The Third Sunday of Advent (A)
Dear brothers and sisters,
As we collected our individual prayers together at the beginning of this Mass and presented them as one to the Father, we asked “to attain the joys of so great a salvation” given us in the coming of Christ Jesus.[1] And yet, as we asked for these joys, Saint James tells us “be patient … until the coming of the Lord” (James 5:7). What are we to make of these seemingly contradictory modes of living, of striving for joy and of waiting?
“Advent is a strong invitation to everyone to let God come increasingly into our lives, our houses, our neighborhoods and our communities in order to have light in the midst of the many shadows, in the numerous daily efforts,” however difficult or frustrating they might be.[2] The Prophet Isaiah kept before the eyes of the ancient Israelites the promise that “the desert and the parched land will exult” and “rejoice with joyful song” (Isaiah 35:1, 2). He kept this promise before them as they lived in exile, in times more difficult – may it please God - than most, if not all, of us will ever know. And yet Isaiah never lost confidence that when the Lord comes “they will meet with joy and gladness, sorrow and mourning will flee” (Isaiah 35:10).
It happens all too often that while the Lord “is near us ... we are often distant” from him. Distracted by so many things and circumstances, we are impatient with the Lord and withdraw from him. Advent is a time for us to draw near to the Lord again, for he “keeps faith forever” (Psalm 146:6).
If we pay attention to the Church’s prayer throughout Advent and seek to make it our own, we find something rather curious happens within us. The more we live like patient farmers – there are still a few of them here and there - waiting “for the precious fruit of the earth,” the more our joy increases at the knowledge that our God is coming to save us (James 5:7; cf. Isaiah 35:4). There is an undeniable comfort in this waiting as we begin to recognize that when the Lord comes feeble hands and weak knees will be made strong, “the eyes of the blind will be opened, the ears of the deaf will be cleared; then the lame will leap like a stag, then the tongue of the mute will sing” (cf. Isaiah 35:3, 5-6). In the light of faith and in the power of Christ, all is made new, even if in unexpected ways.
The prayers and the readings the Church presents to us in these days of Advent serve to strengthen our longing for the coming of the Lord and to increase our desire and willingness to go out to meet him (cf. Matthew 11:7). But who is it we go out to see?
This question has echoed in the hearts of every man, woman, and child since the dawn of time. Is it really not the same question John the Baptist asked of Jesus: “Are you the one who is to come” (Matthew 11:3)? It is a question born of expectant hope.
Saint Augustine of Hippo reminds us of who it is we go out to see, of him who has come and is coming again:
Christ, you see, was going to come in the flesh, not anyone at all, not an angel, not an ambassador; but “he himself will come and save you” (Isaiah 35:4). It wasn’t anyone who was going to come; and yet how was he going to come? He was going to be born in mortal flesh, to be a tiny infant, to be laid in a manger, wrapped in cradle clothes, nourished on milk; going to grow up, and finally even to be done to death. So in all these indications of humility there is indeed a pattern of an extreme humility.[3]
We know that his death was not his end, that he rose from the grave. We know, also, that the humility with which he first came will changed to glory when he comes again. “Make your hearts firm,” then, “because the coming of the Lord is near” (James 5:8).
As we enter into this house of God, let us seek to allow him to enter more fully into our lives. When he comes, may meet him “with joy and gladness” on that day when “sorrow and mourning will flee” (Isaiah 35:10). Amen.
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