The first words of the Bible are “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth,” and then, in very poetic language, the account of creation follows: light and darkness, the sun, moon, and stars, earth, land and sea, plants, animals, and finally humankind. This is God’s creation.
The Gospel of John begins with a similar phrase: “In the beginning…” However, it is not the creation account that follows, but what was before even that — “In the beginning was the Word.” Then comes another poetic passage about who the Word is and what he does.
But why do we hear these verses today? It becomes clear when we read, “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” These words point to the child in the manger. They reveal who this newborn child truly is—a human child, but not only that. His origins go back further and deeper than ours. We are people begotten of men, but Jesus is “God from God, Light from Light,” as the Nicene Creed states. He is God’s own Son, who has become man, taken on flesh, our mortal humanity, and become one of us.
God became man; this is what we say about the Christ Child in the manger. That is the focus of today’s Gospel. When God became man, He brought with Him the divine light that shines in the darkness—a light that brightens every shadow and dark corner as brightly as the noonday sun.
Why? Because He knows that we often wander in darkness—darkness of sin, death, sickness, war, and much more. We can become lost in a harsh world we don’t understand. We seek answers even when we don’t know the questions. That is why the Word became flesh, why God became man. So He could shine His divine light into the darkness of this world and our hearts, so that we might know joy and so that we all might find our way home to Him.
History records for us an interesting footnote. It was during the dark winter of 1864 at Petersburg, Virginia, where Robert E. Lee’s Confederate army faced the Union divisions led by General Ulysses S. Grant. The war, now three and a half years old, had transitioned from glorious charges to the muddy realities of trench warfare. Late one evening, Major General George Pickett, one of Lee’s generals, received news that his wife had given birth to a healthy baby boy. Throughout the line, Southerners lit large bonfires to celebrate the event. These fires did not go unnoticed in the Northern camps, prompting a cautious Grant to send a reconnaissance patrol to investigate. The scouts returned with news that Pickett had a son, and that the fires were celebratory. Interestingly, Grant and Pickett had been classmates at West Point and knew each other well. To mark the occasion, Grant also ordered bonfires to be built.
What a strange night it was. Fires blazed on both sides of the lines for miles. No gunshots, no shouts, no fighting. Just light celebrating the birth of a child. But that didn’t last long. Soon, the fires died out, and darkness took over again—both of the night and of the war.
The good news of Christmas is that in the midst of great darkness, there came a light, and the darkness was not able to overcome the light. It was not just a temporary flicker; it was an eternal flame. We need to remember that. There are times, in both world events and our personal lives, when we feel the light of the world will be snuffed out. But the Christmas story affirms that no matter what happens, the light still shines.
The theologian Robert Alden wrote, “There is not enough darkness in all the world to put out the light of even one small candle.” That being true, then the divine light born in a manger in Bethlehem is more than adequate to dispel the darkness of this world eternally.
In 1946, the first car phone service was launched. It was big, clunky, and expensive. In 1964, Ma Bell rolled out a newer generation. It wasn’t until 1973 that the first truly mobile phone call was made. Martin Cooper of Motorola called Joel Engel, his rival at Bell Labs, to say, “Joel, I’m calling you from a cell phone… a real handheld portable cell phone.” Yet, it wasn’t until October 13, 1983, that the first mobile phone network went online. The phone was the Motorola DynaTAC 8000X. It weighed 2.5 pounds, took ten hours to charge, and provided 30 minutes of talk time.
Today, 348 million people live in the United States, and it is reported that 331 million of us have a cellphone, which we use to watch countless millions of cat videos every day. I suppose none of us really knows all that those little devices can do, but one interesting feature comes to us from Uncle Sam—Wireless Emergency Alerts, or WEA.
Once or twice, we’ve had it alert during a service. It gives the government the power to send a message to every cellphone in a selected geographic location. It’ll override the silent features and everything else with a loud, blaring horn. I’m sure you know it. With this feature, the US government can send a message to every cellphone in the country (unless it is turned off), and, on average, almost all 331 million cellphones will receive it within two minutes. Why am I thinking on this?
In Holy Scripture, the image of the shepherd represents faithful leadership. The Psalmist says, “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.” Jesus says, “I am the Good Shepherd, my sheep know the sound of my voice.” However, the image of the shepherd in Holy Scripture is dramatically different from how the shepherd was perceived in society.
They were viewed as thieves, uneducated outsiders with little to no synagogue attendance, and were considered equal in depravity to dice-throwers, pigeon-racers, and tax collectors. They were ritually unclean because of their work with animals, and their testimony should never be trusted. Scripture speaks highly of them, but for the most part, they were seen as some of the lowest of the low. So, why, of all people, would the angels first announce the birth of the Messiah to shepherds, and why were they chosen as the first visitors to this newborn King?
It may not have been as efficient as the system we have today, but in Rome, there was one who could have quickly spread the message across the known world—Caesar Augustus.
Caesar Augustus is widely considered the greatest ruler of the Roman Empire. He came to power in 27 BC and ruled for forty years. Under his reign, there was the Pax Romana—the Peace of Rome, a period of almost two centuries of relative peace under Roman rule, and it was at its height under Caesar Augustus.
