Finding Joy in Advent: A Priest’s Journey Through Faith and Ministry
Readings for Mass and Virtual Homily, December 8, 2024, Second Sunday of Advent; Crunch Time at O'Dowd; The Gift of Health
Readings for Mass this week
Baruch 5:1-9
Psalm 126:1-6
Philippians 1:4-6, 8-11
Luke 3:1-6
Dear Friends and Family,
More than twenty years ago, while I was studying for ordination at St. Patrick's Seminary in Menlo Park, a young priest there, a member of the faculty, once described Advent to us as a season of "serious joy." This same young priest, whose intellectual bona fides were backed up by a couple of advanced degrees from the Roman seminaries, also described Lent as a season of "bright sadness."
Lenten in my own spirituality, that is, a Passionist at heart, I took note of this second description, at the time, more so than the first. "Bright sadness" was as close as anyone had ever come to describing my experience of Lent. It was not at all that I thought the young priest's description of Advent inadequate; I just paid it little note because honestly, right up into the years that I was at seminary, I paid Advent little notice.
That changed, of course, once I became a priest and entered fully into the liturgical life, so deep. so rich, so substantive, of the Church. I remember my first Advent -- December, 2006 -- in Pleasanton. I remember the special evening liturgies -- especially the Advent Reconciliation Service at which Fr. Dan (Dan Danielson, Pleasanton's legendary pastor for 22 years) had me preach. I remember how ministry-leader friends in the parish sort of held their collective breath, as their brand new associate, Fr. Brawn, the "baby priest" (at 50!) got up to address not just the many hundreds of parishioners there that evening for the Sacrament of Reconciliation, but also to address Fr. Dan and maybe twelve or fourteen of my brother priests, all more experienced than I, who had come to help with hearing confessions that night.
I have no memory at all of what I said that evening. But I do remember the response of my community -- the sense of pride, of joy, of "mission accomplished!," of (frankly) relief, that I had not blown it. People -- I mean, a number of Pleasanton's leaders in ministry -- stood in line, after the service, to thank me for whatever it was that the Spirit said through me. Meanwhile, in addition to preaching on some Advent theme or other, I had that evening at St. Augustine's heard somewhere between twenty and thirty confessions, and I had already discovered -- discovered six months before -- that after celebrating the Mass, hearing confessions was my second favorite priestly responsibility.
I remember the line of my fellow parish ministry leaders waiting to congratulate me, after the service had ended; I remember our breath fogging in the chilly night air; I remember the sense of, at once, both satisfaction of what we had just done and anticipation of what lay directly ahead -- my first Christmas as a priest, there with my wonderful community in Pleasanton. And I had a sense, that evening, of the "serious joy" of Advent.
Today's readings are all about joy. Listen to Baruch, a close associate of Jeremiah (the "prophet of gloom and doom") and whose book follows not just Jeremiah's, but the Book of Lamentations, which expresses the heartbreak of the people, once the dreadful prophecies of Jeremiah have come to pass. Listen to Baruch, encouraging the people in their exile in Babylon.
Jerusalem, take off your robe of mourning and misery; put on forever the splendor of glory from God...For God has commanded that every lofty mountain and the age-old hills be made low, that the valleys be filled to make level ground, that Israel may advance securely in the glory of God...For God is leading Israel in joy, by the light of his glory, with the mercy and justice that are his (vss. 1, 7, 9).
The psalm is a veritable paean to joy -- it describes the wonder and awe of the Jewish people as they returned, against all historical odds, to Jerusalem from their period of exile in Babylon. You know this psalm; it is famous. Among its other stanzas, there is this: "They shall come rejoicing, carrying their sheaves" (vs. 6). The psalm exults in the joy of the liberation of the Jews from Babylon (in 539 BC, after a near half-century in exile there). Listen:
When the Lord restored the captives of Zion, we were like men dreaming. Then our mouths were filled with laughter; our tongues sang for joy. Then it was said among the nations, 'The Lord has done great things for them'" (vss. 1-2).
The second reading describes the author's (likely Paul) love for the community at Philippi and the great joy he takes in thinking of the community and praying for them. It is a bright and -- well, joyful -- set of verses from the letter that we are studying in today's Scriptures. Paul's delight in his community at Philippi makes me smile -- I knew a similar delight in my first community as a priest, in Pleasanton.
