First Sunday of Advent

The readings on this first Sunday of Advent alert us to something that is about to begin.  A guest will arrive when we least expect him.  The language is emphatic.  “Be watchful, be alert!”  Jesus tells his followers not to be caught off guard.  His final word in this gospel could not be more direct: “Watch!”  Advent is that time of watching and waiting, of looking and seeking – hope-filled anticipation spread across four weeks.

We all ache for God, and we wait.  The addict in the alley behind the church waits: for a God who will come and remove all that enslaves him.  The single mother waits: for a day when she no longer has to work 54 hours, a night when she can sleep eight, a life when she’ll finally know the kids will be ok.  The soldier in a ditch in Afghanistan waits: for a morning when there no more explosions of IEDs, and you don’t have to bury your new best friends.

The old man in the nursing home waits: for the day he will no longer be alone, when pain will no longer be his most constant companion, and when he can once again rest in the embrace of her whom he loved.  The prisoner waits at the King County Jail: for a place where he will no longer be seen as evil, for a life that makes sense, for a time when love can be given and received, for the coming of a God who will love him.

The investor waits: for the day when he’s not gripped by the fear that he’s about to lose everything, for the day when he can count his value in the quality of his love rather than the size of his profit.  The little child waits within her mother’s womb: for a world that will welcome her, and parents that will love her, and a country who will protect her.

We all wait in joyful hope, with baited breath, as we gaze toward the eastern skies in expectation of the one who rises with healing in his wings.  Exiled in a Babylon of our own selfishness, we cry out: “Rend the heavens, O Lord, and come down to us!”  Yet he waits for us at Mass, ready to embrace us, pick us up on his shoulders, and carry us home to himself.

Longing to be loved, orphaned by our infidelity and broken promises, we cry out: “Why do you let us wander and harden our hearts?”  Yet he waits on this altar, to feed us with himself and to make us daughters and sons of his Father, to live in us that we might live in him.

Frightened that we have been abandoned, strangers in a strange desert, we cry out: “Let us see your face and we will be saved!”  Yet he waits for us in the poor, the sick, and the old, ready to console our frightened spirits.  We wait in joyful hope.  The part of us that doesn’t think that God could really forgive me.  The part which feels empty and alone.  The part that’s overwhelmed and confused.  The part which amidst all the din and doubt, waits, waits in silence for the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ upon a cloud in all his glory.

Get ready my sisters and brothers.  Get ready!  “Be watchful!”  Be alert!  Go to confession, celebrate the sacred mysteries, and pray!  Feed the poor.  Go visit old people in the nursing home.  Find the one you’ve not yet forgiven and call him today.  Make your heart a manger to receive your king, for he is coming.  He is coming very soon!

Paul A. Magnano

Pastor