During his reign, the Romans had 250,000 miles of roads, 62,000 of which were paved to support the rapid deployment of military troops and trade. Sure, you had slavery, high taxation, and suppression, but what a small price to pay for Caesar and his cronies to live in comfort.
Caesar considered himself the son of God and the savior of the people, but let’s say he, instead of those dirty shepherds, heard the angel’s message, went to the manger, saw, and believed. Jesus could have been swept out of that dump and given a royal palace, servants, and everything He would ever want or need. The whole crucifixion business could have been dispensed with. How?
Caesar, using his own version of the Wireless Emergency Alert system, could have used those 250,000 miles of roads and the messengers, who were constantly running to and fro, to spread the word of this new King while keeping Jesus safely cloistered away. Within two months of Jesus’s birth and Caesar’s visit to the manger, the message would have been broadcast to the entire empire. Not as fast as we could today, but a heck of a lot faster and more efficient than a couple of untrustworthy shepherds with no means of communicating to the rest of the world.
The words of Judas Iscariot in the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar, “Why’d you choose such a backward time in such a strange land? If you’d come today you could have reached a whole nation. Israel in 4 BC had no mass communication.”
Not only could Caesar have communicated the message more quickly, but he could have commanded and put into law that Jesus was the true Son of God, that there would be no other gods but the Father, and that anyone stupid enough to disagree could be put to death. How great is that?
Here, we’ve been trudging along for 2,000 years to make Jesus known and loved, but if the angels had gone to Caesar Augustus, the world would have become Christian almost overnight and would have remained so until 476 AD, when the Roman Empire fell. That’s when whoever rose to power would have ushered in a new god, required everyone to worship it, and put to death those who disagreed. And the world would have fallen into step with little to no resistance. Why?
God chose shepherds when he came into the world because Jesus would not be managed by politicians and used to further agendas. That type of system is always doomed to failure. Instead, Jesus came so that hearts would be changed. This does not happen with commands and dictates. It doesn’t happen with power and threats. It happens when the humble and meek, the lowly and despised—the shepherds—hear the angels’ message and submit themselves, body and soul, to the One who calls them into His presence and reveals Himself to them.
In a sermon preached in the early fifth century, St. Augustine said,
“Shepherds were watching their flocks by night. Shepherds—simple men, humble men, poor men—were watching, and the angel of the Lord stood by them. Not to kings, not to scribes, not to the wise of this world was the birth of Christ announced, but to shepherds.
Why shepherds? Because they were humble; because they were vigilant; because they were keeping watch. Pride does not keep watch; humility does.”
Jesus had no desire to conquer worldly empires. He came to conquer sin and death, so that those who believe in Him and call on His Name might receive forgiveness of sins and eternal life. This could never be accomplished by the dictates of Caesar. St. Leo the Great said, “Truth sought not the halls of kings, but the hearts of the humble.” Starting with shepherds has taken longer, but through those very humble beginnings, the world has never been the same.
This evening, we are the shepherds gathered in this place. We came not by compulsion or command, but because we too have had our hearts changed, made new. Somewhere within our souls, the angels spoke, saying to us as they did to the shepherds, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” We have heard those words, and like the shepherds, we visit the manger, kneel before our infant King, and believe. In his sermon, St. Augustine went on to say,
Let us imitate the shepherds. Let us keep watch over what has been entrusted to us. Let us guard Christ in our hearts. Let us proclaim Him by our lives.
Our God and King has drawn near, come, let us adore Him.
Let us pray (also from St. Augustine): Let the just rejoice, for their justifier is born. Let the sick and infirm rejoice, for their Savior is born. Let the captives rejoice, for their Redeemer is born. Let slaves rejoice, for their Master is born. Let free men rejoice, for their Liberator is born. Let all Christians rejoice, for Jesus Christ is born. Amen.
Dorothy Sayers is not one of those capital “S” saints, but she is on the Episcopal/Anglican Church calendar for her contributions to writing.
Her father was an Anglican priest, so she knew the church arena well, and she had a talent for conveying the Christian message in ways that made it more understandable for the general public. One of these writings was the radio play The Man Born to be King.
In one scene, she has a family driving out to see this new prophet in the land, John Baptist. There’s quite a bit of interaction from the crowd, but I’ll mostly share with you the words of John.
JOHN BAPTIST: Men and women of Israel! Once more, once more I call you to repent. And quickly. For God’s Kingdom is coming as the Prophets foretold. Not in some distant future. Not a year or a week hence. Not tomorrow. But now… Are you ready for it? You know very well you are not. For years, you have been saying, “Some day, some day the tide will turn. Someday, someday Messiah will come, and all will be well with Israel.” But your hour is upon you-Messiah is at your very gate—and what will he find when he comes? I see a worldly priesthood, a worldly ruler, a worldly people—a nation of shopkeepers and petty bureaucrats, their hearts fixed on cash and credit, and deaf and blind to righteousness. Sackcloth and ashes! Sackcloth and ashes! The Kingdom is at hand, and you are not prepared. Now, now repent of your sins and the sins of the whole nation. Now let God wash away your guilt in the clear waters of Jordan. Wash and be clean, that you may be fit for the task that is laid upon you, for the great and terrible day of the Lord is at hand.
The Religous leaders show up.
