Fourth Sunday of Advent B
When
the new English translation of the prayers of the Mass
began
to be used back in Advent 2011,
it
took some getting used to.
I
still slip up during the Creed sometimes…and I know I’m not alone.
One
of the expressions
which
continues to stand out as a bit odd for many folks
is,
“like the dewfall.”
We
hear it in the second Eucharistic Prayer:
Make holy, therefore, these gifts, we pray,
by
sending down your Holy Spirit upon them like the dewfall…
(I was
told of a priest who,
during
that first Christmas with the new Missal,
prayed
for the Holy Spirit to descend “like the snowfall”:
not
exactly very reverent…but clever!)
Think
about how the dew falls:
gradually,
all silent and unseen.
When
rain or snow fall,
their
arrival is rather obvious—
sometimes, even violent.
sometimes, even violent.
But
not the dew,
which is always quiet and gentle.
which is always quiet and gentle.
That’s
how the Holy Spirit often comes:
he
does much of his best work in secret.
That’s
certainly what we encounter
in
our gospel reading this Sunday,
where
we find the Holy Spirit very much at work—
as
powerful as ever,
but
also all hidden and hushed.
Mary
wonders at the angel’s incredible message,
and
how this might come to pass:
“The
Holy Spirit…will overshadow you,” she’s told.
God’s
dew was settling in a most definitive way
to
bring new life to the parched earth:
the
Eternal Word taking on human flesh;
the
Son of God becoming man—
secretly,
in the womb of a virgin.
Our
worldly sensibilities, of course,
prefer
things that are more concrete.
When
King David wants to show his devotion,
and
make clear that God dwells among his people,
he
proposes to replace the flimsy, portable tent
which
has long been the focal point of Israel’s worship
with
a fixed temple of cedar and stone.
Even
when it comes to spiritual matters,
we favor
things we can see and touch,
things
stable and sturdy—
not
fleeting, like the dew.
But
God is mystery,
and
his working, regularly in secret.
Despite
our desire to have it otherwise,
the
Lord is notoriously hard to pin down.
Christmas
is, of course, very near,
and
our celebration of the Lord’s Nativity
has
become increasingly tangible:
and
presents and music and cookies—and more!
It’s
a veritable feast for the senses!
But
we mustn’t get so taken by the good stuff of the holiday
that
we miss the very essence of the holy day…
…which
is and will always remain a mystery.
How
can it be that the Only Begotten Son of
God,
born of the Father before
all ages,
…for our salvation…came down
from heaven,
and by the power of the Holy
Spirit
was incarnate of the Virgin
Mary and became man?
Just
the thought of it should stop us in our tracks—
as
it, no doubt, did Mary—and have us saying, “Wow!”
In
the Old Testament,
when
the Israelites were wandering hungry in the desert,
God
fed his people with manna from above.
“In
the morning,” we read in Exodus,
“there
was a layer of dew all about the camp,
and
when the layer of dew evaporated,
fine
flakes were…on the ground.
…[T]he
Israelites asked one another, “What is this?”
…Moses
told them, “It
is the bread
which the Lord has
given you to eat.” (16:13-15)
At
every Mass, in a way even more wondrous,
God
continues to feed his people.
The
Lord who was made manifest in our human flesh
still
dwells among us in the Sacrament of his Body and Blood.
All
silent and quite unseen,
the
heavenly dew continues to fall.
Let
us never fail to stand in wonder
before
the mystery.
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