Upside Down

   The Nativity of the Lord - Christmas Eve   

Readings

Christmas is a time for stories, right?

Each and every year,

we hear stories about Rudolph and Frosty and the Grinch.

Most important of all,

we hear the story of Mary and Joseph

and the birth of the baby Jesus.

I wrote a story myself many Christmases ago,

and told it right here a few years back—

but when someone asked me about it the other day,

I figured it might be time to tell that story again.

Boy and girls:

How many of you have a Christmas tree at home?

Just as I suspected!

And how many of you have those trees hanging upside down?

Just as I suspected again!

I’m sure that sounds like a pretty silly question.

But did you know that, once upon a time,

that’s how people decorated for Christmas—

with an evergreen tree hanging upside down from the ceiling?

Let me read you a little story

about one of those first Christmas trees…

Long, long ago,

         in a land far, far away,

                  there was a big and beautiful forest

                  very near to a tiny village.

And growing beside each other in that forest

         were three different trees:

                  there was Ollie, the oak tree,

                  whose wood was very strong;

                  there was Alice, the apple tree,

                           whose fruit was very sweet;

                  and there was Peter, the pine tree,

                           who was youngest of them all.

The three trees became good friends

         since they spent all of their time together.

But Peter always felt unimportant next to the others.

It was hard enough to be younger and shorter.

But Peter’s wood was soft,

         not hard and strong like Ollie’s

And Peter’s branches didn’t produce any fruit

         like Alice’s delicious apples.

Peter was sure he had a purpose…

         …he just wasn’t sure what that purpose might be.
Now, in that tiny village there lived a little boy

         who often played among the trees of the forest.

He loved to climb in Ollie’s strong branches.

He loved to eat Alice’s sweet apples.

And he loved to lie down under Peter’s thick, green branches,

         where he would spend hour after hour

                  dreaming fantastic dreams

                           and asking life-sized questions.

His mother and father

         had told him there was a God

                  who had made this vast and wonderful world

                           and everything in it.

But the boy wanted to know more

         about this God he could not see.

So the boy asked Ollie what he thought about God.

“This God must be very strong,” replied the mighty oak tree,

         “stronger than anyone or anything else,

                  if he can set up the mountains

                           and dig out a place for the sea.”

Then the boy asked Alice what she thought about God.

“This God must be very rich,” replied the fruitful apple tree,

         “richer than anyone or anything else,

                  if he can provide enough food

                           for every hungry creature.”

        

Finally, the boy asked Peter what he thought about God.

“I’m not really sure,” said the pine tree.

Looking at Peter’s green branches

         pointing straight up like an arrow to the sky,

the boy said,

         “All I know is that this God must be very far away—

                  way up in heaven above everyone and everything else—

                           if he can watch over the whole world.

That must be why no one has ever seen God.”

And the little boy would lie there

         imagining journeys to distant lands

                  where he would look for people who could tell him

                           if God were indeed very strong,

                                    or very rich,

                                             or very far away.

And that’s just what the little boy did.

When he got older,

         he said good-bye to his mother and father

                  and to his friends in the forest,

                           promising them all that he would come back some day

                                    and tell them about everything

                                             he had seen and learned.

So Ollie, Alice, and Peter waited.

And they waited.

And they waited some more.

And after a few years

         the little boy—now a fully-grown man—

                  came back to the tiny village where he has been born.

He called together all the people to the center of town

         because he had some wonderful news to tell them.

He had met some people who could tell him about God.

Now, the three trees could see

         that there was much excitement in the village,

                  but they could not hear a single word

                           of what their old friend was saying.
It wasn’t long, though, before they saw him

         coming into the forest carrying a saw.

He walked up to Ollie and said,

         “I want to build a house for God—called a church.

But I need wood to build it.

Oak tree, may I have some of your strong branches?”

“Why yes, my friend,” said Ollie.

“I want to help you build a strong house for God.”

When the church was finished,

         the now-grown boy came back to the forest,

                  carrying a huge basket.

He walked up to Alice and said,

         “I want to have a great festival for God—called Christmas.

