G.K. Chesterton, in his biography of Thomas Aquinas, wrote, Aquinas “was called the Dumb Ox. He was the object, not merely of mockery, but of pity…[St. Albert the Great knew] that the dunce is not always a dunce.. his famous cry and prophecy [about Thomas] – “You can call him a Dumb Ox; I tell you this Dumb Ox shall bellow so loud that his bellowings will fill the world.”
Chesterton also says, Aquinas “would not be an Abbot; he would not be a Monk; he would not be a Prior or ruler in his own fraternity; he would not be a prominent or important Friar; he would be a Friar. It is as if Napoleon has insisted on remaining a private soldier all his life.”
Given the expanse of his mind, Thomas Aquinas could have done just about anything he chose. Instead, he chose to think deeply about his faith and then share with us what he learned.
An excerpt from one of those writings—The cross exemplifies every virtue
“Why did the Son of God have to suffer for us? There was a great need, and it can be considered in a twofold way: in the first place, as a remedy for sin, and secondly, as an example of how to act.
“It is a remedy, for, in the face of all the evils which we incur on account of our sins, we have found relief through the passion of Christ. Yet, it is no less an example, for the passion of Christ completely suffices to fashion our lives. Whoever wishes to live perfectly should do nothing but disdain what Christ disdained on the cross and desire what he desired, for the cross exemplifies every virtue.
“If you seek the example of love: Greater love than this no man has, than to lay down his life for his friends. Such a man was Christ on the cross. And if he gave his life for us, then it should not be difficult to bear whatever hardships arise for his sake.
“If you seek patience, you will find no better example than the cross. Great patience occurs in two ways: either when one patiently suffers much, or when one suffers things which one is able to avoid and yet does not avoid. Christ endured much on the cross, and did so patiently, because when he suffered he did not threaten; he was led like a sheep to the slaughter and he did not open his mouth. Therefore Christ’s patience on the cross was great. In patience let us run for the prize set before us, looking upon Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith who, for the joy set before him, bore his cross and despised the shame.
“If you seek an example of humility, look upon the crucified one, for God wished to be judged by Pontius Pilate and to die.
“If you seek an example of obedience, follow him who became obedient to the Father even unto death. For just as by the disobedience of one man, namely, Adam, many were made sinners, so by the obedience of one man, many were made righteous.
“If you seek an example of despising earthly things, follow him who is the King of kings and the Lord of lords, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. Upon the cross he was stripped, mocked, spat upon, struck, crowned with thorns, and given only vinegar and gall to drink.
“Do not be attached, therefore, to clothing and riches, because they divided my garments among themselves. Nor to honors, for he experienced harsh words and scourgings. Nor to greatness of rank, for weaving a crown of thorns they placed it on my head. Nor to anything delightful, for in my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink.”
He wrote over 20,000 pages (some estimates say up to 100,000), and the way we think about your faith is directly related to those writings. His influence is beyond measure. Even so, on December 6, 1273, Aquinas had a deeply moving religious experience. He never wrote of it.“[E]verything he had written,” shared a friend, “seemed like straw to him by comparison with what he had seen and what had been revealed to him. He believed that he had at last clearly seen what he had devoted his life to figuring out and, by comparison, all he had written seemed pale and dry. Now that he could no longer write, he wanted to die.” He died four months later on March 7, 1274. Perhaps, one day, we’ll learn what he learned.
Someone asked me why I don’t tell Boudreaux jokes anymore. Answer: There are only so many of them, and the ones remaining aren’t necessarily suitable for church. Which leaves me today with having to tell you one I’ve already told you, but it is in my top five.
One summer, no one living along the bayou could catch any fish except old Boudreaux. Knowing Boudreaux, the game warden thought something might be up, so he asked him how he did it. Boudreaux told the game warden he would take him fishing the next day and show him. Once they got to the middle of the lake, Boudreaux took out a stick of dynamite, lit it, and threw it into the water. After the explosion, fish started floating to the surface. Boudreaux took out a net and started scooping them up. When he had them all gathered, he looked back at the game warden, who was just sitting there with his mouth open, too stunned to even speak. Finally getting his wits back, the game warden started hollering at Boudreaux, “You can’t fish like that. It is so illegal that I’m hauling you into jail this very moment.” Boudreaux sat there for a moment, then he took out another stick of dynamite, lit it, and handed it to the game warden, asking, “You gonna fish or you gonna talk?”
