Advent 1 (Vespers)

This homily was given at a Vespers service at Corpus Christi church, in the hiatus between its final Mass as a parish at the end of November and its first Mass in January as a site of ministry to students and couples seeking marriage.

Reading: Luke 21:25-28, 34-36

“People will die of fright 
in anticipation of what is coming 
upon the world.”
These seem disturbingly timely words. 
We’ve all got lots of things to worry about:
wars in which nuclear-armed nations are in play;
climate change and extreme weather;
a nation divided by politics and ideology,
and an incoming administration
that excites great hope in some
and great fear in others.
What is coming upon the world?
What does the future hold?

But more locally, for us,
there is the question of 
what the future holds for this place,
this house of God
that has been our house.
What is coming for Corpus Christi?
Can we build something here
that will draw upon 
what has come before
but be open to new challenges 
that the Church faces?
I will admit, I have a lot of trepidation. 
In some ways we have been given 
a go-ahead for our new ministries
with students and young couples
precisely because these are two groups
that no one quite knows what to do with.
And we don’t know either,
but we were foolish or desperate enough
to say “let us give it a try,”
and so the Archdiocese said,
“sure, let them try.”

The prospects are daunting.
Religious disaffiliation 
is common among the young
and there doesn’t seem to be 
any magic formula for drawing them in.
Should we try updating things
or returning to the deep source of our tradition?
Do we make marriage preparation more user-friendly
or do we make it more demanding and rigorous?
Do we have meetings for students 
on Tuesday nights or Wednesday nights;
do we feed them pizza or tacos?
I’ll tell you, I have not a few sleepless nights
churning these questions over in my mind.
As I've nodded off in the afternoon

after after a sleepless night,

I’ve come to know how literal Jesus was being
when he spoke of our hearts growing drowsy
with the anxieties of daily life.

And I’ll be honest with you:
I have no idea if we can pull this off,
if we can build something new here
that will give this beautiful and storied place
the chance to feed generations to come
with the spiritual food of Christ’s body—
Corpus Christi.
I just don’t know.
But what I do know is that, in the end,

what happens does not depend on me or Andrew,
or even, though we cherish your support, any of you.
It depends on the never-failing providence of God.
 
There was a moment 
on the twisting and turning path
that has led us to this moment
when I felt that I could see 
how God’s providence was working.
I felt I could see a pattern
in how everything was coming together
out of seemingly unconnected events:
my three decades working with college students;
Andrew’s year spent shepherding this parish
and learning the mysteries 
of sound systems and bank accounts;
my transfer from Corpus Christi to the Cathedral, 
where, during the Covid-19 shutdown,
I served Mass with the Archbishop each week
and had an opportunity for him
to get to know me personally;
my last-minute decision to attend a deacons’ retreat
where I met Bishop Lewendowski,
who happened to be leading the retreat
and who was spearheading parish reorganization.
All of these things seemed to be coming together
to make it possible to get a hearing for this place
to continue as a site or worship and ministry.
So this, I thought, is what providence looks like. 

The next day Andrew and I got an email
saying that it had been determined
that the building was too expensive to maintain
and that Corpus Christi would be 
put on the market and sold as soon as possible.
When I recovered my senses—
which took a minute—
I somehow had the grace to think,
“Ah, I guess this, too, 
is what providence looks like.”
 
We’ve gone through several more 
twists and turns since then,
and sale of the building is not imminent,
though it is still a possible future.
But what I learned in that moment
is that none of us knows 
how God’s providence works
or what the future holds,
but at every moment we must ask 
for the grace to say, 
“this, too, is what providence looks like.”
And now what lies before us—
before all of us— 
is the work God has given us to do.
We who have loved this place
must trust that whatever happens
God will be at work
in us and through us,
as long as we can get out of the way
and let providence have its way.
So let us labor in hope,
and pray in this season of hope
that God who is merciful
will have mercy on us all.

