A Homily for the First Sunday of Advent

+ “And there will be signs in sun and moon and stars, and upon the earth distress of nations in perplexity at the roaring of the sea and the waves, men fainting with fear and with foreboding of what is coming on the world; for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”

How often have apocalyptic prophets of doom repeated these words of the Holy Gospel to instill fear and foreboding into their listeners? How often do we, looking at the situation in the world, the Church, our country or locality wonder—and sometimes more than wonder—whether the end is nigh? How often, when a personal or moral crisis afflicts us, or someone for whom we care, do we almost faint with fear and foreboding and what is happening—at the violent shaking and incessant trembling of the very ground upon which we have built our lives, fearing that everything will soon come crashing down?

That the Gospel teaches us that at that very time “they will see the Son of man coming in a cloud with power and great glory,” may give us little comfort, for given the tribulations and battles of this life and the wounds that we carry, that are often very deep and hidden at all costs from others, few of us feel ready to face the Just Judge, even as we try to dare to hope in His mercy. Our sins are real. Our inadequacy, we know from bitter experience, is simply insurmountable.

Yet, however deeply immersed in the mire of our malaise we may be, the Gospel insists: “Look up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” However miserable we are because of whatever we have done or whatever has been done to us by others in the past, however far we have fallen or have been led astray, the Good News of Our Lord Jesus Christ, the unique Saviour of all mankind insists that today we lift up our heads because our Redeemer is drawing near!

Hence the Sacred Liturgy of this first Sunday of Advent sings the words of Psalm 24 twice, in both the Introit and the Offertory: “To thee, O Lord, have I lifted up my soul. In thee, O my God, I put my trust; let me not be ashamed. Neither let my enemies laugh at me: for none of them that wait in thee shall be confounded.”

Dear friends, Our Holy Mother, the Church, knows only too well the burdens and wounds we carry—probably better than we do ourselves. Regardless, with Christ as her Head, this Advent, this morning, she insists that we lift up our heads and look towards the coming of our Redeemer. For she knows—indeed she is the very sacramental presence in the world of—the power of that redemption. She knows that by His coming “He will wipe away every tear…, death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain any more.” (Rev 21:4)

This is why we must lift up our heads and look to Christ, our Redeemer. This is why, in classical Christian art and architecture, the apse of a Church so often has a mosaic of Christ coming in glory (perhaps we shall be so fortunate here one day!) which is in at least some way substituted in churches by that contradictory icon of our Redeemer’s victory that is the crucifix. For when we lift up our heads to Christ—to representations of Him in our churches and homes, but all the more importantly to His call to conversion of our lives that He addresses to each one of us—we have already begun to leave behind the fear and foreboding that so often oppresses us. We have already begun to respond to the grace of His redemption, and that grace has begun its work in us.

As St Paul instructs us in the Epistle: “You know what hour it is, how it is full time now for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed; the night is far gone, the day is at hand.” “Let us then cast off the works of darkness and put on the armour of light,” St Paul insists. “Let us conduct ourselves becomingly as in the day, not in revelling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and licentiousness, not in quarrelling and jealousy.” Rather, we are to “put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.”

At matins this morning St Leo the Great took quite a realistic approach to this injunction: “Although in this life it is difficult that such a state can be continuous, it can nevertheless be frequently taken up anew, that we may be occupied oftener and for longer with spiritual matters than carnal.” The effect of this, St Leo teaches, can be that “while we give more time to better pursuits, even temporal actions are changed into incorruptible riches.”

My brothers and sisters, as we begin this Advent let us indeed take up anew the ongoing work of casting off the works of darkness and of putting on the armour of light. Regardless of whatever has burdened us in recent times, with faith and confidence let us lift up our heads to our Redeemer who comes to save us, if only we will meet His loving gaze and remain faithful to Him. For that grace this Advent, for ourselves and for our loved ones, and to become fervent witnesses to its reality and saving effect, let us pray earnestly in this Holy Mass. +