Today, we read about Peter and some of the other fellas out fishing, but I’m guessing they weren’t prepared for what happened either. How their lives could be so radically changed and so quickly. Perhaps, as they were hauling in the day’s catch, they were making plans for a family outing after Synagogue on Saturday or thinking they needed to renegotiate the price of fish due to the increased fishing tax. Whatever they were thinking, I can’t imagine it included hearing the words, “Follow me,” and then following after some itinerant rabbi.
When you consider those events, can you imagine doing the same? The Gospel says they “immediately” followed him. One second you are a fisherman, and the next you are a disciple, crisscrossing the country, living rough, snatching a piece of grain from a field you are passing to have something to eat, and going through a pair of sandals every week. Sure, you are meeting new people, and there are the miracles—my goodness, the miracles—and you are listening to teachings that, for the first time in your life, allow you to come to an understanding of God. But there are also the more difficult parts. Some truly hate the rabbi you are following. After a while, there is even talk among some of them about finding a way to have him arrested or even put to death. After all, they did try to throw him off the cliff that one time. Then there was the time you thought you were going to die out on the sea when that great storm came up out of nowhere. As you huddled in fear, the rabbi slept in peace. When you cried out to him in your fear, he chastised you, then he chastised the storm, and the seas were calm. Thinking back on the day you met him and he said, “Follow me,” probably more than once a day, you ask yourself, “What the heck was I thinking?”
Years later, after witnessing his death and resurrection, you find yourself in prison, awaiting your execution. In the hours leading up to it, you reflect once again on those first words, “Follow me,” but you no longer wonder what you were thinking. Instead, you know within your very soul why you were chosen, why you were called: to serve His purposes. To be a fisher of men and to assist in ushering in the very Kingdom of God.
If you think back on your life, many of you probably remember the time when Jesus spoke those same words, “Follow me,” to you. For many, including me, we don’t know why we responded as we did, immediately dropping our old life and following him. For me, I don’t remember the date and time, but I remember the moment, and I have no way to describe it. Yet—in the twinkling of an eye—I stopped everything and followed him.
Like you and those first disciples, I have seen miracles—oh, yes, I have—I have seen lives transformed, and I have begun to learn more deeply about the things of God. But things weren’t always so good, and then I stuck with you lot. There are still days when I ask myself, “What the heck were you thinking?” (I also direct that question to God!) But I still remember the moment he said, “Follow me,” and I’m still amazed that he chose me.
What does all this have to do with today? As I thought about those first disciples and us, I was reminded of how similar we are to them in our lives and experiences. Individually and together, we experience times of great joy and great sadness, times of need and times of abundance, faith and doubt. Through faith and the knowledge imparted to our souls, we sit on the hillside listening to Jesus teach. We look over His shoulder as He reaches out to bring life where there was death. We see those who love Him and those who deride Him. We witness His brutal death, and we wait in the upper room with the other disciples for those three days, then rush to the tomb after Mary Magdalene tells us He has risen. In all these ups and downs, we may once again ask, “What was I thinking?” But then we remember: we have been chosen and we have a purpose. “You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.” (1 Peter 2:9) We have been chosen for this time and this place to be the Church and to be His witnesses. Today, I ask you to remember that all we do is because we have been chosen to follow Jesus and to be a great light in the darkness. We are the Church, and we have all been called to be fishers of men to assist in ushering in the very Kingdom of God.
Take some time to consider this: Jesus said to you, “Follow me.” If you’re listening to me today, there is a very good chance you did just that. So if that is the case, why did He call you? To what purpose have you been called into service in the Kingdom of God? When you begin to discern that calling, engage with it. Live it. St. Paul said in his letter to the Ephesians, “We are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” (2:10) And again, he says in his letter to the Philippians, “It is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” (2:13)
Thomas Merton said, “If you want to identify me, ask me not where I live, or what I like to eat, or how I comb my hair, but ask me what I am living for, in detail, ask me what I think is keeping me from living fully for the thing I want to live for.”
You have been called by Jesus. You have responded that you will follow. Now ask yourself, “What am I living for in Christ Jesus and His Kingdom?” Are you going to fish or talk? In the words of the Captain of the Starship Enterprise, Jean-Luc Picard, “Engage.” Start fishing.