JOHN BAPTIST: Some of you, I see, are Pharisees. Religious men, keepers of the Law, patterns of respectable piety, what are you doing here? (with sudden violence) Hypocrites, humbugs, brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the vengeance to come?
CROWD (indignant murmurs): “Well, I never.. insolence. Upon my word,” etc. (mingled with) “That’s right! Give it to ‘em hot… confounded lot of prigs.”
JOHN BAPTIST: Yes, I know what you will say: “We need no repentance. We keep the Law. We are the privileged children of Abraham. God will look after us, whatever happens.” Don’t flatter yourselves. God doesn’t depend on you. He can find His children everywhere. He could raise them out of these desert stones, which are no harder than your hearts. You too will be lost if you don’t repent and do better. Messiah is coming like a woodman with his axe, and all the rotten trees, all the barren trees, will be cut down at the roots and thrown into the fire. All of them.
When the crowd asks what they must do to be saved, JOHN BAPTIST says,
Be generous. Do more than the Law demands. You, there, with the good coat—you don’t need a cloak as well. Give it to the naked beggar beside you. And you with the picnic basket, how about sharing it with some of these poor children! (his voice rising harshly again) Renounce the world—weep, wail, and beat your breasts—and await the Kingdom in fear and trembling.
When the religious leader asked who he was, JOHN BAPTIST says,
JOHN BAPTIST: I am the herald of God’s Kingdom. I baptise, but only with the water of repentance. There is a far greater man coming soon. I shan’t be worthy so much as to tie his shoe-laces. He will baptise you with spirit and with fire.
CROWD: Where is he? Show us the Messiah! Show us the Christ!
JOHN BAPTIST: Christ will come among you like a man thrashing corn. He will gather the grain and burn the chaff. There will be a great purging of Israel… Make ready to meet him. Draw near, confess your sins, and be baptised in Jordan. (Source)
When it first aired, the atheist got all bent out of shape because the BBC was promoting Christianity on the radio, and the conservative Christians got all bent out of shape because she hadn’t used the traditional King James Bible version. However, the general public loved it, with students being let out of school early to catch the latest installment. And, for added credibility, if needed, C.S. Lewis told Sayers that every year, he used the print version of the play for his Lenten Devotional. That’s good enough for me.
When it comes to daily devotional books that you might read as part of a spiritual practice, we most often think of ones that are uplifting and joyful. Something to give a good start to the day. I’ve come across several that I quit pretty quickly, but some I get very involved with. Few are specific for priests, but there are a couple, and one that I discovered several months back is TheDignity and Duties of the Priest, by St. Alphonsus Liguori.
In the first few pages, I thought it would be inspiring and uplifting. There was a quote by St. John Chrysostom that was setting the tone—“Priests should be so holy that all may look to them as models of sanctity; because God has placed them on earth that they may live like angels, and be luminaries and teachers of virtue to all others.” I read that and began to feel good about my calling, but then it took a turn. A couple of pages later—“In a word, [the priest] that is not holy is unworthy to approach the altar, because by the stains that he brings with him, he contaminates the sanctuary of God. Let him not approach the altar, because he has a blemish, and he must not defile my sanctuary.” On the next page, a quote from Saint Augustine further illumines this: “To the Lord is more pleasing the barking of dogs than the prayer of such priests.”
It was such a wonderful book—and I mean that—but there were mornings when I would look at it and say, “You’ll get your turn. Give me a minute.” Then I would read and get smacked again—“At present, says the holy church, I am not persecuted by the pagans, for the tyrants have ceased, nor by the heretics, because there are no new heresies; but I am persecuted by the [priest], who by his scandals robs me of many souls.” For such a priest, Liguori tells us, “The end shall be, first, abandonment of God, and then the fire of hell.”
I kept reading—it actually changed my understanding of the priesthood—but I kept wanting him to throw me a bone. Give me some sign of hope, because there were times I felt convinced I had no chance of heaven.
Now imagine you are Jewish and living during the time leading up to the birth of Jesus. You attend synagogue every Sabbath. You understand the teachings of the Torah and sincerely want to follow them, but you find that every turn, you stumble over one aspect of the Law or another. The only way to enter God’s Kingdom is if you are without sin, but no sooner have you made the appropriate sacrifices at the Temple for the forgiveness of sins, you fall into another pit. You want to be holy, but there seems to be no hope.
Now, imagine you’re living in the small city of Nazareth. One night, after a long, hard day, you’re making your way home. As you walk, you recall all the times you’ve failed God, and you understand the consequences of those failures. Yet, until you can return to the Temple again to make the necessary sacrifices, your salvation remains in question. In your fear and frustration, you stop along the way and lean against a wall just to have a moment of quiet. Then, you see a strange light begin to shine out of the window of the house you’re leaning against. Just as you’re about to move on, you hear the sweetest voice begin to speak, and it stops you in your tracks. You have no choice but to listen.
“Greetings, O favored one, the Lord is with you!” There’s a brief pause, then you hear, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”
Another pause, then you hear a young woman’s voice, “How will this be, since I am a virgin?”
The response comes immediately: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore, the child to be born will be called holy—the Son of God. And behold, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son, and this is the sixth month with her who was called barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.”
