It’s pretty much impossible not to talk about Christmas at this point. Tomorrow evening begins the cycle of liturgies celebrating the day we’ve eagerly anticipated. For two weeks Jesus has been absent from the gospel stories, as if waiting in the wings to make a grand entrance at the close of the season.
It’s a funny couple of weeks in the church. For two Sundays now Jesus does not appear in the gospels. Of course it’s Advent, so it seems appropriate Jesus remain offstage until he officially comes to us as Emmanuel. But still: How do you tell the gospel story without him?
IN THE YEAR of President X, during the term of Governor Y, when Mr. Z was mayor, and Pope A was occupying the Chair of Peter, the world’s superpowers were currently B and C. In these involved and conflicted times (and, seriously, have there ever been times when nothing was at stake and no one was at war?) there came a person out of nowhere—say, a fellow from the southern desert—who claimed to have a word from heaven about all of this.
Does time mean anything? Think about the difference between Monday and Friday: Apart from the significance we assign them as the traditional beginning and end of the work-week, is there an inherent “Monday-ness” or “Friday-ness” which are unique to those days?
“I’m the procurator over Judea. I am a friend of Caesar. I am the arm of Rome, the mightiest empire of the known world. If someone is brought to my attention, they had better be worth my time.” So thinks Pilate, as this Jesus is dragged before him.
You don’t need the cover of the bulletin to tell you what time it is, at least according to the liturgical calendar. Ordinary Time never comes to a close with a whimper but with an apocalypse. When we hear Daniel envisioning the arrival of Michael, the archangel of the last battle, we know Judgment is on its way.
The first widow, whom Elijah encounters, shouldn’t be in the Bible to begin with. The thing is, she isn’t even a part of this story, technically speaking. This is the spiritual history of the Jewish people; she’s from Zarephath, in Sidon of Phoenicia (modern-day Lebanon).
The old parlor game asks: If you knew you were going to die tonight, what would you do today? Variations abound. If you found out you had an incurable disease, which decisions would you make now that you’ve been putting off?
What’s the price of mental and spiritual blindness? It doesn’t help to argue that we’re not blind. Each of us makes decisions to close our eyes to a lot we prefer not to see or feel or think about. This kind of selective attention makes it easier and simpler to navigate through our days.
No one likes the suggestion that suffering can be useful. If “no pain, no gain” is the rule, some of us would prefer the no gain, thanks! Yet it’s obvious even on a biological level that some pain is constructive and can lead to greater strength, healing, and wholeness. Athletes know this when they commit to tearing down muscles in order to build more efficient ones.