose. Do you have anyone coming?" I told her my roommate was coming. She smiled and said, "It is for something. Do not forget that Jesus still has you!" And she drove off.

If I did not get the message, another Ethiopian woman drove up. I'm not kidding here. The odds seem slim, but it makes me wonder if the services of an Ethiopian church were letting out. She rolled down her window and told me that she liked my bumper stickers. Ending abortion is a passion of hers, she said, and that I should not worry about distractions and turmoil the devil will send to me. "You are well and God will bless you. Trust Him! Do you need to use my cell phone?" I thanked her and declined the favor, telling her that my roommate was on the way and so was a tow truck. She smiled and wished me well.  I noted that her car as well as the first Ethiopian lady's both had dents in them from collisions.  They had experienced my little trauma, and quite probably far worse.  But how they smiled!

After the tow truck took brought my car back to my home, and my roommate brought me back in his car, he and I went to Mass together. The priest punctuated a theme that my roommate and I had been discussing just a day or two earlier. Christian Joy is not a giddy thing, or a naive thing. It is not an emotion any more than love, he said, but it is an anchoring virtue, a continual knowledge or memory of the presence of God in our lives and in the events of our lives. Joy makes the deaths of loved ones tolerable, and weddings not merely happy, but hopeful and passionate. It makes births beautiful and injuries feel passing. Joy maintains an equilibrium, and without negating anything, accentuates the good in how we perceive everything. It does not dispel the troubles around us, but keeps them from penetrating too deeply into us. It keeps God in the back of our mind and disposes us to respond to Him in the events of our lives, rather than to our own emotional responses. We Christians make a grave mistake if we confuse joy with an emotion. If we think we are sinning by being sad, somehow disobeying the command to rejoice; or that we are "in grace" or consolation when things are pleasant, then we shall never see the face of God because we will have already forsworn the Cross without even noticing. Because joy is a knowledge and a decision, it is also a virtue, one that we can pray for and practice.  Joy is a virtue obviously connected to the virtues of faith and hope.

So though I felt sad at my loss, and still feel a bit of trepidation at the possible outcomes of my situation, my heart keeps gravitating, almost on its own, but really under the impulse of grace and the discipline of training, toward gratitude and trust. I am grateful that I have family and friends who care about me, limbs that are healthy and strong, a mind that is sharp, and possibilities unfolding before me, albeit slowly and in their own time. I am grateful that nobody was injured, rather than upset that my car will probably be totaled for a pittance. I am grateful for the gift of faith to see God's love even in darkness and in rain. I am grateful not to feel overwhelmed, but supported and protected.  And I have not given up waiting to see how Jesus is acting in my life.  I hope that you, dear reader, have not either.

This Gaudete Sunday, some key lessons were driven home to me, if you'll forgive the pun. Some other food for thought has been churning around in my head. I also have reason to believe from past experience that this day will turn out to have been a significant and good one when I reflect back upon it.

Yea, Father, Such Was Thy Gracious Will

Today, the Gospel reading at Mass was one of my all-time favorites.  I have decided to copy it below, but from the RSV, which is, as usual, lovelier than the NAB translation of the same passage.

In that same hour he rejoiced in the Holy Spirit and said, "I thank thee, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to babes; yea, Father, for such was thy gracious will.  All things have been delivered to me by my Father; and no one knows who the Son is except the Father, or who the Father is except the Son and any one to whom the Son chooses to reveal him."  Then turning to the disciples he said privately, "Blessed are the eyes which see what you see!  For I tell you that many prophets and kings desired to see what you see, and did not see it, and to hear what you hear, and did not hear it," (Luke 10:21-24).

This prayer of Jesus is laden with terms, phrases, and themes used in the Old Testament in the prayers offered by prophets to thank God for his mighty deeds, like when Jethro thanks God for having delivered Moses from Egypt (Ex 18:8-11).  The second part, about eyes seeing, etc., is a definite answer to Isaiah's prophecy (Isa 6:9-10; 18:3; 29:18; 32:3; etc).  Though Isa 52:13-15 is typically seen as predicting the passion of our Lord, I believe it applies here as well, because many who think they know what's what do not expect Jesus as he is, and so cannot see how he is acting and what he wills.  As C. S. Lewis reminds us in The Chronicles of Narnia, God "is not a tame lion."  If we wish to see him, we have to set aside our preconceived ideas and be open to him-as-he-is.  That's because he does crazy and unexpected things, like die on a cross or be born in a pigsty.