Imagine you’re listening outside the window as all this happens. You realize that it is an angel of the Lord speaking to the girl. What he offers is not only salvation for the girl, but for the whole world—yourself included. The angel is offering the hope you are so desperately seeking. You know that through the Son of God, whom the angel is speaking about, you will receive forgiveness of sin, you will be given the freedom to serve and worship God without fear, and that you will be set free from the sting of death. In that moment, you understand all of this, but you also realize that everything depends on one thing—the young woman’s response.
St. Bernard of Clairvaux wrote in a sermon about that moment—a moment when all of creation held its breath, waiting for Mary to speak: “You have heard, O Virgin, that you will conceive and bear a son; you have heard that it will not be by man but by the Holy Spirit. The angel awaits an answer; it is time for him to return to God who sent him. We too are waiting, O Lady, for your word of compassion; the sentence of condemnation weighs heavily upon us…. Tearful Adam with his sorrowing family begs this of you, O loving Virgin, in their exile from Paradise. Abraham begs it, David begs it. All the other holy patriarchs, your ancestors, ask it of you, as they dwell in the country of the shadow of death. This is what the whole earth waits for.”—Mary, what is your answer? On one side is condemnation and death, and on the other is the forgiveness of sins and life eternal.
As I read Liguori’s book, I kept asking, “Is there any hope?” And for you, standing outside the window, listening to the angel’s words, you’ve asked the same question: “Is there any hope?” Yes, there is. The greatest of all hope. Why? Because “Mary said: Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it done to me according to thy word.” Mary said yes, and Hope Incarnate, the very Word of God, the Son of God, Christ Jesus the Lord, was conceived in the Virgin’s womb.
There is often confusion about why the Blessed Virgin Mary is held in such high esteem, but the answer lies in those few words of hers, for all of salvation—ours, the world’s, all of creation—hinged on her response.
That great Archbishop of Canterbury from the 11th century, St. Anselm, said, “To Mary God gave his only-begotten Son, whom he loved as himself. Through Mary, God made himself a Son, not different but the same, by nature Son of God and Son of Mary. The whole universe was created by God, and God was born of Mary. God created all things, and Mary gave birth to God. The God who made all things gave himself form through Mary, and thus he made his own creation. He who could create all things from nothing would not remake his ruined creation without Mary.”
If I could accomplish one thing today, it would be to increase your devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary. Our salvation is through Christ Jesus alone—no one comes to the Father except through Him—however, it was through Mary and her yes that Christ took on our flesh and, through that same flesh, was able to give us hope. As I’ve told you before, this hope we possess is not mere wishful thinking. Our hope in Christ Jesus is an unshakable knowledge and expectation of what the Father has promised all along. What is that promise? We read it in the:
“He has shown the strength of his arm, he has scattered the proud in their conceit.
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty.
He has come to the help of his servant Israel, for he has remembered his promise of mercy,
The promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children for ever.”
The Father has promised that we will be with Him in His Kingdom, where there will be no end, and it all started with Mary’s “Yes.”
Mary’s life is devoted to guiding us to her Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ. Offer your devotion to her. Respect her as Queen and mother, and through her intercessions, you will be drawn deeper into your relationship with the One True God.
Let us pray: Hail, holy Queen, Mother of mercy, hail, our life, our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve: to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this vale of tears. Turn then, most gracious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us, and after this our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus, O merciful, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary! Amen.
Pray for us, O Holy Mother of God, that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.
The Feast of the Immaculate Conception of Mary was on Monday, the Feast of Our Lady of Loreto is today, and the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe is this coming Friday. We can’t cover them all, so I’ll share with you a report by Don Antonio Valeriano, a Native American author of the sixteenth century.
At daybreak one Saturday morning in 1531, on the very first days of the month of December, an Indian named Juan Diego was going from the village where he lived to Tlatelolco in order to take part in divine worship and listen to God’s commandments. When he came near the hill called Tepeyac, dawn had already come, and Juan Diego heard someone calling him from the very top of the hill: “Juanito, Juan Dieguito.”
He went up the hill and caught sight of a lady of unearthly grandeur whose clothing was as radiant as the sun. She said to him in words both gentle and courteous: “Juanito, the humblest of my children, know and understand that I am the ever virgin Mary, Mother of the true God through whom all things live. It is my ardent desire that a church be erected here so that in it I can show and bestow my love, compassion, help, and protection to all who inhabit this land and to those others who love me, that they might call upon and confide in me. Go to the Bishop of Mexico to make known to him what I greatly desire. Go and put all your efforts into this.”
When Juan Diego arrived in the presence of the Bishop, Fray Juan de Zumarraga, a Franciscan, the latter did not seem to believe Juan Diego and answered: “Come another time, and I will listen at leisure.”
Juan Diego returned to the hilltop where the Heavenly Lady was waiting, and he said to her: “My Lady, my maiden, I presented your message to the Bishop, but it seemed that he did not think it was the truth. For this reason I beg you to entrust your message to someone more illustrious who might convey it in order that they may believe it, for I am only an insignificant man.”
She answered him: “Humblest of my sons, I ask that tomorrow you again go to see the Bishop and tell him that I, the ever virgin holy Mary, Mother of God, am the one who personally sent you.”
The Bishop again did not believe and asked for a sign.
