Opening Line

   Second Sunday of Advent   B 

Readings

Once upon a time…

It was a dark and stormy night…

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…

Or more appropriate to this time of the year:

’Twas the night before Christmas…

We all know the importance of first impressions,

and what’s true of face-to-face meetings

is also true when telling a story.

Did you know there’s been an annual contest

for more than 30 years

to write the worst possible opening line for a novel?

I considered sharing a few examples with you…

…but I’ll spare you the agony.

Those first few words of a story

can tell us a lot about what will follow:

whether we’re in for a fairy tale, a mystery, a classic,

or something just plain bad.

This Sunday we hear:

The beginning of the gospel 

of Jesus Christ the Son of God.

We’ll spend most Sundays of the coming year

hearing gospel accounts taken from Mark—

as best we can tell,

the very first of the Christian gospels 

to be written—

and that’s his opening line.

The beginning of the gospel 

of Jesus Christ the Son of God.
To our modern, American ears, 

it doesn’t exactly sound

like this book’s going to be a real page-turner.

But let’s pick it apart a bit…

“The beginning…”

Mark’s very first word echoes the very first words of the entire Bible:

the Book of Genesis opens, In the beginning…,

as it tells the story of the creation of the world.

Mark is setting out to tell the story of a new creation:

God’s re-making the world, giving a fresh start to everything.

This isn’t going to be just another story.

This is the beginning of what? 

“The beginning of the gospel…”

The original Greek word literally means “glad tidings” or “good news.”

We can hear that and think,

“Well, this is going to be a nice, happy story—

the opposite of the news we usually get !”

But the word “gospel” previously had a very specific meaning:

the announcement of a great military victory.

When a conquering emperor or general returned from battle,

he sent “evangelists” on ahead

to tell everybody the “good news” of his triumph.

Mark is setting out to tell us about the real victory—

not of Caesar or one of his generals,

but of a man Caesar put to death.

This will be the story of the ultimate conquest.

And these are the glad tidings about whom?

“…the gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God.”

Who is this man, Jesus, whose story Mark wants to tell?

He is the Christ: the Messiah, the anointed one.

This Jesus was Jewish, living and dying in a Jewish context.

The word “Christ” would have certainly perked up Jewish ears.

For centuries, this oppressed people

had been waiting for a liberator, a savior, promised by God,

who would set them free—once and for all.

There were many who made false claims to be the Messiah.

Could this man really be the one?

But Mark also tells us that this man is the Son of God.

Those words would have perked up Roman ears—

the Romans, from whom the Jews longed to be liberated—

for the Caesars declared themselves divine,

and one of the emperor’s many exalted titles was “son of god.”

Mark says—quite provocatively—

that he’s going to tell the story of the true king of the world.  (cf. R. Barron)

All of that is packed into just one line!

(It’s not even a complete sentence!)

You can draw out meaning like that

from every word of the gospel,

from every line of Sacred Scripture!

And we can do much the same

with every little detail of our lives.

God is attempting to write

another tale of glad tidings, another “gospel,”

in your life and in mine.

Their opening lines are as unique

as every distinct human person.

Some of our stories begin meeting God in tenderness:

Comfort, give comfort to my people,

God says through Isaiah.

Some of our stories begin with a shock,

much like the sudden appearance

of a bug-eating wild man from the dessert named John the Baptist.

And some of our stories emerge from out-and-out disaster,

like St. Peter’s picture of the end of time

when the heavens will be dissolved in flames

and the elements melted in fire.

But what these stories have in common—

if we take the time to examine them closely—

is that they are more than just an unconnected series of events;

each one of them has a thread that ties it together,

and that thread is Jesus:

God-made-man, the savior, the liberator,

the king come to definitively conquer sin and death,

to recreate this world one life at a time.

And what else do our stories have in common?

They are meant to be told.

As the old saying goes:

Your life may be the only Bible

some people ever read.