But I need food for the feast.

Apple tree, may I have some of your sweet fruit?”

“Why yes, my friend,” said Alice.

“I want to help you have a rich celebration for God.”
And when all else was ready for the festival,

         their friend returned to the forest one more time,

                  but this time he was carrying an axe.

He walked up to Peter and said,

         “I want to decorate God’s house for the great feast.

I want to share with everyone the amazing story I have heard,

         but I’m going to need your help—

                  even more than I needed Ollie and Alice.

Pine tree, may I cut you down

         and bring you into the church for Christmas?”

Peter was very much afraid,

         but he mustered up all his courage

                  and managed to answer, “Yes, my dear friend:

                           I want to help you point people to God.”

Afraid that the axe might hurt a bit,

         Peter closed his eyes real tight

                  but by the time he opened them again

                           he had already been brought inside.

“I have a very special place for you, my friend,” said the boy.
And with that,

          he tied a rope around Peter’s little trunk

                  and raised him—upside down—

                           to the rafters made from Ollie’s branches,

                                    hanging high above the floor of the church.

“I don’t understand,” said Peter,

         now more confused and dizzy than afraid.

“I remember when you were little,

         how you would lie down

                  and dream beneath my green branches

                           and think about how they pointed like an arrow

                                    straight to God up high in heaven.

What have you learned, my friend,

         that you now need to hang me upside down?”

“I nearly forgot to tell you,” said the boy.
“I used to think that God

         was stronger than anything—and that’s true.

But Christmas has taught me

         that that same God chose to be weak—

                  born as a little baby boy, just like I used to be,

                           who needed a mother and father to care for him.

“I also used to think that God

         was richer than anyone—and that’s true.

But Christmas has taught me

         that that same God chose to be poor—

                  born in a tiny village, just like mine,

                           with only a manger for his first bed.

“And I used to think that God

         lived far away in heaven, watching over the whole world—

                  and that’s true, too.

But Christmas as taught me

         that that God chose to come live with us

                  right here on earth.

“And that’s why I’ve hung you upside down, little pine tree:

         to point like an arrow, for all people to see—

                  pointing to the wonderful news that because of his love

                           God has come down from heaven

                                    to be very close to us.”

Now Peter understood the great excitement

         he has seen spreading throughout the village

                  and the reason for this grand celebration called Christmas.

No longer feeling unimportant,

         no longer afraid or confused,

                  he proudly hung up there, high in the rafters.

Peter has finally found his purpose:

         it was to be a Christmas tree,

                  helping everyone who would see him to remember

                           the most wonderful news of all—

                                    that God is with us.

So, boys and girls,

before you crawl into your warm beds tonight,

I want you to look very carefully at trees in your homes,

and to picture them hanging upside down!

And when you do that,

remember how again each year

Christmas points down like an arrow from heaven

to tell people that God loves us so much

that he didn’t want to stay far away,

but he chose to be born—weak and poor—

as a little child…just like you!

The end.

Merry Christmas!

    

Hasty

It's rather beautiful seeing all four candles lit on the Advent wreath.  

It's also rather terrifying: there's only a few days left!

   Fourth Sunday of Advent   C 

Readings

Thursday is generally my day off each week,

and this past Thursday was earmarked for Christmas shopping.

I put more than 200 miles on the car making my rounds,

and found myself on many a wild goose chase:

items out of stock, store staffers nowhere to be found,

stores closed, one store gone right out of business.

Many of the other folks I encountered—

whether they were employees or customers—

looked like they were enjoying themselves

just about as much as I was.

As my baby sister sarcastically put it in an email the other day,

Christmas shopping is “essentially

a winter wonderland of love, peace, and joy!”

When I pulled back into Malone a little after 9 o’clock that night,

I wasn’t exactly brimming with Christmas cheer;

I was exhausted…and rapidly approaching cranky.

So much to do…so little time to do it!

“Mary set out and traveled…in haste…”

As this Sunday we hear again the story of the Visitation,

it can seem that even our Blessed Mother

has been caught up in the pre-holiday rush!