On Monday Juan Diego did not return. His uncle, Juan Bernardino, became very ill, and at night asked Juan to go to Tlatelolco at daybreak to call a priest to hear his confession.
Juan Diego set out on Tuesday, but he went around the hill and passed on the other side, toward the east, so as to arrive quickly in Mexico City and to avoid being detained by the Heavenly Lady. But she came out to meet him on that side of the hill and said to him: “Listen and understand, my humblest son. There is nothing to frighten and distress you. Do not let your heart be troubled, and let nothing upset you. Is it not I, your Mother, who is here? Are you not under my protection? Are you not, fortunately, in my care? Do not let your uncle’s illness distress you. It is certain that he has already been cured. Go up to the hilltop, my son, where you will find flowers of various kinds. Cut them, and bring them into my presence.”
When Juan Diego reached the peak, he was astonished that so many Castilian roses had burst forth at a time when the frost was severe. He carried the roses in the folds of his tilma (mantle) to the Heavenly Lady. She said to him: “My son, this is the proof and the sign which you will bring to the Bishop so that he will see my will in it. You are my ambassador, very worthy of trust.”
Juan Diego set out on his way, now content and sure of succeeding. On arriving in the Bishop’s presence, he told him: “My lord, I did what you asked. The Heavenly Lady complied with your request and fulfilled it. She sent me to the hilltop to cut some Castilian roses and told me to bring them to you in person. And this I am doing, so that you can see in them the sign you seek in order to carry out her will. Here they are; receive them.”
He immediately opened up his white mantle, and as all the different Castilian roses scattered to the ground, there was drawn on the cloak and suddenly appeared the precious image of the ever virgin Mary, Mother of God, in the same manner as it is today and is kept in her shrine of Tepeyac.
The whole city was stirred and came to see and admire her venerable image… they called her by the name that she herself had used: “the ever virgin holy Mary of Guadalupe.”
The American Film Institute has several “Top 100” lists: 100 best movies, 100 best musicals, 100 best heroes and villains, and so on. They also have the “100 top movie quotes.” Way down in the 80s, we have lines like, “Yo, Adrian,” and “My Precious.” Moving up into the 40s, there is “Shane. Shane. Come back,” and “Stella! Hey, Stella!” Then breaking into the top ten, there are “Go ahead, make my day,” and “I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse.” Number one on the list, you’ve got to love Rhett Butler—“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a….” However, the one I’m thinking of today comes in at number ten, spoken by Travis Bickle, played by Robert De Niro, in Taxi Driver. The line: “You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me!?” (Source)
In our Gospel reading, when John the Baptist confronts the Pharisees and Sadducees, I can picture them glancing at each other, then at John, and in their best Robert De Niro impression, asking, “You talkin’ to me?!” And then John firing back with number forty-four on the AFI list, “I see dead people.” Okay. Enough of that.
As we know, John’s criticism didn’t stop with the religious leaders. He was an equal-opportunity rebuker, and later, he would criticize Herod for marrying his brother’s sister, which landed him in jail and eventually led to his beheading. Yet for the prophets, including John the Baptist, they were almost always upsetting someone and finding themselves in danger.
In the Acts of the Apostles, the first deacon was Stephen. He said to the religious leaders, “You stiff-necked people, uncircumcised in heart and ears, you always resist the Holy Spirit. As your fathers did, so do you. Which of the prophets did your fathers not persecute? And they killed those who announced beforehand the coming of the Righteous One.” (Acts 7:51-52) They then proceeded to stone him to death.
Despite the dangers of the job, the prophet’s role is to stir up the people and point out their errors, hoping they will return to God. In fact, they are responsible for the souls of the people before God. Speaking to Ezekiel, the Lord said, “So you, son of man, I have made a watchman for the house of Israel. Whenever you hear a word from my mouth, you shall give them warning from me. If I say to the wicked, O wicked one, you shall surely die, and you do not speak to warn the wicked to turn from his way, that wicked person shall die in his iniquity, but his blood I will require at your hand. But if you warn the wicked to turn from his way, and he does not turn from his way, that person shall die in his iniquity, but you will have delivered your soul.” (Ezekiel 33:7-9)
Prophet: a dangerous job before the people and before God, yet God calls those He chooses. The Prophet Jeremiah said, “The Lord put out his hand and touched my mouth. And the Lord said to me, ‘Behold, I have put my words in your mouth. See, I have set you this day over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to break down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant.’” (Jeremiah 1:9-10)
The Lord chooses and sends His prophets to speak His words, not their own. Knowing this, you might think they—dare I say, “We”?—would respond accordingly, but it was said, “The Lord, the God of their fathers, sent persistently to them by his messengers, because he had compassion on his people and on his dwelling place. But they kept mocking the messengers of God, despising his words, and scoffing at his prophets, until the wrath of the Lord rose against his people, until there was no remedy.” (2 Chronicles 36:15-16)
The same was true with John the Baptist. The people heard what was said, but they did not respond according to the will of God. Instead, they became angry with these messengers and persecuted them, often putting them to death. Thank goodness we are not like them. We accept criticism and correction very well. When someone offers Godly corrections to us, we don’t get angry. No, sir. We might get even, but we don’t get angry! Right?
