Second Sunday of Advent C
What
separates England from France and the rest of mainland Europe?
The English Channel.
It’s
only about 20 miles wide at it narrowest point,
but
it has a reputation for frequently being rather rough
and
for always being unpredictable—
so
much so geologists say that, in prehistoric times,
it
kept humans from occupying what is now Great Britain
for
more than 100,000 years.
In
more recent history,
many
means have been used to get across this forbidding crossing.
On
the water, there have been sailboats and steamships;
over
the water, hot air balloons and airplanes;
and
for those who don’t mind being in the water—
in
a whole lot of cold water—
a
few have even been known to swim from one shore to the other!
All
these attempts at passage can be easily foiled by the weather:
by wind,
or waves, or fog, or the tides.
The
weather in the English Channel was a decisive factor
when
the British navy defeated the Spanish armada in 1588,
and
in the Allies’ hard-won victory in Normandy in 1944.
But
a literal breakthrough in getting across the English Channel
occurred
25 years ago when, after two years of digging,
French
and English workmen met each other in a new tunnel beneath it
on
December 1, 1990.
Today,
more than 20 million people (and a many, many tons of freight)
cross the Channel
each year by going under it—
no
matter what the weather.
A
long and seemingly impassable separation
had been overcome.
This
Sunday, St. Luke lists the names of those
reigning
in the halls of power,
and
even the acknowledged religious leaders serving in the temple…
…but
it’s to none of these that the word of God comes.
It
comes, instead, to one in the desert—
a
prophet like Baruch and Isaiah before him—
crying
out in the wilderness.
When
the ancient prophets speak of or from the desert,
they’re
speaking to a people who have been invaded and defeated,
captured
and led off into exile.
The
prophets pull no punches and make it perfectly clear
that
Israel was exiled because of her disobedience.
While
it’s a vast desert that separates her
from
Jerusalem and the rest of her homeland,
it’s
the wasteland of sin that has separated her from God.
So
when Baruch or Isaiah preach about straightening the path,
filling
in the ruts, or smoothing out the rugged places,
they’re
not talking about actual road construction;
the
landscape they’re describing is that of the human soul.
Whether
your preferred metaphor
is a
path across the sea or a highway through the desert,
it
comes down to the same reality:
what
is needed is repentance—
to
turn, to change direction,
to
find our way back home to God again.
Baruch
is addressing a people surrounded by a culture
whose
values and beliefs are quite foreign to their own.
(Sound
familiar?)
He
warns them not to give in to their neighbors’ idolatry.
Even
though they’ve been unfaithful in the past,
God
always remains faithful.
Hope
is firm for those who put their future in the Lord’s hands.
This desert—not of sand but of sin—can seem nearly impassable.
And
when looking across it, it can even feel
like
God just may have abandoned them.
But
God hasn’t. He can’t. God doesn’t forget.
As
Scripture echoes time and again:
His mercy endures forever (cf. Ps 136).
Yet
while God, in his love, can never abandon us,
he
also will never force himself upon us.
Patiently,
he waits for us to take that first step,
to
pick up that shovel ready to dig through.
Now,
that’s not because God is expecting us
to
walk or to tunnel the whole way on our own.
In
fact, we don’t even have to meet him halfway.
The
Lord is the one who bridges the gap—the only one who can—
and
the God who begins such a good work in us
will
no doubt continue to complete it.
Every
Advent, the Church holds up before us
the
prophets of the Old Testament
and
John the Baptist in the New
because
Advent is a season of preparation,
a
call for repentance, a time to wait upon God’s mercy.
And
what’s unique to the Christian faith
is
that God’s mercy is so much more
than
just one of his many personality traits;
his
mercy is personal—his mercy is a Person:
the
Divine Mercy who once quietly came to us in Bethlehem;
the
Divine Mercy who still comes to us mystically
in
his living Word and the sacraments;
the
Divine Mercy who will come again in majesty
that
all flesh might see the salvation of God.
This
Advent in particular is a time to celebrate the mercy
which
overcomes the separation between heaven and earth,
as
on Tuesday we begin an extraordinary Jubilee Year—
the
Year of Mercy—called for by Pope Francis.
Marking
this grace-filled moment,
our
parish will have 40 hours of Eucharistic adoration,
starting after Mass today,
a
full day of confessions tomorrow,
and—please
pray for good weather!—
a Eucharistic
procession on Tuesday evening.
Don’t
let this opportunity pass you by!
No
sea is too rough, no desert too barren,
no
soul too hardened by sin
to
keep us separated from the God who is Love and Mercy itself.
If
you but open the door of your heart to him,
God will most certainly break through.
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