Deacon
Pat - 1st Sunday of Advent, Year B
Adapted
Homily originally written by Msgr James P. Moroney.
I
remember the day that Jerry died, as Mary held his hand. She wept. Oh how she
wept as she clung to his body in the hopes of somehow not losing the 57 years
of married life they had lived and loved together. The kids tried to console
her, but it was of little use. She just needed to cry until she couldn’t cry
anymore. The pain and the emptiness were much deeper than what I could ever have
imagined. She spent the next days and weeks longing for Jerry more than she had
ever longed for anything in her entire life. She so wanted him to come back that
every creak of the floorboard, and shadow around the corner, made her heart
leap in hope.
Regrettably, I lost
track of Mary, but did bump into her again about a year later. She was still
sad, but not as desperate as the last time I had seen her. I inquired how she
was doing and she told me about the day that made all the difference. She said she
had gone to Church and she was sitting all alone in the pew staring at the
crucifix above the altar. When all at once it occurred to her that it was not actually
Jerry for whom she longed, but God. The God who she prayed would forgive Jerry’s
sins. The God who would keep her in his grace until the last day. The God who had
gone to prepare a place for Jerry, and for her, and for all who loved others as
he had loved them. And her waiting for Jerry was just a shadow of her deepest
longing for God, her desire for love, and her desire to live in God and to know
peace with him forever.
Don’t we all ache for
God? Don’t we all wait, waiting for something better, just like: The addict in
the alley behind the Gas station who waits for a God who will come and remove
all that enslaves him. How about the single mother who waits for a day when she
no longer has to work fifty-four hours a week, a night when she can sleep 8, a
life when she will finally know the kids will be ok. What about the soldier in
the Middle East who waits for a morning when there are no more explosions, and
every look is not feared as the precursor to an assault, and when he doesn’t
have to bury his new best friend. Or the old man in the nursing home who waits for
the day he will no longer be alone, when pain will no longer be his most
constant companion, and when he can once again rest in the embrace of her whom
he loved. What about the prisoner on death row who waits for a place where he
will no longer be seen as evil, for a life that makes sense, for a time when
love can be given and received, for the coming of a God who will love him. What
about the investment banker who waits for the day when he’s not gripped by the fear
that he’s about to lose everything, for the day when he can count his value in the
quality of his love rather than the size of his profit. Or what about the
little child who waits within her mother’s womb for a world that will welcome
her, and parents that will love her, and a country who will protect her.
As Christians we should
all realize and recognize that we wait in joyful hope, with baited breath, as
we gaze toward the Eastern skies in expectation of the one who rises with healing
in his wings…But Exiled in a Babylon of our own selfishness, we cry out: “Rend
the heavens, O Lord, and come down to us!” Yet he patiently waits for us in
that confessional, ready to embrace us, pick us up on his shoulders, and carry
us home to himself.
Still longing to be
loved, orphaned by our infidelity and broken promises, we cry out, “Why do you
let us wander and harden our hearts?” Yet he patiently waits on that altar, to
feed us with himself and to make us sons and daughters of his Father, to live
in us that we might live in him.
Still frightened that
we have been abandoned, strangers in a strange desert, we cry out: “Let us see
your face and we will be saved!” Yet he patiently waits for us in the poor, the
sick, and the old, ready to console our frightened spirits.
Let us be honest, We all
wait in joyful hope. The part of us that is afraid to confess that secret sin. The
part of us that doesn’t think it’s possible to forgive what ‘that one’ did, or
that God could really forgive me. The part of us that cries in the middle of
the night. The part which feels empty and alone. The part that’s overwhelmed
and confused. The part which amidst all the din and doubt waits…waits in
silence for the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ upon a cloud in all his glory.
My dear brothers and
sisters: This is a time for all of us to Wake up and to Get ready. We are to be
watchful and alert! We are to go to confession, We are to celebrate the Holy
and Sacred Mysteries like never before, and we are to pray; to pray deeply and
honestly!
Also, we cannot forget
about those around us. We are to feed and care for the poor. We are to go visit
the prisoners and the old people in nursing homes. We are to find the ones we
have not yet forgiven and call them right now. This is what the season of
Advent is all about. Making our hearts into mangers to receive our king, for He
is coming.
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