Let me ask you this: you hear John the Baptist crying out, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” How do you respond? The human thing to do is to look at everyone around you and say, “Darn tooting! Y’all need to repent! Get right with the Lord!” The whole time, thinking John the Baptist couldn’t possibly be talking to you. Or what about this: Christian groups love to quote this one from 2nd Chronicles: “If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land.” (2 Chronicles 7:15) What’s the first thing to go through your head? “If those left-wingers or the fascist right (I too am an equal opportunity rebuker) would just learn to pray and follow Jesus, then this whole thing could be sorted out overnight!” Can I get an “Amen”? Why do we think this way? Isn’t it obvious? This call to turn from wicked ways is about them, and has nothing to do with me!
However, the prophet confronts us and says, “Oh, yes, it is. It is all about you. You are the one who needs to get right with God.” Like everyone else, we don’t much like hearing it, but we must be willing to listen to the words of John the Baptist—“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”—and allow those words to be spoken to us personally and as the Church. We must let God correct us so we are not the ones provoking His wrath. Through this process of correction, we are allowing him to perfect us. As the Lord told the church in Laodicea, “Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline, so be zealous and repent.” (Revelation 3:19)
How can we let the prophets’ words speak to us and correct us? There is a powerful phrase from Martin Luther: “The Cross tests everything.”
If we test our thoughts, actions, and deeds the same way the Pharisees and Sadducees evaluated theirs, we respond like they did—“You talking to me?” However, if we test those same thoughts, actions, and deeds by the Cross, we may discover a different outcome. It might not be what we want to hear, but it will be God’s truth.
I wonder, if we are willing and brave enough to look closely, which part of ourselves, our lives, our being would we hesitate to put to the test of the Cross? I suspect there are aspects of all our lives that are much safer tucked away in their own personal niches, their own special places of worship within our souls, even illuminated with one of those little votive candles—areas that are far too cherished by the Great “I” to be put to such a test. Yet, if we did, if we nailed those silly notions to that most sacred tree, the Cross, well, they would likely scream out in protest and blasphemy, just like the wicked thief did who was crucified with Jesus. But in the end, we would be set free from those things that bind us.
The prophets deliver messages to a world that is broken, but their messages are also for us. Jesus says, “He who has ears, let him hear.” (Matthew 13:9) I pray that if you hear in your soul John the Baptist calling you to repentance, don’t be like those who become proud and angry. Instead, submit to the call of repentance and accept the forgiveness of sins; for as St. John tells us, “If we confess our sins, [God] is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” (1 John 1:9)
Let us pray:
O God, You raised up St. John the Baptist to prepare a perfect person for Christ. We call upon St. John’s intercession to properly prepare us with a true sense of repentance to receive Your grace and salvation. Make us faithful to Truth and justice, as You did Your servant, John the Baptist, herald of Your Son’s birth and death. Lord, may You increase Your life within us. Amen.
I came across a poem that I thought Mary Alice would like, but also one that feels as though she lived it. It is often attributed to St. Augustine, but it is much more contemporary than that. It was written in the early 20th century by German musician and teacher Georg Goetsch. The title: I Praise the Dance.
I praise the dance, for it frees people from the heaviness of matter and binds the solitary to community. I praise the dance, which demands everything: health and a clear spirit, a poised soul and a shining body. The dance transforms the soul into a dwelling of light.
O human, learn to dance, for otherwise the angels in heaven will not know what to do with you.
The dance is wholly from the beginning. It is the movement of creation itself, the becoming of all things, their passing and their re-becoming. The dance turns the deepest, holiest things into visible and living form.
Dance, because the whole of creation dances: the sun, the stars, the earth— they all move in rhythm and harmony. So too should you move in rhythm with God.
The author told us,
O human, learn to dance, for otherwise the angels in heaven will not know what to do with you.
I can assure you, you do not want to see me dance. It’s not pretty, but I do understand the deeper meaning of the author’s message.
He is telling us that in this life, we are meant to find joy. We should learn not only to experience God through prayer and study but also to encounter Him in the people we meet. We are called to seek out ways in this lifetime to love, show compassion, practice our faith, and give of ourselves. Living this way allows those around us to experience glimpses of heaven—the eternal life to come. From what I’ve learned, Mary Alice was just such a person. She was one who learned how to dance in her soul and showed others how to do the same.
You might think that someone who has lived such a life would face no troubles, but we know that’s not true. I recall the time St. Teresa of Avila was crossing a stream in winter. She lost her footing and fell into the icy water, then complained to the Lord about all her suffering. Jesus said to her, “Don’t complain, my daughter, this is how I treat My friends.” To which Teresa responded, “If this is how you treat your friends, it’s no wonder you have so few!”
Mary Alice, also a friend of Jesus, had every reason to complain just as St. Teresa did, but like St. Teresa, Mary Alice did not lose her faith. She heard those words of Jesus we read in our Gospel and lived them—“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me.” Despite her suffering, she held onto her belief, her faith in Jesus, so that on this day, we can confidently say that she is dancing with the angels in God’s Eternal Kingdom.
Those of us gathered here today are saddened by our loss, but we can also rejoice in knowing that Mary Alice, through the power of the resurrection, is now truly home. We can also rejoice in the knowledge that a place has been prepared for us, and on the day of the Lord’s choosing, he will gather us to Himself, where we will all be reunited in the very presence of His glory. As the Psalmist declares, “This is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes.”