But Mary’s not running off to the mall in suburban Nazareth

to shop for the nursery or register in advance of a baby shower.

Many have assumed that her quick action

is an indicator of her abundant charity—

although pregnant herself, rushing to help her aged cousin

who’s now quite astonishingly with child…

…but if that were solely the case,

Mary would have probably stayed put

until little John the Baptist was actually born,

and not returned home a whole month early (Lk 1:56).

So…why the rush?

When the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary

and announced to her

that she would bear the Only Begotten Son of God,

the good news came with the promise of a miraculous sign:

that Elizabeth, even though long barren, was now pregnant, too.

The sign was Mary’s invitation to go—

not so much to verify the Lord’s word

as to experience firsthand

that, “nothing,” in fact, “will be impossible for God” (Lk 1:37)

And so, much like a band of shepherds

will also later do at the prompting of angels,

Mary hastens to see the sign—

a swift and determined movement of her heart

even more than of her feet along the roads of Judah.

In my experience, anyway,

all the rushing about at this time of year

tends to cause me to miss out—

to race right by the people and things that ought to matter most:

the family and friends for whom I’m shopping;

God’s sacred, saving purpose

which set this frenzy in motion in the first place.

In our haste to merrily mark the Savior’s birth,

we’re moving so fast that we can fail to see and recognize his face.

We need to learn and relearn from Mary’s urgency,

which isn’t motivated by societal or sentimental expectations,

but by the fervor and zeal, by the joy and enthusiasm of her faith.

Maybe we need to set down our shopping bags for a spell

so that our hearts, like Mary’s, can race to see the signs

the Lord’s performing right here among us

and get as close as possible to their heavenly source.

May these last few days of Advent be for us

about more than simply hurrying to meet a December 25^th deadline.

Let our haste—now and always—

be to see the signs of where and how

the Lord is still working wonders in our lives.

  

That's 24

Last Wednesday-Thursday, Fr. Scott and I spent the night at Trombley Landing on the Raquette River (between Saranac Lake and Tupper Lake).  They were notably milder conditions than when we stayed in this same spot back in November 2014: no snow on the trail or the trees, no ice on the river or in our water bottles...

This overnight makes for two full years now that I've camped out at least one night each month...and I'm still rather enjoying myself!
  

Three Questions

   Third Sunday of Advent   C 

Readings

“What should we do?
That's the question John the Baptist gets asked three times this Sunday—
by the crowds, the tax collectors, and the soldiers.
"What should we do?
You've told us that someone mightier is coming after you,
and that he'll set this world on fire.
How do we get ready?
What difference ought this to make in our lives?
What should we do?"

Two thousands years later, it's still a pertinent question.

This week,
I came across a story
by the great Russian author, Leo Tolstoy,
which gets us closer to an answer.
Appropriately enough,
it’s called, The Three Questions.

It once occurred to a certain King,

that if he always knew the right time to begin everything;

if he knew who were the right people to listen to, and whom to avoid;

and, above all, if he always knew what was the most important thing to do,

he would never fail in anything he might undertake.

And [so the King] had it proclaimed throughout his kingdom

that he would give a great reward to anyone [who could answer his questions.]

[Many knowledgeable people] came to the King,

but they all answered his questions differently.…

 [T]he King agreed with none of them, and gave the reward to none.

But still wishing to find the right answers to his questions,

he decided to consult a hermit, widely renowned for his wisdom.

The hermit lived in a wood which he never left,

and he received none but common folk.

So the King put on simple clothes,

and before reaching the hermit's cell climbed down from his horse,

and, leaving his bodyguard behind, went on alone.

When the King approached,

the hermit was digging the ground in front of his hut.
Seeing the King, he greeted him and went on digging.

The hermit was frail and weak,

and each time he stuck his shovel into the ground and turned a little earth,

he breathed heavily.

The King went up to him and said:

"I have come to you, wise hermit, to ask you to answer three questions:

How can I learn to do the right thing at the right time?