The Word is Coming

Today's readings (Rom 10:9-18; Ps 19:8, 9, 10, 11; Mt 4:18-22) at Mass did not at first seem to prompt Fr. Johnson's homily at OLO Lourdes, Bethesda. That's OK by me, because the homily is supposed to be the "Word of God under another form," or something like that, and on Sundays the epistle isn't usually calibrated to match themes with the first and gospel reading anyway. I especially enjoy lives of the saints. In any event, I was mistaken, and happily so. Fr. Johnson's homily was
inspired. I'll try to recap a couple key points in brief.

• Especially as one begins to study languages, languages and words become fascinating.
• A word is, on one level, just a sound made by a voice; but not really, because it is a sound intended to convey meaning.  Words are attempts to communicate what is inside oneself to others.
• The Holy Father is to be commended for his easy, comfortable use of the Greek word logos, which means "word."
  
• God "in many and various ways... spoke of old to our fathers by the prophets," (Heb 1:1).  In doing so, he was attempting to reveal himself to us more and more; our ears were stopped, but gradually he prepared for the fullest revelation.
• Jesus is the Word of God - not mere words spoken by men - but the Word become a Man.  Jesus is God's Logos.  He is the fullest utterance of God to people about himself, about who he is, about what he wants for us.
• Everything about the life of Christ, then, is revelatory - a self-disclosure of who God is and what he wants for us.

• Jesus was born humbly, lived his life dodging fame, and died in humiliation - and all of it voluntary.  God's ego is not on the line.  He doesn't want us to worship him so he can get his kicks.  He wants us to worship him because that is what will give us joy.
• This Word, Jesus, is so powerful because it is divine and because it is filled with love.  It is this Word that turned Peter, Andrew, James, and John on their heels and led them to drop their nets, their livelihoods, their lives, and to follow Jesus.

I would like to add my own point.

• The Word comes to us today in our lives, but the world is very cluttered and busy, chaotic and noisy.  The Word is not forceful or violent.  It is quiet.  It is born in a manger.  We will only hear the Word if we make time for silence in prayer and with the Word of God written on paper, so we can get a sense of how he speaks and thinks.

Wow, Fr. Johnson!  Thanks!  That was  a great homily.  At the end of Mass, he apologized for going on a bit long with his logos.  That was awful considerate of you, Fr. Johnson, but unnecessary.  The heads nodding when you asked if people were understanding you should confirm a theory of mine.  People don't mind someone going on for a bit if they really have something useful to say.

Something Beautiful to Start off Advent

This is the "Missa Orbis Factor," a Latin setting for the Mass whose title means 'Maker of the World' Mass. I found it at the Catholic Key blog. Every mention of it I find on the web says that it is Gregorian chant. All of these sources are amateurish, though - bloggers like me. It strikes me as simpler than Gregorian, though. It sounds more like Sarum to me. This theory strikes me as likely because it seems to be an old English chant, or at least is making its appearance through Anglican parishes. Except, well, that could just be because they like beautiful things (may they bring them with them when they come)! But then, I am amateurish - just a blogger. The biggest piece of counter-evidence to my theory is that the chanting in the YouTube video I have enclosed is actually performed by a Milanese Gregorian schola. One would think they would know... except maybe they like to branch out. Plus, it's not like Gregorian and Sarum are worlds apart... not to my amateurish ears, anyway. Anyone out there know more?

Populus Sion

Today is the Second Sunday of Advent. We're getting closer. Last week, as a Church we cried out to God, "To Thee I have lifted up my soul," and this week God gives us His reply: "Populus Sion, ecce Dominus veniet ad salvandas gentes." People of Zion, He says through His prophet, Behold the Lord comes to save the nations.

We call out to God and He responds. His entrance into the world is, of course, the fullness of this response. The Lord came to the world to save the nations. That's you and me, our neighbors, our families, our towns, our country, the whole world. The work of God in this respect has clearly not yet been brought to its fullest fulfillment. He will return to finish the job, though. In the meantime, when He returns, He expects to find us busy helping to get things ready. Let's pray and get to work.