Before 2011, beer was considered a soft drink in Russia.
It is impossible to hum while holding your nose. (As you will all be curious about that one, and not hear the sermon until you try, go ahead.)
A group of cats can be called a clowder, or a cluster, or a glaring, or a nuisance, or a pounce, or a clutter.
More than half of the world’s population is under 30 years old.
The plastic tip on the end of a shoelace is called an “aglet”.
The Caesar salad was created in Tijuana, Mexico, by an Italian immigrant named Caesar Cardini.
It’s always good to be teachable and to learn new things. I never even thought about holding my nose while trying to hum until I read that (and tried). I would like to say that as I prepare sermons and teachings, I already know and understand it all, but each week I learn something new or gain a deeper understanding. This week was no different, even though it was something I already knew, I saw it with more clarity and fullness.
Today is the last Sunday of the Church Year: Christ the King Sunday—the day we celebrate the Kingship of our Savior, Jesus. When I reflect on this and the Kingdom of God, I’ve always viewed it as a Kingdom outside of myself. A Kingdom that I can walk through and work in. A Kingdom that I, if it is God’s will, can help move forward. But this week, I heard Jesus’ words in a different way. Which words were those? “The kingdom of God is not coming in ways that can be observed, nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There!’ for behold, the kingdom of God is within you.”
For me, Christ is the King I come before, kneel before, and desire to serve to the best of my abilities. I try to do His bidding as a faithful servant in His Kingdom, which is around me. However, what happens when I say, “Not only do I live and work in the Kingdom of God, but the Kingdom of God lives and works within me?” I understand God’s Holy Spirit working in me, just as I understand accepting Jesus into my heart, but what does it mean to have God’s Kingdom working within me?
What prompted me to meditate on this were the words in the notebook On Prayer by Origen of Alexandria, a second-century priest. He writes, “The kingdom of God, in the words of our Lord and Savior, does not come for all to see… Thus it is clear that he who prays for the coming of God’s kingdom prays rightly to have it within himself, that there it may grow and bear fruit and become perfect…. The Father is present in the perfect soul, and with him Christ reigns, according to the words: We shall come to him and make our home with him.” And a little further, Origen says, “There should be in us a kind of spiritual paradise where God may walk and be our sole ruler with his Christ. In us the Lord will sit at the right hand of that spiritual power which we wish to receive. And he will sit there until all his enemies who are within us become his footstool, and every principality [and power] in us is cast out.”
Listen to these words:
“God is the King of all the earth!” (Psalm 47:7)
“The Lord reigns; let the peoples tremble!” (Psalm 99:1)
“Who would not fear you, O King of the nations?” (Jeremiah 10:7)
“King of kings and Lord of lords.” (Revelation 19:16)
“The LORD is king forever and ever.” (Psalm 10:16)
What if we said that Jesus is Lord, Jesus is King, out there, but also in here? What if we understood that this King of all the earth can and will conquer His enemies in this world, but can also conquer the enemies within our souls? What would happen if you let the King of kings and Lord of lords reign within you to rule not only over your external life but also over your internal one? St. Paul tells us that “our God is a consuming fire.” (Hebrews 12:29) What if we allowed that consuming fire to burn within? Allowed is the right word because, so often, we hold God in check.
Do you remember the story of Charlemagne, the Holy Roman Emperor? He wanted to conquer the world for Christianity and insisted that all his soldiers be baptized. They did. All but one hand was submerged, and in that hand they held a sword. It was a statement that declared there bodies belonged to God, but that hand and that sword belonged to Charlemagne. When we say we want the consuming fire of the King of kings to reign within us, like those soldiers, we sometimes tuck away a few things in a fireproof room, because we’re willing to let God rule most of our lives but keep a few exceptions. Those few exceptions are the problem. Those few exceptions are what prevent us from fully submitting to the Kingship of Christ, which then causes a ripple effect, impacting not only the Kingdom of God within us but also the Kingdom of God in this world.
All I know about her is that her name is Amy and she is on the internet. (I promise this is not some weird story about me falling in love with the operating system on my computer.) Amy is someone who posts content online, and I’ve seen two of her posts. Anyway, she tells the story of going to the grocery store. At the checkout, standing in line in front of her is a man in his 70s. As they wait, one of the cashiers approaches and says, “Sorry, this line is closed, you’ll have to go to that one.” Amy does so, but the older man looks a bit confused, so he continues to stand there. After a minute, the cashier returns to him and repeats herself, and he understands. He moves toward the line she is in, but since she’s shifted, four more people are now behind her. Amy steps forward.
“You were in line in front of me,” she says. “You can go ahead of me.”
“Are you sure?” he asks. “Are you sure I was in front of you?” Amy assures him that he was, and he says, “Thank you for your honesty. It doesn’t happen very often anymore, and I really appreciate you being honest.” She tells him it’s no problem, but he continues, “It is such an odd world that we live in now, and I don’t know what to think of it anymore.”
She says, “Yeah, it is an odd ball world. I agree with you. It’s odd. Things are not going well for society right now.”