And I have known that joy in every assignment since -- Our Lady of Guadalupe in Fremont, Immaculate Heart of Mary in Brentwood, and now, and doubly blessed, Bishop O'Dowd High School and St. Clement, my parish home now, for ten years. I have told my parishioners here in Hayward time and time again that I am empowered to do what I do at the high school because of them, because of their love and enthusiasm and support, because of the way St. Clement rolled out the red carpet for me here in Hayward the summer I arrived. I hope my St. Clement parishioners believe me, when I assure them that my success at the high school is directly reliant on their encouragement and support of me; so help me God, it is true. I love my teens and I love the high school; I would not trade my assignment to Bishop O'Dowd. But I remain, at heart, a parish priest. And St. Clement is my parish.
We come finally to the description from Luke of John the Baptist in the desert -- though quoting Isaiah, Luke echoes the images of Baruch. Prepare the way of the Lord. Make straight his paths. Every valley (of despair, of self-doubt and/or loathing) shall be filled (with a proper sense of one's dignity and ultimate value as the child of a loving God). Every mountain and hill (of pride, of self-centeredness, of self-seeking) shall be made low (that is, the selfish and prideful will have a much-needed reality check that will assist them in getting back on the straight and narrow...) (vss. 4-6; summarized).
These readings invite us to enter into the "serious joy" of Advent; to encounter head-on the astonishing reality, that God so loved the world that God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, the One through Whom all things were made, became for us, and for our salvation, incarnate in the womb of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Became a baby, in her arms.
God. A baby. In Mary's arms.
Think about it.
Rejoice in it. Even, seriously rejoice in it.
I do not know how much joy was involved with it, but "serious" was the word for affairs at the high school this first week back after Thanksgiving. Also, next week, the last week of classes. My students opted for a final project rather than a standard exam, and in so doing brought my class to a close a week early. That is, this coming week, my students will be working on their final project, rather than reviewing for a final exam two weeks hence.
I was totally down with their decision in part because it frees me of having to show up during finals week; in part because it frees me of having to grade eighty final exams (though, of course, I do have the project to grade, but that is much more subjective and enjoyable).
I was also down with this decision on the part of my students because of what the final project is -- they are to approach the Resurrection Narratives as if they were reporters from the WSJ or the WaPo or CNN; they are to take the four Gospel accounts of the Resurrection as their baseline, their primary source material, and then develop the story. Interview witnesses. Describe scenes and developments, such as the encounter with the risen Christ by the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. Detail differences in the accounts and supply rationales for why, let us say, Matthew may have mentioned the earthquake when none of the other Gospel writers did.
You get the idea. This project is typically accompanied by illustrations (that is, the students include paintings, statues, etc. in the course of their reports). Some of the more adventurous include advertisements ("Join the Roman Legion and See the World") and sudoku and crossword puzzles based on first-century Israel realities. It is a blast, seeing what my sophomores come up with each semester, when they choose this project over a final exam. (And yes, most of my classes since COVID, when I started offering the option, have chosen the project over the exam.)
Finally, and on the subject of joy, I am feeling something akin to same this Friday evening that I am getting this homily into shape, in that I have made about a 90% recovery from a nasty winter virus which started sweeping the high school in early November. When we got to Thanksgiving and I had not yet contracted it I counted myself blessed, and given that these things have a "shelf life" of just a few weeks, each season, I dared hope I had dodged the bullet with it.
Uhhh...no. I came down with it Sunday (didn't stop me from having a stellar day, with three Masses here in the parish and an important Zoom meeting; just that I felt that I was coming down with something). It hit full strength Monday and I called in sick at O'Dowd -- missing class due to illness for the first time in my ten years at the high school. Same thing, Tuesday, a day I largely remember as one of viewing my sheets and blankets from a variety of perspectives. I think I was up and out of bed about three hours, mid-day Tuesday, and then again about four, Tuesday evening. Wednesday and Thursday I went in to campus only to teach my classes. That is, two and one-half hours Wednesday afternoon and 75 minutes Thursday morning.
In fact, by Thursday, I was much better. And today, I am, as I say, 90% back to normal and thanking the Lord for the fact. It does give me reason to stop and think, as I really only rarely do, about the gift of health, and about how blessed I have been, in this regard. I spent two nights in the hospital in August, 1957, when, as a 19-month old, I had contracted St. Louis Variety Encephalitis (from a mosquito bite). I have not been in the hospital overnight since.
This is NOT something to be taken for granted. It is something for which to give thanks and praise to God. It is something to be --well -- seriously joyful about. The day will come when my health will fail. In the meantime, that I have been so abundantly blessed in this regard is something for which, truly, I can only in humility accept from God and ask to be made worthy of the blessing. While you give me the power to do so, Lord, help me to be a messenger of your love, your peace, your serious joy.
A (seriously) joyful Advent to all of you!
Much love,
El Padre