Advent 1

Readings: Jeremiah 33:14-16; 1 Thessalonians 3:12-4:2; Luke 21:25-28, 34-36

In our Gospel reading today,
Jesus warns his followers not to let their hearts
“become drowsy from carousing and drunkenness
and the anxieties of daily life,”
so that the day of judgment not
“catch you by surprise like a trap.”
Now this is an interesting trio:
carousing, drunkenness, and daily anxiety.
While the temptation posed
by carousing and drunkenness
might seem obvious,
it is at first glance hard to imagine
being tempted by the anxieties of daily life.
While someone might say to us,
“hey, let’s go out carousing tonight and get drunk”
(it is, after all, the season of office Christmas parties),
you rarely hear someone say,
“hey, let’s hangout this evening and fret over our lives.”
Jesus seems to suggest, however, that it is
not only late-night partying and drunken revelry
that can make us inattentive
to the dawning of God’s kingdom in our world,
but also our anxious concern over all the things
that seem to demand our immediate attention,
the things we think of as making up
the fabric of our lives.
Anxiety can be intoxicating.

Though we might acknowledge
carousing and drunkenness as vices,
we can be tempted to think
of the anxieties of daily life as a sign of virtue.
I don’t mean the anxiety that some people
suffer as a psychological affliction,
over which they have no control
and from which they pray to be freed.
I mean the kind of anxiety
that we cultivate as a sign
that we are serious people
who have serious obligations
and who take our obligations seriously,
that we are important people,
who have been entrusted with important tasks
that will simply not get done if we do not do them,
that we are complex people whose complex lives
require constant attention
if they are not to come crashing down.
To be consumed with anxiety about our lives
can be a way of signaling to others and to ourselves
just how virtuous we are.
Our daily anxieties can become as intoxicating
as carousing and drunkenness,
like a drug that dulls our awareness that,
at the end of our days,
there is only one thing that matters:
the reign of God that is made present to us
in Jesus Christ.

It is noteworthy that the Greek word
translated here as “anxieties” (merimnais)
also occurs in Luke’s Gospel
when Jesus visits the home
of Mary and Martha of Bethany.
Martha, bustling about tending
to the practical needs of their guests,
asks Jesus to scold her sister Mary,
who sits at Jesus’ feet, listening to his words.
Jesus says to her, “Martha, Martha,
you are anxious and worried about many things.
There is need of only one thing.
Mary has chosen the better part
and it will not be taken from her” (10:41-42).
Martha is clearly not someone prone
to carousing and drunkenness;
she is a serious and important person
with a complicated and busy life.
But her anxiety over many things
makes her blind to the one thing necessary:
to sit at the feet of Jesus and listen to his words.

Just as Jesus gently chides Martha,
so too he warns us today
about being anxious and worried
over the myriad tasks and obligations
that we have taken on or that have befallen us
and missing the one thing necessary,
the one thing truly worthy of our concern:
to look constantly for the appearing of Christ our judge.
Just as Mary of Bethany made the presence of Jesus
the sole object of her concern,
so too we should “be vigilant at all times”
and pray that we will have the strength
“to stand before the Son of Man”
in the day of final judgment.
There is nothing like keeping
the end of the world before your eyes
to focus the mind on what is really essential,
on the one thing necessary.

But the Advent season is not just about
anticipating Jesus’s return at the end of history.
It is about looking for the appearance
of Jesus in our daily lives,
those lives that are the object of our anxiety.
We, like Martha, can let anxiety over many things
dull our awareness to the one thing necessary
that is right here among us,
in the midst of our daily tasks:
in the words of Scripture in our ears,
in the sacrament of the Eucharist in our mouths,
in the poor and the needy in our world.

Our culture’s way of celebrating the Winter holidays
not only increases carousing and drunkenness,
but it also increases the anxieties of daily life:
we shop for a long list of perfect gifts
as we worry about a dwindling bank account;
we prepare for a visit to family members
by anxiously comparing our achievements to theirs
and fondly revisiting old hurts and grudges;
we scramble to finish papers for school
or projects for work
so that we can spend an anxious holiday
fretting about upcoming tasks that await us.
In the midst of all of this
it is difficult to practice the Advent waiting
to which God calls us in these days.
But it is precisely in keeping Advent as a season
of attentive waiting for the appearance of Jesus in our lives,
that we can awaken from the drowsiness of daily anxieties.
To make time to reflect on God’s word in Scripture,
to be more intentional about our participation in the Eucharist,
to seek the face of Jesus in the poor and the outcast—
these might seem like just more tasks
added to our already anxious lives,
but they are the one thing necessary:
they are what will wake us
from anxiety’s intoxication,
they are what will give us life,
they are what, as St. Paul says,
will make us “increase and abound
in love for one another and for all.”

