Photo by Jacek Dylag on Unsplash
It happens every election cycle. Those in public office will claim they are doing exceptionally well, and that given more time they will do even better still. Those who think they can do a better job will argue we are in a far worse place than in the previous cycle, and that if elected they will bring about greater prosperity and security, that life will be better than ever, that our enemies will fear us more, and that we will take our rightful place as the greatest nation on earth. Okay, maybe not those same words, but darn close. You will only agree or disagree based on who you’re going to support.
But the hope of a better life is embedded in our nature. Every generation desires better for their children—better education, better opportunities, better everything. And we will fight to keep hope alive, if not for ourselves, then for those who come after us. I remember dad giving his speech many times at the dinner table. “Study hard so you get good grades,” he would say. “And when you graduate, you will find good jobs and make good money, and you will live the good life, and you will raise a family and give them the best life has to offer, and your mother and I will move in and live with you when we retire.” He didn’t know to stop while he was ahead. But it’s not just my dad. Any success of ours will also be his to some degree. He was only making sure we didn’t forget that he set us on the right road.
When the people of Israel returned from exile, as we read in Isaiah, they returned to a devastated and ruined land, their temple defiled, their communities disillusioned, their lives and their livelihoods disrupted. They were home finally, but they still had to rebuild, and the work would be daunting. So the prophet projects a picture of stability, prosperity, and security. It seemed too fantastic, even unrealistic, this vision of a new world to come, where tidings of great joy are announced to the poor, the brokenhearted are made whole, liberty is proclaimed to captives, release to prisoners, and God extends favor and vindication to his people. But this hope rests with one Anointed of God, who would signify God’s deepest care and concern for his people. For a time, this prophecy was front and center. It promised a savior whom God would send to give God’s people a fresh start and a new beginning.
So when according to the gospel a man named John appears at the Jordan river, dressed in camel’s hair with a leather belt about his waist, munching on locusts and wild honey, preaching repentance, and baptizing those who sought forgiveness for their sins, the leaders of Israel took notice. “Who are you?” they asked. “Are you the messiah, the Anointed One, the Christ? Are you Elijah? Are you the prophet?” “No, no, no, no, and no. I am the voice of one crying out in the desert, ‘make straight the way of the Lord.’” And more puzzling still than his outright denial that he was anyone important, was his claim that someone was coming greater than he, whose sandal strap he was not worthy to untie, someone in fact, who is already among them, but whom they did not recognize. So John, who was the last in a long line of prophets in Israel, was no longer referring to some event in the future. “He is among you. God has fulfilled his promise.”
As we enter the third week of Advent, we hear the words of the Baptizer. “You do not recognize him, but he is among you.” As he speaks of preparing the way of the Lord, he is also saying that the Lord is already in our midst, that repentance is vital, because he offers forgiveness for our sins. Hope always points to some future reality. And rejoicing is most appropriate when that hope is achieved. “Rejoice always,” St. Paul tells the Thessalonians. “Pray without ceasing. Give thanks!” It is the church’s way of saying that while we wait in joyful hope to celebrate the anniversary of the birth of the Lord, and while we await his glorious return at the end of time, we have already received the fulfillment of our hope. We have reason now to rejoice and give thanks.
But when we look around, we see that many things can be better still. We are bombarded with news of widespread poverty and hardship, hunger and devastation. War and fear of violence terrifies many. And we cry out to God, “When will he come whom you are sending us—this Anointed One who will rid the world of darkness, evil, selfishness, and sin?” Then John the Baptist announces, “He is among you.” All who are baptized into Christ Jesus have acknowledged our sinfulness and been forgiven of our sins. And God has bestowed upon his faithful the Light who is Jesus Christ for us to shine God’s Light in the dark corners of the world. We are sent like John the Baptist to proclaim Someone more important than ourselves. “He is among us.” So like John, we are not the Light. We are but lesser flickering reflections that point to Jesus the Light.
While we proclaim the coming of God’s Light to dispel darkness from the world, we also rejoice now in the radiance of that same Light. We cannot then continue to live in darkness ourselves, choosing selfishness and divisiveness, jealousy and pride, anger and lust. We were entrusted the Light of Christ at our own Baptism. We affirmed our call to witness to the Light when we declared at our Confirmation we would live as disciples of Jesus. And the Spirit of God continues to nourish that Light within us as often as we partake of the table of the most Holy Eucharist. How then can we also continue to live in the darkness of selfishness and sin?
Now our struggle to remain faithful does not escape God’s notice. God is very much aware our following after Jesus will indeed be a struggle. But we cannot claim to follow Jesus without also carrying our cross. And God can tell when we give up all too easily and too often. God notices when we take back our promises and welcome the darkness instead. Never mind Santa Claus. God sees into our minds and hearts.
John the Baptist says that the Light sent by God to dispel the darkness is already among us. But the secular observance of Christmas somewhat misses a most important point with its silver bells and candy canes, its “fa-la-la-la-la” and its partridge in a pear tree, its Frosty the Snowman and its Winter Wonderland. It appears Jesus’ invitation to a change of heart, to sincere reconciliation with our neighbor, to a renewal of faith in the goodness of humanity hangs weakly on the threat of coal in our stockings. Discipleship has consequences. But if the Anointed of God is already among us, and we still do not recognize him, we have missed entirely the fulfillment of all God’s promises to Israel.
But fear not. No need to take down our Christmas trees or return our Christmas presents. No need to withdraw Christmas party invitations or send regrets. But might we perhaps more intentionally welcome the Light of Christ into our lives to dispel the darkness we know well? Then all this Advent waiting might actually mean something.
Rolo B Castillo © 2023