Who are the people I most need,

and to whom should I, therefore, pay more attention than to the rest?

And, what affairs are the most important, and need my first attention?"

The hermit listened to the King, but answered nothing.

He just spat on his hand and started digging again.

"You are tired," said the King, "let me take the shovel and work awhile for you."

"Thank you!" said the hermit,

and, giving the shovel to the King, he sat down on the ground.

When he had dug two beds, the King stopped and repeated his questions.

The hermit again gave no answer…and the King continued to dig....

One hour passed, and another.

"I came to you, wise man,” [said the King,] “for an answer to my questions.

If you can give me none, tell me so, and I will return home."

"Here comes someone running," said the hermit.  "Let us see who it is."

The King turned round, 

and saw a bearded man come running out of the wood.

The man held his hands pressed against his side,

and blood was flowing from under them.

When he reached the King, 

he fell fainting on the ground moaning weakly.

The King and the hermit unfastened the man's clothing.

There was a large wound in his side.

The King washed it as best he could,

and bandaged it with his handkerchief 

and with a towel the hermit had.

When at last the blood ceased flowing,

the man revived and asked for something to drink.

The King brought fresh water and gave it to him.

Meanwhile the sun had set, and it had become cool.

So the King, with the hermit's help,

carried the wounded man into the hut 

and laid him on the bed.

[The King] crouched down in the doorway, 

and also fell asleep.

When he awoke in the morning,

it was awhile before he could remember where he was,

or who was this strange bearded man lying on the bed

and gazing intently [up] at him with bright eyes.

"Forgive me!" said the bearded man in a weak voice,

when he saw that the King was awake and was looking at him.

"I do not know you, and have nothing to forgive you for," said the King.

"You do not know me, but I know you.

I am that enemy of yours who swore to take revenge on you,

because you executed my brother and seized my property.

I knew you had gone alone to see the hermit,

and I resolved to kill you on your way back.

But the day passed and you did not return.

So I came out from hiding to find you,

and I came upon your bodyguard, and he recognized me, and wounded me.

I escaped from him,

but would have bled to death had you not dressed my wound.

I wished to kill you, and you have saved my life.

Now, if I live, and if you wish it, I will serve you as your most faithful slave,

and will bid my sons do the same.

Forgive me!"

The King was very glad…to have gained him for a friend,

and he not only forgave him,

but said he would send his servants and his own doctor to attend him,

and promised to restore his property.

Having taken leave of the wounded man, the King went out.

The hermit was outside, on his knees,

sowing seeds in the beds that had been dug the day before.

The King approached him, and said:

"For the last time, I pray you to answer my questions, wise man."

"They have already been answered!" said the hermit.

"What do you mean?" asked the King.

"Do you not see?" replied the hermit.

"If you had not pitied my weakness yesterday,

and had not dug those beds for me, but had gone your way,

that man would have attacked you,

and you would have been sorry for not having stayed with me.

So the most important time was when you were digging the beds;

and I was the most important person;

and to do me good was your most important business.

Afterwards when that man ran to us,

the most important time was when you were attending to him,

for if you had not bound up his wounds

he would have died without having made peace with you.

So he was the most important person,

and what you did for him was your most important business.
Remember then: there is only one time that is important—Now!

It is the most important time

because it is the only time when we have any power.

The most necessary person is the one with whom you are,

for no one knows whether

he will ever have dealings with anybody else:

and the most important affair is, to do him good,

because for that purpose alone were we sent into this life!"

“What should we do?”

The question once put to John the Baptist is still as relevant as ever.
And the answers Tolstoy proposed in his story ought to ring true for us—
especially in this Advent season,
particularly in the Jubilee Year of Mercy:
Now is the time, this is the moment, today is the day
to see the Lord and to serve the Lord in our neighbor.
Or as St. Paul puts it,
"Rejoice always.
Your kindness should be known to all.
The Lord is near."
To truly live by this faith changes absolutely everything.

   

Breaking Through

   Second Sunday of Advent   C 

Readings

Geography quiz!

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.

The full schedule is in your bulletin.

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.