The End of Days

Today, for the Catholic Church, is the last day of the liturgical year. This evening we begin a new year in Christ, the year of our Lord 2009, with the vigil of the First Sunday of Advent. The introit for the First Sunday of Advent, the first words spoken in the liturgy, are Ad te levavi animam meam, "To Thee I have lifted up my soul," (Ps 25). I hope I won't sound impertinent by saying that the various caretakers of our holy liturgy have, over the millennia, decided well by using verses from this psalm to open the liturgical year.

The liturgical year might be thought of as our life in Christ lived out over the course of a year. The first half of the year celebrates Advent and Christmas, the time in which we remember our Lord God's incarnation and entrance into the world as an honest-to-God human being. Then comes a liturgical pause, known as the Ordinary Time, in which all the regular rules and ordinances of Christian living apply. In this period, the Mass readings focus especially on the basic teachings of our Lord. During Lent, the next phase, we focus on renunciation of the things of the world and interior conversion. Faith, hope, and love, so prominent in the Christian life, crystallize into prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. We remember the suffering and death of our Lord during the brief period known as Passiontide that comes at the end of Lent, followed by the Triduum, the three most sacred days of the year, in which the death and resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ are made manifest to us again in the liturgy. The explosion of joy at the bodily resurrection of Jesus, the God-man, at the Easter Vigil and the fifty days of Eastertide (to trump the forty days of Lent) is marked by baptisms, bonnets, confirmations, May Day, parish picnics, and the rest. So the first half of the liturgical year concludes. The second half resumes Ordinary Time and its weekly, daily reflection on what it means to live as a follower of Jesus, as one who wishes to follow Him even into eternity.

And it all begins with a psalm, and sung poem inspired by the Holy Spirit, "To Thee I have lifted up my soul." The world moans in exile from Eden, riddled with sin, mourning in death and death's fall-out zone: bickering friends, starving children, despair, frustration, suffering, and all the things that God never desired for us but that we have brought upon ourselves collectively by our collective sin. We lift up our soul to God, like a mother holding a dying child, like our Blessed Mother grief-stricken and holding her murdered Son. Our heart groans and cracks under the weight of the sadness we are expected to bear, our exile from Eden, our slavery in Egypt, our bondage in Babylon, our weeping in this valley of tears. And God, in his unfathomable love and mercy, stoops down to lift us up, to lift us from the dunghill and set us on a firm rock (Ps. 40), to live with us and to love us face to face. In Advent, we reflect upon our sinful condition, we remember what God has done for us, what God is doing for us, what God will do for us. We remember His first coming into the world, about 2000 years ago; and we attend to His daily return in the People of God, in the proclaimed Gospel, in our private prayers, and especially in the Sacraments and in our sufferings handing over to Him. We look forward to His final return in Glory, the Parousia, at which He will fully, finally manifest His Kingdom, His way of doing things, and set everything to rights.

In the Gospel reading for the I Sunday of Advent (Is 63:16b-17, 19b; 64:2-7; Ps 80:2-3, 15-16, 18-19; 1 Cor 1:3-9; Mk 13:33-37), our Lord warns us to watch, to pay attention, because we do not know when the End will come and so we must stay ready. Moreover, if we do not pay attention, we will miss Him here and now as He begins and continues His saving work in our life. Emmanuel means "God with us," and He is truly with us, and He is coming. This year, lift up your soul to God and watch to see what He does.

Fourth Sunday of Advent

The Fourth Sunday of Advent is come and gone. We've heard the prediction to the wicked king Ahaz of Judah, that a virgin should bear a child and name him Emmanuel; we've heard the account of the first fulfillment of that prediction in St. Matthew's gospel. The question is, "Has the Virgin given birth to the Christ Child in my heart yet?" He was born 2000 years ago, give or take - but has it made a real difference in the way I live my life? Has He been born into me yet? What concrete things have changed in my life as a result of loving Jesus? That's the test. Being nice doesn't cut it - who tries to be, or thinks of himself as, mean? Being a Christian means putting off the Old Man and putting on the New, putting on Christ.

Lord Jesus, in these last days before Christmas, and in these last days before your Second Coming, please come into my heart in a new way. Transform me Lord. Amen.

Mama Mary, you are the Great Mother of God and my mother as well. Please bear Him to me, and me to Him. By your gentle childbirth, please bear me gently, but more importantly, bear me swiftly. Amen.