Let us pray: O Lord, our God, You called Your people to be Your Church. As they gather in Your Name, may they love, honor, and follow Your Son to eternal life in the Kingdom He promised. Let their worship always be sincere, and help them to find Your saving Love in the Church and its Sacraments. Fill with the Spirit of Christ those whom You call to live in the midst of the world and its concerns. Help them, by their work on earth, to build up Your eternal Kingdom. May they be effective witnesses to the Truth of the Gospel and make Your Church a living presence in the midst of the world. Increase the gifts You have given Your Church so that Your faithful people may continue to grow in holiness and in imitation of Your Beloved Son. In His name we pray. Amen.
In a small town, it was T-Ball season. The kids were ages 5-6, and there were only enough to form two teams, each with 17 kids. Each child played at the same time, and it was a bit of madness, but great fun for all.
A father tells about his son, who played on one team, and a girl named Tracy, who played on the other. Tracy wore Coke-bottle glasses and hearing aids. When she ran, her bad leg would lag behind her, and one arm would windmill wildly. Tracy wasn’t very good, but she had a lot of spirit. When she batted, she would hit the air, and she would hit the T, but very rarely would she connect with the ball. When she did, it might roll six inches. However, the coach and everyone else, on both sides, would yell, “Run, Tracy! Run!” And she did, but she would get thrown out at first. This was the case until the very last game of the season. Tracy got up to bat, and Tracy clobbered it, knocking it past all 17 infielders (the outfielders had gotten bored out there, as nothing ever made it to them). The stadium erupted, “Run, Tracy! Run!” She did. The other team could have easily thrown her out, but chose to fumble around with the ball so that Tracy could score an in-park home run.
The coaches got her to first base, then second, then third, but… the father picks up the story.
“Tracy started for home, and then it happened. During the pandemonium, no one had noticed the twelve-year-old geriatric mutt that had lazily settled itself down in front of the bleachers five feet from the third-base line. As Tracy rounded third, the dog, awakened by the screaming, sat up and wagged its tail at Tracy as she headed down the line. The tongue hung out, mouth pulled back in an unmistakable canine smile, and Tracy stopped, right there. Halfway home, thirty feet from a legitimate home run.
“She looked at the dog. Her coach called, ‘Come on, Tracy! Come on home!’ He went to his knees behind the plate, pleading. “The crowd cheered, “Go, Tracy, go! Go, Tracy, go!” She looked at all the adults, at her own parents shrieking and catching it all on video. She looked at the dog. The dog wagged its tail. She looked at her coach. She looked at home. She looked at the dog. Everything went to slow motion. She went for the dog! It was a moment of complete, stunned silence.
“And then, perhaps, not as loud, but deeper, longer, more heartfelt, we all applauded as Tracy fell to her knees to hug the dog.” (Dangerous Wonder, p.60)
For me, that seemed like a very simple explanation of life. We have goals. We put in the work required to achieve them. We execute the plan. We set out.
For many, once the plan is in motion, there may be a few hiccups or interruptions along the way, but when we are truly focused or involved, these do not deter us from achieving the goal.
For Tracy, the goal was to hit the ball and score a run. In many ways, we are doing just that. However, unlike Tracy, when we are focused and achieving, we may notice the smiling dog along the third base line, but that is all. We will not stop to hug the dog. We will score. We will win. Over time, we will be like everyone else in the stadium that day—we will not notice the twelve-year-old geriatric mutt, lazily settled along the third base line. He will fade into the background, but that won’t matter. We will have met our goal and succeeded.
It is funny, in a sad way, how, as we grow older, we no longer notice many things like that. We say we don’t have time or that we can’t be bothered by such trivial things as a “smiling mutt” in whatever form it may take. Places to be. People to see. Things… very important things to do.
Trouble is—at least how I see it—we spend our lives like that, always chasing something, then one day we wake up old, never having truly reached our preset goals and having missed so many opportunities to witness the wonders of this world because we were so intent on our goals that they faded into the background.
When was the last time you were brought to a dead stop in wonder? In amazement? When was the last time your heart paused at what was unfolding before you? If you have, instead of staying in the moment—taking time to hug the goofy dog—simply smile and move on to the next item on the agenda. Does the brief moment of wonder fade as quickly as it arrives?