How does the story of your life in Christ begin?

(And if it hasn’t started yet,

are you ready to let God begin writing?)

What’s the opening line?

What’s happening in the most recent chapters?

Can you recognize the thread that ties it all together?

Can you see where it’s all going—that it’s truly good news?

And are you willing to tell it

to anyone and everyone who’s willing to listen?

The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God.

Let it begin again in you this Advent.

Not a Part of It

After the anticpated Mass, a parishioner slipped a few bucks in my pocket and said, "Put this in the CD donation box and ease your conscience..."

     First Sunday of Advent   B 

Readings

My best find on Black Friday

was not in a store, but in a church.

My dad almost always goes

to the 7:00am daily Mass 

at St. Peter’s in Plattsburgh

and, since I was home, 

I though it’d be nice to go with him.

After I’d concelebrated the Mass 

and gone to confession,

I was walking out of church

right past the rack 

of Lighthouse Catholic Media CDs—

much like the racks we have 

in each of our churches.

(I like to see if there’s anything new 

that we ought to order for here.)

And one of the CDs there caught my eye:

a talk on Baptism by Fr. Mike Schmitz 

of Duluth, Minnesota.

This wasn’t only the best find of the day:

it was also the best deal…
...because I took the CD without leaving a donation.

(Sorry, Msgr. Duprey! 

Maybe I already need to go to confession again…)

While talking about Baptism to a group of college students,

Fr. Mike made a few points that we all ought to consider

at the beginning of this Advent season.

In the last few minutes of his talk,

he asked a question that keeps ringing in my head:

In the last seven days, have you lived any differently

than you would have if you weren’t a child of God—

if you’d never been baptized?

It’s only one question…

…but it’s just about the best examination of conscience

I’ve ever heard anywhere!

Fr. Mike points out that most of us look at our faith

a lot like we look at the IRS.

We treat Jesus like the big taxman in the sky.

“I’ll pay what I’m supposed to…

…but don’t ask for a penny more.

And if I can find a few loopholes…even better!”

No one ever says to the IRS, “Here’s my account number. 

Just take whatever you need!”

We don’t say it to the taxman…

…and we often fail to say it to Jesus.

We try to give Jesus just enough…

…but that’s not what Jesus asks for,

that’s not what Jesus wants: he wants it all.

My personal relationship with Jesus Christ

can’t just be another "thing" in my life—

one more item on a long, long list,

fighting to get a piece of my time and attention.

We’re very busy people!

Too busy, I’d say, and getting busier all the time.

Consider all the many things

that occupy your day and your week:

spouse, kids, parents, friends, house, job, school, sports,

health, hobbies, Church, car, bills, volunteering…

...and on and on.

My relationship with Jesus 

can’t just be one of the many things I do.

It’s not even enough to put it at the top of the list.

Jesus needs to be at the very center of everything.

He needs to be the Lord of my entire life—

not a part of my life, but the heart of my life.

Modern technology comes with many blessings.

But smartphones have a particular pitfall

that I see again and again:

they tempt us to lead very distracted lives.

We’re always trying to do a few things at once:

answer a call, read a text, respond to email,

look up something on the net—

all while not being fully present to the moment we’re living

or the other person who’s right there in front of us

(maybe on their smartphone, too).

All the hustle and bustle of this so-called “holiday season”

only increases our high level of distraction.

How desperately we need Advent—

to hear Jesus say, Be watchful!  Be alert!

What real difference does it make in my life

that I am a Catholic?  that I am a Christian? 

that I’m a follower of Jesus?

Can my life be distinguished at all

from the lives of people who aren’t?

In the last seven days, have I lived any differently

because Jesus Christ was born, lived, died, and rose

than if he hadn’t?

In the last seven days, have I lived any differently

because I’m waiting for Jesus Christ to come again

than if I weren’t?

In the last seven days, have I lived any differently

because I have met Jesus Christ,

and he has touched and transformed me?

