Jesus brings to birth a self-multiplying joy – 1 John 1:1-4

Feast of St. John; Holy Cross Parish.

Is there any joy like seeing a smile on the face of someone you love?  And what makes us smile, but joy?  So, the mathematician in me wants to create a simple equation here: joy + love = more joy!  Love is the catalyst that helps joy reproduce, that leavens it and produces a chain reaction of joy begetting joy.  And the ultimate source of love in the world is God who is love, who expressed that love most supremely in the coming of Jesus Christ.  Forget the math if it doesn’t help: Pope Francis traced out this connection with a simple phrase in his recent exhortation: “With Christ, joy is constantly born anew.”

God feeds us – Luke 2:15-20; Isa 62:11-12

Christmas homily, using the Mass At Dawn readings (shepherds!); Holy Cross parish.

An infant lying in a manger: we’re so used to seeing that image on Christmas cards, in our beautiful crèche, in the nativity sets many of you may have set up in your homes, that it no longer catches us off guard.  Try to imagine that we’d never seen it before.  If you saw a baby, in a manger, in a feeding trough for animals, given no prior associations, what would we think?  Would we think it was cute?  Not for long, not once we’d seen the rough finish and remaining straw scratch the baby.  Would we think it was a fitting throne for a king?  Would we think it was a bed for a savior?  A glorious tabernacle for our God?

God dreams a new dream in us – Matt 1:18-24

4th Sunday of Advent, Year A; Holy Cross Parish.  An experiment with imagining Joseph's perspective.

You start to push the wooden block, gently, appropriately nervously, but basically confidently.  Then, the moment springs itself upon you, the moment when the realization hits you, before the physical tottering quite materializes: you’ve just lost at Jenga.  Imagine if that cascade of decaying bragging rights was not just a game: imagine if that was your life about to fall down, brick by brick.  Everything had looked to be in place, all your bricks were carefully arranged in the wall.  You had found a wonderful young woman to get betrothed to.  Finally, after months of negotiations, you’d agreed terms with her father and you’d cemented the deal.  Now, you were just waiting until she was old enough and you’d take young Mary to live with you as your wife.  The feasting would be just the tip of the iceberg of the joy you’d feel at doing that, at finally starting your own family.  Your whole life now was viewed in terms of the countdown that was fast drawing to a close when you could move from betrothal to finally living together as husband and wife.

God makes bloom our deserts – Matt 11:2-11, Isa 35:1-6a, 10

Third Sunday of Advent, Year A; Holy Cross Parish.

“Here is your God.”  Behold, your God.  Those are the words we heard from the book of Isaiah.  It goes on: He comes with vindication, with divine recompense, he comes to save you.  It goes on, talking of all the miraculous healing that will happen, all great cause for rejoicing on this Gaudete Sunday, the Sunday of rejoicing.  But, the future, what will happen, can distract us, almost water down, the exultant immanence of the Hebrew acclamation:  Hinneh elohekem!  “Here Is your God.”  Not, here’s the spot where he will be, just hang on; certainly not, there’s where he will be, but he’s distant now, so don’t bother Him.  No.  Here is your God.  The cry might go up… “where?”

God shepherds us – Ps 80, John of the Cross

Saturday of Advent, Week 2; St. Stanislaus.

“Oh shepherd of Israel, hear us.”  A name; a request.  That’s the simple way in which Psalm 80 begins.  But the name is not just a customary title.  It’s a confession of faith.  Shepherd of Israel… it’s a confession that God leads, protects, nurtures and nourishes his people.  “God of hosts,” it continues, a confession that God directs and marshals forces to defend us.  Planter of the vine that is us… God gave us our origin, planted us in soil and deeply desires us to grow towards Him.  Shepherd of Israel, God of hosts, planter of the vine: it’s a litany of titles of trust, love and awe from the psalmist to our Creator.

God strengthens the weary – Isa 40:25-31

Wednesday of Advent 2; Holy Cross Parish.

Being tired and weary is rarely something that gets extolled in Christian preaching.  But in the midst of all of our winter activities, dealing with the weather, finding that extra time to spend with family with friends (joyous, but exhausting at times!), as well as all the day-to-day striving in Christian virtue and just getting all we need to done, all these Advent calls to wakefulness can get a little… well, tiring.  And that’s when things are going OK.  What about people who are tired of being victims, tired of injustice, tired of being alone, tired of feeling like God has abandoned them?

God’s coming to us in just a little while – Isa 29:17-24; Matt 9:27-31

Friday of the first week of Advent; Holy Cross Parish.

In the science museum in New York, there’s a spiral walkway you can walk along, which must be about 100 yards long.  Along the wall is a timeline of depictions of the history of the universe: stars are created, galaxies spin themselves into existence, planets cool, life emerges.  The whole thing is incredibly beautiful, but what can’t fail but catch your eye is a single human hair.  At the end of walkway is a human hair, stuck vertically at the end of the timeline.  On this 100 yard time line of the universe’s history, human history takes up a hair’s width sliver at the end.

God accompanies us as we run to Him – Adv I collect

Holy Cross-St. Stan's; Advent I collect and Year A readings.

Advent is for waiting – if people know one thing about Advent, it’s probably that.  We’re waiting for Christmas, which isn’t very long to wait and we’re waiting for Christ to come again, without knowing how long that will be.  Regardless, we’re waiting.  So why did our opening prayer, our collect, talk about running?  “Grant us the resolve to run forth to meet your Christ.”  That’s what we prayed at the start of Mass.  Running: it’s a fascinating and compelling characterization of what Christian waiting looks like.