Perhaps I’m just talking about my own life this morning, and I’m the only one caught in this trap, but I don’t like to think about the things I’ve missed because I was so focused on what I was chasing. I believe this is why I’ve started traveling over the last few years and want to continue doing so, which is largely a response to a quote attributed to Virgil: “Death twitched my ear, ‘Live,’ he says, ‘for I am coming.’” That was all the motivation I needed.
You say, “Well, Father John, that’s all nice and good, but what does that have to do with anything today?” My response is a story from the Gospels.
It has been a long day with Jesus and the disciples. After all, they have fed 5,000 men, plus women and children. Jesus sends the disciples on ahead while He stays behind to pray. The disciples get in the boat and begin to cross the sea, believing Jesus will do the same after a while. Scripture tells us, “The sea became rough because a strong wind was blowing. When they had rowed about three or four miles, they saw Jesus walking on the sea and coming near the boat, and they were frightened. But he said to them, ‘It is I; do not be afraid.’” Jesus was walking on the water.
Within your mind and within your soul, how do you feel about that—Jesus walking on the water? Does that create a sense of wonder at least as strong as Tracy’s when she saw the geriatric mutt, or do you just keep moving toward your goal? What if I told you that this same Jesus healed a man with leprosy, gave sight to a blind man, and, after a man had been dead for four days, raised him to life? Anything? How about this? Jesus, the very Son of God, was crucified, died, and was buried, then on the third day rose from the grave. Does that get your motor running, or have you heard it so many times that it has just become part of the background between third base and home plate?
We become so focused on achieving our goals that even the wonder and amazement of Jesus can fade into the background. We know those old stories by heart and we no longer give them the power to transform our lives or the world around us. The statement “Jesus rose from the dead” should level us, but instead we ask, “Got it. What’s next?”
Today in our Gospel reading, we have another scene with John the Baptist. Jesus is nearby, and John speaks of him. The next day, John is visiting with two of his disciples, Andrew and, although unnamed, we believe to be the Apostle John. The Baptist points to Jesus, and Andrew and John follow. Sensing them, Jesus turns and asks, “What are you looking for?” They respond, “Well, uh, we were, you know, a buh buh buy… where are you staying?” Jesus says, “Come and see.”
Jesus says, “You are searching for many things. You have goals in your life, things you want to accomplish. You’ve been working toward them, but stop. Come and see what I will show you.” Come and see what?
Defending the faith, St. Paul told the Corinthians what they would see.
“What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him.”
(1 Corinthians 2:9)
Come and see the wonders of our God, given to us in Christ Jesus our Lord. Come and see lives transformed. Come and see the healing of bodies, minds, and spirits. Come and see God and participate in His Kingdom. Come and see, and the list goes on.
This is our Annual Meeting Sunday. It is a time when I seek to articulate where I would like to see us go over the course of the next year. This year, it is for us to come and see the great events of Jesus again. To be struck with such a sense of wonder that our hearts well up with a joy that brings us to an even greater love and deeper service to our God.
By all means, have your goals and aspirations, but do not let Jesus become just another part of the background. Bring Him to the forefront. Allow Jesus the opportunity to stop you in your tracks in wonder and draw you into a deeper relationship with Him.
Let us pray: God, our Father, You redeemed us and made us Your children in Christ. Through Him, You have saved us from death and given us Your Divine life of grace. By becoming more like Jesus on earth, may we come to share His glory in Heaven. Give us the peace of Your kingdom, which this world does not give. By Your loving care, protect the good You have given us. Open our eyes to the wonders of Your Love that we may serve You with a willing heart. Amen.
A group of women was talking together. One woman said, “Our congregation is sometimes down to 30 or 40 on a Sunday.”
Another said, “That’s nothing. Sometimes our congregation is down to six or seven.”
A maiden lady in her seventies added her bit, “Why, it’s so bad in our church on Sundays that when the minister says ‘dearly beloved,’ it makes me blush.”
With today being a low Sunday—especially after the wedding last night—I’m delighted to see you all here. Hopefully, you won’t regret your decision after hearing a few verses of this poem by Lord Byron. The title: Darkness.
I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day, And men forgot their passions in the dread Of this their desolation; and all hearts Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light.
It goes on from there, and I can assure you it doesn’t get any cheerier. It describes a post-apocalyptic world where the sun and stars have “gone out,” and humanity consumes everything in an attempt to create light, but all is despair. In the dim light of their fires, famine overcomes them. The last remaining survivors come together and build a fire so they can see one another, but they die of fright when they do because of the horror they have become.
