Advent I -- Advent Begins in the Dark

 

I’m recalling the first Sunday in Advent 1979, when I was blessed to be part of a choir that was performing in the National Cathedral up on Mount Saint Alban’s.  It was a memorable Sunday on many levels that included hearing a homily whose takeaway was “Advent begins in the dark”, a catchphrase that has stuck in my head for nearly 42 years.  The Homilist employed an apt visual reference pointing to the wreath that would glow ever brighter before the season’s conclusion.  I believe though that the weight of this statement extends far beyond the lumens provided by the five candles and the setting of that first Advent bears witness to this fact.

Advent began in a period of Sociopolitical Darkness.  For more than half a millennia, Abraham’s children had been an oppressed and occupied people.  Her golden age and the splendor of Solomon’s temple were little more than stories told by grandfather’s to their grandchildren.  Worse still, they were now into the second generation of being under the iron boot of the Roman Empire.  Against this backdrop and in an act of subversion against the kingdom of darkness, the Angel Gabriel stepped into the realm of time and the Holy Spirit hovered over a comely virgin of the House of David.

Advent began in a period of relative Spiritual Darkness.  Four hundred years had passed since a Prophetic voice was heard in Judah.  Those who were waiting for the Consolation of Israel knew the teaching of faithful Rabbis and the endless circle of sacrifice but never knew the sound of one speaking under the unction of the Almighty in prophetic counsel.  The dark silence would be shattered as the angel pronounced fulfillment of multiple prophecies concerning the coming Messiah.   

But consider too how Christ’s Advent into our own lives also began in the dark.  We all at one time, walked in spiritual darkness.  Each of us, as Saint Paul wrote to the Ephesians, were living far away from God and living to serve ourselves and our own desires; our past, present and future held only the dark and starless night.  Yet when the Holy Spirit moved upon us to convict us of our transgressions and convince us of our need for a Savior, both life and light was brought to us in the new birth.

Those who know the Christ of Advent can take comfort in the fact that the child born in Bethlehem is the very redeemer who will again return to make all things new.  No matter how dark it may seem, His glorious light will burst forth at the Father’s appointed hour.  This Advent which began in the dark will culminate in glorious light.

Advent I -- 2022

 

Happy New Year.  Its the season to turn our attention to a season of preparation.  A time to look beyond bargains, sales, Big Screens and the like, to the Messiah who's appearance who was missed by nearly all.  His return WON'T be missed. 

So, on this First Sunday in Advent, the Church traditionally prays:

Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which your Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

As well, our heart's cry remains, Oh come, oh come Emmanuel...

Morning Rumination's

Thinking today, of two seemingly minor characters in the Christ’s passion as it was played out on Golgotha’s hill on the outskirts of Jerusalem.  Many were there in attendance that afternoon.  Members of the “established church” were present, watching and throwing shade on an innocent one who, stripped naked, was slowly dying by installment with each agonizing breath.  There were the gawkers, who had nothing better to do than take in the spectacle of a public execution.  There was the Roman execution squad who were tasked with the sordid detail of executing culprits and the unfortunate victims.  There were those who truly loved the condemned victim; his mother, his beloved pupil, a number of others who stood in this grave and terminal vigil.  And finally, there were two, Joseph and Nicodemus, Leaders within the Jewish faith who opposed what was unfolding.  While Nicodemus was mute, Joseph was open in his opposition.  Though not naturally succumbing to the violent physical trauma, the Christ shouted “It is Finished!”, and relinquished his life.

   

Barring intervention, the execution detail would have had Christ’s body consigned to the smoldering fires of Gehenna.  Yet the two leaders, Joseph and Nicodemus mustered the courage to petition the Roman Governor to receive Christ’s mortal remains. This act created a conundrum.  In receiving this corpse, the two rendered themselves ceremonially unclean and ineligible to take their seat at the Passover meal.  The reality of the moment was that these two were already present for the Passover as the LORD’s Pascal Lamb was offered up. 
   

In our Eucharistic celebration, we boldly proclaim, “Alleluia, Christ, our Passover is sacrificed for us! Let us keep the feast”.

Morning Rumination's

I’m a believer in the practicing of Morning Prayer.  While some will practice “bedtime” prayers, I take a timeout to pray once I’m fully awake, but before diving into the thick of the day.  In that quiet space before morning prayers, I was considering the sixth day (Friday). It was on that first Sixth Day, when God created man, and created him in his own image. The sin of willful disobedience irreparably disfigured that image, and succeeding generations of humanity walked in enmity with the Divine. On a succeeding Friday, far from Eden, God once again engaged in the act of re-creation. In crying out “tetelestai”, He declared that the debt incurred by that defacing offense was once and forever satisfied. On that first sixth day, humanity saw their birth. On that second sixth day, humanity realized their redemption and restoral.