Our first reading on this first Sunday of Advent

is a plea for God’s help:

We’ve made a mess of things!  We’ve gotten off track!

Lord, come and save us!

In Advent, we’re reminded of our deep need for God.

Left to our own devices, we tend to lose our way.

But the Lord does not leave us on our own.

“God is faithful,” St. Paul reminds us.

God once came in human flesh in times past.

We await his future coming in glory.

And in the meantime, he keeps on coming to us:

in the sacraments, in the scriptures,

in serving the needs of one another—

even in a CD stolen from another church.

But we need to be watchful.

Despite so many distractions,we need to stay awake and alert.

Don’t let Jesus become just another part of your life;

make him the very heart of your life.

Jesus isn't only "the reason for the season";
he's come to make a difference in everything.

  

What We're Eating

Whatever you're eating, and with whomever you're eating it, 

have a very happy and blessed Thanksgiving!
  

Rodeo

   Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe    

Readings

A few years ago,

Fr. Stitt gave me an unusual but most enjoyable CD.

It was recorded 

by a rather quirky quartet of musicians:

a classical cellist, a Nashville fiddler,

a “new-grass” mandolin player,

and a guy on bass who does a little bit of everything.

They’d never performed as a group before.

What could have been a total disaster 

actually works quite well.

The album is aptly called, The Goat Rodeo Sessions.

I had not heard the expression before,

but it seems that a “goat rodeo”

refers to an especially chaotic state of affairs

that involves lots of risks, but uncertain rewards.

Just think about it: in a regular rodeo,

cowboys risk their necks…

…but they get to look pretty cool doing it;

if the cowboys were riding goats, however,

they’re still likely to get injured…

…but not nearly as likely to look cool!

According to the album notes,

the term is used by air traffic controllers

and others in high-risk fields to describe a situation

“that requires about 100 things to go right at once

if you intend to walk away from it.”

(There are, of course, 

some other colorful expressions out there for this,

but they’re definitely not appropriate 
to say in church…)

“Goat rodeo” described

this groundbreaking musical project to a tee.

And “goat rodeo” also describes fairly accurately

the kingdom of Jesus Christ, our King.

I know of a fellow 

who has recently come back to the Church.

He still has some issues with the Church

and plenty of his own personal baggage, 

but he’s nonetheless quite happy to have returned

to the practice of his Catholic faith.

While well aware of his own weaknesses,

there’s something he’s observed 

when looking around in the pews:

people he knows from other settings 

whose regular weekday behavior

doesn’t exactly line up well 

with their regular Sunday worship.

And that leaves him perplexed.

In effect, what this man is seeing

are sheep and goats all running together.

That can be disconcerting for all involved:

sheep frequently fear that goat-like habits might rub off,

cause scandal, or lead weaker lambs astray;

goats, meanwhile, can get pretty annoyed

with do-gooder sheep always trying to correct them.

It makes me think of a brilliant quote

from preacher Billy Graham:

If you find a perfect church, by all means join it!

Then it will no longer be perfect.

Although completely divine in her origins,

the Church is made up of sinful human beings

and, therefore, has never yet managed

to live up to her full potential—

not even when she was pretty much

just twelve Apostles following Jesus around.

Christian discipleship is messy!  It always has been.

Maybe you didn’t realize it at first,

but what you’ve signed up for is a goat rodeo.

From ancient times, the image of the shepherd

has been used as a metaphor

for the relationship between a people and their king.

It’s worth noting that this Sunday’s celebration

has not been “updated” for the 21^st century

as the feast of “Christ the Chairman” or “Christ the President.”

The life of the spirit doesn’t operate like politics:

we don’t get to decide who’s in charge,

or how he ought to run things.

The reign of Jesus Christ—

along with whoever else comes under it—

does not depend at all on your vote of approval or mine.