In the end,
The world was void, The populous and the powerful was a lump, Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless— A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay. (Source)
Can I just say “Merry Christmas”?
I’m not sure where Byron was in his head when he wrote that one, but the words of our Gospel kept coming to me as I read it. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
In the days leading up to the birth of Jesus, the world’s inhabitants lived in spiritual darkness. We know that there had not been a prophet in the land for over 400 years, and the oppression of the Roman legions was steadily increasing. It seemed that all of God’s promises had proved false. The Prophet Isaiah writes,
“Justice is far from us, and righteousness does not overtake us; we hope for light, and behold, darkness, and for brightness, but we walk in gloom. We grope for the wall like the blind; we grope like those who have no eyes; we stumble at noon as in the twilight, among those in full vigor we are like dead men.” (Isaiah 59:9-10)
The people were horrified by what had become of their lives and their dreams. Just as in the poem, a famine plagued the earth—the people were starving for God, for a Redeemer, a Savior. So they prayed, they prayed for the light to come.
And so it was, on a dark night, over the region of Judea above the City of David, which is called Bethlehem, that God once more said, “Let there be light,” and the Light of the World was given to us. It was God giving Himself to us in the form of a Babe, lying in a manger and wrapped in swaddling clothes.
“In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it…. The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world.”
As we declare in the Nicene Creed, “For us and for our salvation he came down from heaven, by the power of the Holy Spirit he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary and was made man.”
The birth of Jesus, the Incarnation of God, was what this dark world had been waiting and praying for. Yet we often make the mistake of limiting the Incarnation of our Lord to a historical event—something that happened 2,000 or so years ago—and we fail to understand its power in this present dark world and in our lives. However, it is an error to limit the Incarnation to a specific time and place. The light that first shone in the world on that first Christmas still shines as brightly today as it did then. It still has the power to dispel the darkness and to bring about our redemption through the forgiveness of sins.
St. Paul confirms this in his second letter to the Corinthians: “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” Through this shining into the darkness, God has qualified us—that is, enabled us—to share in the inheritance of the saints in light. He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.” (Colossians 1:12-14) And, as St. John tells us, all who believe this and call on Jesus’ Name are given the right by God to become His children.
However, even with this understanding, we are still left with one very important question: Why? Why has God rescued us? Why has He forgiven us? Why has He given us power to become His children?
Why did God become incarnate? Holy Scripture gives one answer to these questions: “Because of his great love for us.” (Ephesians 2:4) Scripture says, “In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins.” (1 John 4:9-10) God loves us so much that He sent His one and only Son into the world to die for us.
As we enter these celebratory times of the year, our hearts are lifted, we experience the joy of God, and this is a wonderful blessing from Him. Still, we can never separate the birth of Christ, His incarnation, from His crucifixion. It was for this reason—this ultimate expression of God’s radical love—that Christ the Savior was born.
In a sermon, St. Augustine said, “The Lord was born in order to die; he died in order that we might live. The wood of the crib was a sign of the wood of the cross; the narrow manger foreshadowed the narrow tomb.” (Sermon 196)
An elderly priest tells a story from his youth. He says, “I thought Christmas Day would never come, as it seemed like eternity, but the day finally arrived. After a night of tossing and turning, I awoke early in the morning, then ran to the tree and looked under it to see what was there. As I looked, I found nothing under the tree, so I turned to my Father and asked, ‘Where is the gift that you said you gave me?’ He told me that my gift was not under the tree but on it.” The priest reports, “As I looked up, I heard these words, ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.’ The gift was Jesus, looking down on me from that old rugged tree, the Cross, with love in his eyes.”
On a dark night, over the region of Judea above the City of David, which is called Bethlehem, God once more said, “Let there be light,” and through the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Light of the World was given to us. Mary wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger. For us, for our salvation, and for our sake, and because of his great love, God became one of us.
Give thanks, for the true light, which gives light to everyone, has come into the world.
Let us pray: God of love, Father of all, the darkness that covered the earth has given way to the bright dawn of your Word made flesh. Make us a people of this light. Make us faithful to your Word, that we may bring your life to the waiting world. Grant this through Christ our Lord. Amen.
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.
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.
Candle in a Cave 