Roe: Jan 22 1973 - Jun 24 2022

 

In December 1971, it was seasonably cold in Pennsylvania.  I was  a nine year old forth grader who was daydreaming of what Santa might bring in the next few weeks.  Hot Wheels were high on my list and if I recall correctly, my heart was set on the Mongoose verses Snake play set.  Beyond my nine year old horizon, a case was being heard within the halls of our Republic's Supreme Court.  In question, did a woman have the unfettered right to end the life of a child she was carrying in utero.  The case would be reargued a year later, before ultimately being ruled upon on January 22 1973.  By this time, the fabric of my childhood had been torn asunder by the separation of my parents.  Years before this, I had already learned of abortion's horror when the Monsignor at Saint Cecelia's spoke of it from the pulpit.  While I knew babies grew in their mother's stomachs (while not knowing just HOW they got there), the revelation that they could be wrenched from the safety and serenity of their mother's belly was dark and scary.  Even so, the notion would permanently dwell in that dark, scary place alongside mom and dad's divorce, and Soviet thermonuclear annihilation.  

While I was always personally opposed to the practice of abortion, I was able to find my voice, opining my thoughts in the mid 1980's.  Editorials/Letter to Editors followed, along with candlelight vigils outside of abortion provider facilities.As we engaged, the practice of abortion became further entrenched and more militant.  Where once, the practice that would have been unheard of beyond the first trimester, was now being performed well beyond the demarkation of viability and into the transnatal stage. At abortion's nadir, Pediatricians like Virginia's Governor Ralph Northam were openly discussing protocol for postnatal infanticide.

Finally, it would take a new generation of jurists who could recognize that the "right" to feticide wasn't envisioned by the founders; the Roe versus Wade decision was soundly reversed.

Abortion isn't going away,  but it will now be a matter for the States.  There'll no doubt be states that not only retain abortion, but will double down in loosening any and all safeguards preventing this in utero destruction.  Other states have begun to move towards absolute prohibition.  I suspect though, that there will be a demarkation line in most states that uses viability as the standard.

A dark chapter has ended, and a new one has begun for the Republic.  By God's help, may we get this one right.

Saturday Reverie II

 Thanks Chrissie Hynde:

The lyrics possess a near-agape love feel...

Saturday Reverie

 It's one of those "tween days" here in Suburbia Majora. By tween days, I'm speaking of a weather pattern where if it were a few degrees on either side, it would either be cold an d damp or hot and muggy.  But for now, its clammy and unsettled. Long sleeves would be too much, yet short sleeves aren't quite enough.  On  a plus, the atmosphere is very stable so the chances for story weather are pretty much removed.  So for now, its relaxing in the comfortable chair and reflecting on the passing scene.  Believe me, there is plenty to consider in the age of Biden and his nascent Authoritarian State.

Our collective Saturday is ensconced in a mist of global instability where bad actors have moved into the vacuum created by the loss of our national standing.  A frail putative figurehead POTUS, and cabinet have emboldened imperialistic competitors to become predators, preying on their neighbors.  We're witnessing this in the Ukraine and without Divine intervention, I fear we'll see this repeat in the Taiwan Strait.  Will Israel follow behind?

These are moments where I find a harbor of refuge in both Holy Scripture and music.  The words of The Almighty promise us that this world is indeed, enroute to Hell in a hand basket.  Yet, He will right the ship and make all things new at His return where:

He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end.

Yet, in the meantime, He's promised us His presence through the person of the Holy Spirit as a comforter and counselor.  

A Meditation on a Chilly Sunday

 From the  morning's Gospel reading:

At that time the Feast of Dedication took place at Jerusalem. It was winter, and Jesus was walking in the temple, in the colonnade of Solomon. So the Jews gathered around him and said to him, "How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Christ, tell us plainly." Jesus answered them, "I told you, and you do not believe. The works that I do in my Father's name bear witness about me, but you do not believe because you are not among my sheep. My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand. I and the Father are one." - Jhn 10:22-30 ESV

This Sunday, in the Western Christian tradition, is often referred to "Good Shepherd Sunday" based on the appointed Gospel reading.  As the Parish Deacon, its my privilege to proclaim that Gospel to those gathered for the Eucharistic celebration.  I use the word "proclaim" purposely, as one doesn't read the Gospel as one might some random narrative.  This is primarily because the very power of it's word:  The power to reveal, the power to convince, the power to encourage, and even to power to either indict or convict.  It has captured the very words of God in the person of Jesus of Nazareth, the one whom Saint John called the very icon of God in his gospel's prologue.  

In Wednesday Morning's Quiet

 It's Wednesday morning and the house is quiet.  Shortly, I'll be setting out to physical therapy.  I'm caught by a melancholy this morning that feels a bit like Stevie Nicks' song, "Landslide".