Advent 1

Readings: Jeremiah 33: 14-16; 1 Thessalonians 3:12-4:2; Luke 21:25-28, 34-36

Advent is a season of expectation:
a time of expectant preparation

for our celebration of Christ’s birth 2000 years ago,

for the coming of Christ into our lives today,

and for the glorious return of Christ on the last day.

This Sunday our attention is drawn particularly

to Christ’s future coming in glory:

“There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars,
and on earth nations will be in dismay,
perplexed by the roaring of the sea and the waves.”

Of course, this year things are a little bit different,

since this year we know that

when the ancient Mayan calendar runs out 

on December 21, 2012,

the end of the world is upon us,

whether it is caused by a black hole eating up the earth

or a collision of the earth with the mysterious planet Nibiru.

And I’ve got to say that knowing this 

certainly simplifies things in my life:

I’ve told my daughter Sophie

to forget about getting those college applications done

and I’m thinking about canceling

the repairs on our leaking roof.

Speculation and prediction about when the world will end

is not really something unique to this year

and to enthusiasts for the Mayan calendar.

Last year the radio preacher Howard Camping

predicted that the world would end on May 21, 2011,

and, when May 21st came and went,

revised that to October 21st.

Prior to that, various groups and individuals

had predicted the end of the world in

1889, 1874, 1844, 1763, 1585, 1533, 1370,

1284, 1260, 1033, 1000, 992, 793, 500.

In fact, I think we can safely presume that pretty much every year

has been a candidate for the world’s end in somebody’s calculation.

I must admit that 

I don’t take end of the world speculations very seriously,

and I suspect this is true of many of you as well.

But a lot of people do, so it is worth asking,

what is it that attracts people to such speculations?

I suppose that we might take a negative attitude toward them

and say that they are an expression of our human desire

for control over our own destinies,

a desire to put God on a timetable 

that we can plan around.

This is certainly part of what is going on,

and it is why the preacher Howard Camping

has recently denounced his own attempts

to predict the date of the world’s end as “sinful.”

But I don’t think such predictions are only

manifestations of a sinful desire for control.

I think that they are also a sign

that one is living one’s life 

in expectant hope of deliverance.

Those who look for this world’s ending

seem to be those who have a profound sense

that something is wrong with this world,

marked as it is by sin and death,

and that we await a deliverer who will set things right,

who will “do what is right and just in the land.”

Perhaps people come up with dates for this world’s end

because they yearn so fervently for a world where,

as our first reading says, we can “dwell secure.”

In other words, 

perhaps those most interested in the world’s end

are those whose lives in this world are most insecure,
whether materially, socially, emotionally or spiritually.

And perhaps people like me,

who tend to dismiss end of the world speculations,

might have something to learn 

from those who take them seriously –

not that the world will end on this or that date,

but the fundamental and undeniable truth

that my life is in fact insecure,

that the life that I have so carefully constructed

could collapse in an instant:

through sickness, unemployment, betrayal or death.

The one thing that does seem secure 

is that my world, my life, will end.

Perhaps what I need to learn is that, 

as Jesus says in today’s Gospel,

my heart has grown drowsy 

with the concerns of everyday life,

so that I overlook 

the fundamental insecurity and fragility

of my very existence,

not to mention the suffering of those

whose lives are far more insecure than mine:

the poor and the dispossessed.

To wake up to this insecurity is also, by God’s grace,  

to awaken to an expectant hope for a savior

in whose love I can dwell secure.

The message of the Gospel

is ultimately not about the insecurity of this life,

but about the security of the love of God

that comes to us in Jesus Christ,

the love that allows us to face life’s insecurities with hope,

knowing our redemption is at every moment at hand.

Because of the love that God has shown us in Jesus

we can look in hope beyond our insecurity,

not to a fixed date on which the world will end,

but to the certain advent in our lives of the God who is love

and whose love will one day be fully manifest in our world.