4th Sunday of Advent - 19 December 2010 [Cycle A]

Fourth Sunday of Advent - 19 December 2010 [Cycle A]

Who is this Jesus? (According to Matthew)

Biblical scholar John Pilch points out that the construction of this passage probably strikes us as odd. The author begins by saying, “This is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about,” and yet it doesn’t actually go on to tell you how the birth came about. Rather, it tells how Joseph learned of Mary’s pregnancy and how he responded to the news. In fact, all of the details surrounding Jesus’ birth as we commonly think of it are conspicuously absent from Matthew’s account. Matthew says nothing about the angel Gabriel appearing to Mary and announcing that she had conceived a child by the Holy Spirit. Matthew doesn’t mention the visitation with Elizabeth where the baby John the Baptist supposedly leapt in his womb. Nor does Matthew include any sort of details about why Mary and Joseph found themselves in Bethlehem at all—only very matter of factly, and with the scantest of accompanying information, does the evangelist even say that Jesus was BORN!

In Matthew’s account of the birth of Jesus, none of the familiar Nativity imagery is present. There is no knocking on doors, being told that there isn’t room at the Inn. No angel in the sky announcing peace on earth and good will to men. Just Joseph learning about Mary’s pregnancy in a dream but being assured that it was part of a Divine plan, and Joseph’s accepting this apparently at face value and going ahead with the marriage. So... what’s the deal? Why is Jesus’ birth described in this somewhat odd manner?

To understand why Matthew tells the story the way he does, it’s important to remember who Matthew was and to whom he was writing. Each Gospel was written by a particular person with a particular audience in mind. Matthew was a Jew who saw Christ as the Messiah foretold by the Jewish prophecies of old. To Matthew, and to the community of Jewish followers of Jesus (remember, the early followers of Christ did not at first use the word “Christian,” that was a derogatory term applied to them by the others, the way we might describe disciples of Glenn Beck or Jon Stewart not as Americans but as “Beckians” or “Stewartians”) Jesus was the fulfillment of Jewish teaching about a Messiah. He was not start- ing some new religion—he was bringing to fruition the existing one.

So Matthew begins his Gospel narrative first by listing Jesus’ ancestors, all the way back to Abraham, the first person to have a relationship with Yahweh. Jesus’ connection to Abraham is then traced through David, but all of this is done by virtue of his being the son of Joseph, who was the descendant of David.

We Americans tend to think of personal value as attained by individuals. My honor is my own—if I am a good person, a successful businessman, a loving husband, etc., then it does not matter if my father was convicted of corporate embezzlement and my brother was impris- oned for drug distribution. My honor is my own. Not so in ancient society. One’s whole value, one’s honor, was inextricably bound up in, and dependent upon, one’s family ties. Honor was a shared commodity within families, so if my father was a shameful figure in the eyes of the community, people who met me and heard who my father was would have treated me likewise as a dishonorable person—without ever having spoken to me!
And so, for Matthew to establish that Jesus was this Messiah figure, the one predicted by Jewish prophets, he had to demonstrate to the audience of Jewish listeners that he fit the criteria of being from the “stump of Jesse,” that is, from the family of King David. Thus, what is most important for the readers to hear, at the outset, is that Jesus is part of the Davidic line, through Joseph. Then the evangelist can proceed to tell the listener how this Davidic descendent, this one destined to be the Messiah, actually came into the world. And it’s of no ordinary means... it is by the power of a Holy Spirit that Jesus is conceived. So far, so good. Jesus is the successor to King David, and he comes into existence through Divine origins. In case the audience could not make the connection themselves, Matthew even inserts a direct quote of prophecy from the Scriptures, just to say, without any ambiguity: This is the guy we’ve been waiting for, the fulfillment of our covenant with God.