Christ is, indeed, no less than the King of the Universe, 

and he demands to be the Lord of every aspect of our lives.

It’s completely his to sit in judgment of the living and the dead:

he alone has the final say.

But this king is no authoritarian tyrant,

simply throwing his weight around:

you can tell by his crown,

which is not of burnished gold but bloody thorns.

To submit to this king isn’t to be kept down,

but rather to be lifted up.

You see, this king’s greatest power

isn’t in enforcing uncompromising commands,

but in the way that, with some loving coaxing and merciful coaching,

he can turn rebellious, head-butting, quarrelsome goats

into humble, innocent, dutiful sheep.

If we surrender our lives to this Good Shepherd,

our very identity changes.

That’s why he’s willing to let this goat rodeo go on:

it’s risky, but it’s oh-so-worth it.

Whether we tend more to right or left, to sheep or goat,

our attention is much better focused not on the rest of the flock,

but on the Shepherd himself.

Even when we encounter the very least among us,

it’s this King we ought to see and serve in them.

Allow the Lord to rope you in and get good hold of you

in the midst of life’s crazy goat rodeo,

that he might then lead you beside restful waters

and into green pastures—

a sheep chosen to inherit the Father’s kingdom,

prepared for you from the foundation of the world.

  

11th Hour

Actually, it's the 11th month of my "year out."  I'm in the home stretch now!

On Wednesday, Fr. Scott Belina and I headed out into the snowy woods to spend the night in the lean to at Trombley Landing on the Raquette River between Saranac Lake and Tupper Lake.  I had hoped to spend a night here back in August (but found the place occupied), and raced by here in a canoe back in September, but this time we had the place all to ourselves (other than the lone deer hunter we met on the trail on the way in, and the lone XC skier who appeared just as we finished packing up out gear).  The spot is understandably quite popular among boaters on the river, but we rightly figured it wasn't in such demand at this time of year.

The trail in from Route 3/30 is only 1.6 miles and relatively level, but not being sure what the snow conditions might be, and knowing it would be plenty cold enough, we figured that was as far as we needed to go for this camp out.  We walked through a beautiful, snow-covered forest...

...to find a nice lean to not far off the river's edge.

Much of this trip would be spent fending off the chill.  (It was about 20°F when we left our vehicles, and dropped into the low teens overnight.)  That started with kindling a nice fire.

After a rather lovely winter sunset over the river...

...we were ready for some hot food.  Trouble with my stove meant rigging up a special set up, which didn't look like much but managed to get the job done.

And then it was into the sleeping bags, even before we were quite ready to go to sleep.  (I think we's been in 'em about 11 hours by the time we crawled out again the next morning!)

This was the first time I'd actually slept with some of my water bottles--which isn't the most comfortable arrangement in the world, but is pretty essential if you still want to have something to drink/cook with come morning...since the ones left out were frozen solid.

I'd kind of hoped for a "Indian Summer" experience in November (I'd suggested the possibility of making this a camping trip by kayak when setting these dates a few weeks in advance), but even with the cold and snow it was a truly lovely night in the woods.

Now, just one more to go...
 

Rustic Retreat

I returned Friday evening from my annual retreat, having spent six days at Mount St. Francis Hermitage in Maine, NY.  As a guest of the the Franciscans of the Immaculate, I had my own cabin in the woods--one named for Padre Pio.  The place is, shall we say, "rustic": the cabins have electricity and a gas stove for preparing your own meals, but no running water and are only heated by a small wood stove.  I was about a half mile from the friary and the "retreat center," where I could get wood, water, and a warm shower.  To many folks, I'm sure this sounds less like a retreat center and more like hunting camp!  But it suited me just fine.  My quiet days were occupied with daily Mass (whether with the friars or privately in my cabin's small oratory) and quiet prayer, lots of reading, long afternoon walks, and the necessities of keeping myself warm and well fed.  It was a blessed week, and I'm so grateful for your prayers throughout it.