He responds, “Sometimes I’m happy that my life is almost over so that I don’t have to live in this world anymore.”
Amy later asked herself, “What if letting someone get in front of you in the line at the grocery store is a massive gesture of kindness? We have to do better as a society.”
If letting someone in front of us in line at the grocery store is the greatest act of kindness we can perform, then there’s not only something wrong with society, but also something deeply wrong with us. If someone is happy that they are nearing the end of their life because of how they are treated in the world, then the One who said, “Love one another as I have loved you,” is not the King of our lives. What is the solution?
Today in our Gospel reading, we heard about Jesus’ crucifixion. After those standing around and one of the others who had been crucified with Him finished taunting Him, the good thief said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He had no hope of reaching Heaven for himself, but he at least wanted to be remembered. However, Jesus said to him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
In this context, we see paradise as something to come; however, what did Origen say? “There should be in us a kind of spiritual paradise where God may walk and be our sole ruler with his Christ.” We are to create within ourselves a paradise where the King of Heaven and the “King of all the earth” can be the King within so that He might rule every aspect of our lives, and that, my friends, is a scary thing. St. Paul said in his letter to the Hebrews, “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.” (Hebrews 10:31) It is a fearful thing to fall into God’s hands to be ruled, but I will guarantee you this: it will be a far more fearful thing to fall into His hands to be judged.
Within, many choose to establish their own kingdom and sit on a throne they’ve created for themselves so they might rule over their own lives. However, a wise person will realize that within they can create a paradise for the very Kingdom of God, and within that Kingdom, there can be a throne where the King of Glory is permitted to take His rightful seat. Your soul and this world need the Kingdom of God.
Allow yourself to be consumed by the fire of God so that He may reign in your life as the Righteous King.
Let us pray: May the light of Christ, the King of all, shine brighter in our hearts, that with all the saints in light, we may shine forth as lights in the world. Amen.
An Incident in the Life of St. Elizabeth of Hungary (The Renunciation of Queen Elizabeth of Hungary), by James Collinson (1825-1881). Elizabeth is kneeling with her face against the feet of Jesus. You can see the crown she set aside on the floor next to her.
Elizabeth of Hungary was born into nobility in 1207 AD. However, from a very young age, she saw it as her duty to care for the poor. She would sneak food from the castle’s kitchen to the poor at the gates and tend to their other needs as best she could. She was married young, but even then, continued to give as much as she had, saying, “How could I bear a crown of gold when the Lord bears a crown of thorns? And bears it for me!”
At 20, her husband died, and her in-laws turned her out, not caring for the fact that she was giving everything away. She wrote, “Today, there is an inescapable duty to make ourselves the neighbor of every individual, without exception, and to take positive steps to help a neighbor whom we encounter, whether that neighbor be an elderly person abandoned by everyone, a foreign worker who suffers the injustice of being despised, a refugee, an illegitimate child wrongly suffering for a sin of which the child is innocent, or a starving human being who awakens our conscience by calling to mind the words of Christ: ‘As long as you did it for one of these, the least of my brethren, you did it for me’”
She was later reinstated to some extent, but she never stopped her work for the poor and those in need.
Conrad of Marburg, Elizabeth’s spiritual director, wrote, “She was a lifelong friend of the poor and gave herself entirely to relieving the hungry. She ordered that one of her castles should be converted into a hospital in which she gathered many of the weak and feeble. She generously gave alms to all who were in need, not only in that place but in all the territories of her husband’s empire. She spent all her own revenue from her husband’s four principalities, and finally, she sold her luxurious possessions and rich clothes for the sake of the poor.
“Twice a day, in the morning and in the evening, Elizabeth went to visit the sick. She personally cared for those who were particularly repulsive; to some she gave food, to others clothing; some she carried on her own shoulders, and performed many other kindly services. Her husband, of happy memory, gladly approved of these charitable works. Finally, when her husband died, she sought the highest perfection; filled with tears, she implored me to let her beg for alms from door to door.
“On Good Friday of that year, when the altars had been stripped, she laid her hands on the altar in a chapel in her own town, where she had established the Friars Minor, and before witnesses she voluntarily renounced all worldly display and everything that our Savior in the gospel advises us to abandon. Even then she saw that she could still be distracted by the cares and worldly glory which had surrounded her while her husband was alive. Against my will she followed me to Marburg. Here in the town she built a hospice where she gathered together the weak and the feeble. There she attended the most wretched and contemptible at her own table.
“Apart from those active good works, I declare before God that I have seldom seen a more contemplative woman. When she was coming from private prayer, some religious men and women often saw her face shining marvelously and light coming from her eyes like the rays of the sun.
“Before her death I heard her confession. When I asked what should be done about her goods and possessions, she replied that anything which seemed to be hers belonged to the poor. She asked me to distribute everything except one worn out dress in which she wished to be buried. When all this had been decided, she received the body of our Lord. Afterward, until vespers, she spoke often of the holiest things she had heard in sermons. Then, she devoutly commended to God all who were sitting near her, and as if falling into a gentle sleep, she died.” She was twenty-four.
Elizabeth had the Spirit of God working in her in a way I don’t fully understand, but I believe it’s one we should all try to imitate as best as we can, whether we fully grasp it or not.
Candle in a Cave 