We tell different stories about people to communicate a particular truth about them, since it is impossible ever to convey all that it is to be someone simply through a single conversation. For instance, if one of Mrs. Tebow’s friends from Church saw her with Tim, helping her buy groceries in preparation for Thanksgiving, and said, “Who is that young man with you?” she would answer that Tim is her son, and she might tell a story about how he helped mash the potatoes and cook the green beans for the family gathering the previous year. If Urban Meyer, the head coach of the Florida Gators were asked who Tim was while a bunch of NFL scouts were watching a Florida football practice, he wouldn’t mention Tim’s skills at mash- ing potatoes—he would talk about Tim’s ability to read defensive coverages and plow through linebackers in scoring touchdowns. Again, if Tim were with a group of Christian missionaries in the Philippines volunteering at a rural health clinic, and one of the locals asked who the guy helping administer shots was, someone would answer that he was an American Christian missionary volunteering for the summer.
Each of these would be true; but each only tells one facet of who Tim Tebow is. It is not a lie to say that he’s a great help around the house at Thanksgiving, but leave out the fact that he won the Heisman trophy. And vice versa. His college coach is not doing him an injustice to talk about his downfield passing ability but leaving out the fact that he often helps his mother put the leaf in the dining room table before the family comes over. Meyer is a par- ticular person (a college football coach) talking to a particular audience (a group of NFL scouts) about a specific dimension of who Tim is (a great quarterback) and is trying to convey where he thinks Tim fits within the world that they operate (the NFL). Same thing with Matthew. Matthew is a particular person (a member of the Jewish community) writing to a particular audience (Jewish people interested in this person Jesus) trying to convey where he thinks this person Jesus fits within their understanding of Jewish history. So he talks about a very particular facet of who Jesus is, i.e. how he is related to Joseph who is the descendent of David, who is the descendent of Abraham, and how Jesus fulfills these prophecies.

Reflection Questions

1) Matthew is describing Jesus in one particular way, but how would you describe him to someone who was unfamiliar with the Jesus story? What sort of details would you give? Why would you choose those details and not others?

2) Think of the different dimensions of yourself, if someone were writing your story. What might different people say about you? Your parents, your college professors, your parish priest, your roommate? How would they tell the story of you?

3rd Sunday of Advent - 12 December 2010 [Cycle A]

Third Sunday of Advent - 12 December 2010 [Cycle A]

"You're almost there!"

The third quarter is THE WORST. The third quarter of anything. The third lap of the mile around the track. The third quarter of an academic semester at college. Being only halfway through writing a paper. The third quarter is, without a doubt, the toughest part—mentally—of any race, physical or otherwise. Same goes with Advent.

A couple of researchers studying exercise science and human biology decided to take a look at the lap times for world record-breaking milers to see if they could determine which laps were the fastest and which were the slowest. The results were unsurprising to anyone who has actually run a mile, particularly after having trained for it on the track: for most of the runners, the third lap was the slowest. The final lap was almost always the fastest, followed in quickness by the first lap. The researchers merely broke down the splits; they did not offer any suppositions as to why the third lap might be the slowest, but it is not hard to speculate.

Generally speaking... the first lap, you’re full of energy and excitement; you’ve been anticipating this moment for weeks, months, possibly even years. The combination of fresh legs and pent-up excitement is a potent mixture. The final lap is when you can see the finish—you’re almost there, so you’re drawing on whatever reserves you may have left in the tank to push through to the end. If you’re going to finish strong, you suppress the protests from your now-tired muscles and focus on the exhilaration you will feel upon finishing. (Those who have survived final exams, papers, qualifying exams, and other types of grueling academic “races” likewise recognize the feeling. Even if you’ve paced yourself well, you’re still forced to make that last push through to the finish, so you can finally rest and enjoy being done.)

The mile is a lot like Advent. Four laps to a mile; four weeks to Advent. And like a mile on the track, the season of Advent is a time of discomfort and anxiety. Of anticipation and eagerness for the feeling that follows. Humans recognize how difficult it is to do anything straight through with no breaks, and so all major team sports—football, basket- ball, soccer—have intermissions. Halftimes. It’s not just hard to play straight through— to pour yourself into that athletic competition wish such reckless, unrestrained inten- sity—it’s even hard for the fans to watch! Even the spectators need a break! And so football games, theatre productions, academic semesters (woooooh, Spring Break!)... All have intermissions about half-way through. Because otherwise—as a miler can attest—it’s really, REALLY hard to maintain 100% intensity straight through, and especially in the third quarter. The Church recognizes this, too. And so, the third week of Advent, we observe what is known as “Gaudete Sunday.” Also known as the Sunday when the priest wears “pink” and we light a “pink” candle instead of a purple one on our Advent Wreath.

In fact, the actual Liturgical color is “rose,” and it dates back to a time when the color worn by the priest were not purple, but black. Black as in penance. Black as in ashes and death and mourning. Advent, much like Lent, was seen as a time of radical penitence. After all, the readings focus upon John the Baptist’s calls in the desert for us to “Repent!” and to prepare ourselves for the coming of the Lord. And so the priests wore black at Mass, to remind us that we were supposed to be focused on our sinfulness, and more spe- cifically, on our ongoing effort to repent from that sinfulness to be ready for the coming of new life at Christmas. At a time when black symbolized death and penitence, rose— like the flower—symbolized hope and new life. Indeed, the word, “Gaudete” literally means “Rejoice” and calls us to hope.

“Gaudete Sunday” is so named because, back before we had a piano and a choir to open up Mass, the priest would enter to what is known as an “Antiphon.” (In fact, many daily Masses continue to use this in place of an opening hymn.) An antiphon is a fragment of a Psalm or part of Scripture that basically sets the tone for service. And on this Sunday in Advent, the opening antiphon begins with a call to “Rejoice!” and to be “hopeful!”

The opening antiphon of the third Sunday of Mass is basically like a big, hand-made posterboard being held up by your friends along the side of the track that reads, “You can do it!” or “Keep going!” or “You’re almost there!” The Church, in its understanding of human experience, knows that, during that third quarter of Advent, we need a little pick me-up, a little boost. And so, in the depth of winter, amid the season of repentance, we take a week to “Rejoice” and focus on the celebration we’re going to experience as soon as the race is over, i.e. at Christmas.

In your own life, think of the many “races” you have undertaken or in which you currently find yourself. Think also of this Advent season—of how you are “almost there” and to “keep pushing through” this third part, because next Sunday, we will light the final candle, and you will be able to see the finish line. By that point, you’ll get your second wind, and you’ll find yourself full of adrenaline (and possibly sugar cookies, hot cocoa, or candy canes) that will sustain you in the final lap. Therefore, “Rejoice!” and “Keep Going—You’re Almost There!”

Reflection Questions

1) Have you ever run a mile around a track? How about played some other sport? What was the toughest part, mentally and physically? How did you push through? What sustained you?

2) How do you experience the flow of the semester? How do you keep yourself focused and motivated, even when you are tired and just want to be done? What do you draw upon to keep you going?

3) How is your Advent going? Have you “paced yourself” well? What have you done in terms of repentance and preparation for the coming of the Lord? What might you do in the final two weeks? How could you “pick up the pace” if you haven’t done your best to this point?

2nd Sunday of Advent - 5 December 2010 [Cycle A]

Second Sunday of Advent - 5 December 2010 [Cycle A]

What's underneath the ritual?

Sermons on John the Baptist and the passages of Scripture that describe his desert ministry often focus on the theme of preparation. Preparation, after all, is the overarching motif of Advent—the call to “Prepare the way of the Lord!” is found explicitly in the Scriptures. And yet, in our eagerness to connect John’s vocation—getting the people ready for the coming of Jesus—to his incredible expression of abject humility—claiming himself unworthy even to carry the sandal straps of his successor—we may overlook the lines in between. In fact, it is probably the case that most who read or hear this passage have never paused to consider John’s other statement about the Pharisees and Sadduccees, whom he rebukes sharply. What is that all about?Returning to a familiar analogy may help.

John the Baptist may be likened to the fullback in football, whereas Jesus is the running back. In most offensive schemes, the job of the fullback is not to carry the ball himself, except very rarely, but rather to clear a path for the running back. That is, the fullback’s role is toprepare the way for the one coming right after him. It’s not about him, really—it’s about the guy behind him. He will almost certainly never be nominated for a Heisman trophy; he won’t be among the first players taken in the Draft; and most casual fans would probably be hard-pressed even to name their own team’s starting fullback on their team. Barry Sanders. Emmitt Smith. Walter Payton. LaDainian Tomlinson. Adrian Peterson. Running backs get all of the glory and win all of the awards. And yet, for the running back to gain any yardage at all, he needs to have a lead blocker. In front of every successful running back is a group of unheralded offensive players who clear the path so that the running back can do HIS job.

The Pharisees and the Sadducees may be likened to diehard football fans who know the rulebook inside and out and who follow the game as much as possible. They consider themselves experts, and they wield their considerable knowledge with zeal and, at times, condescension. In this analogy, they may be labeled “doubters,” insofar as they do not buy into this new fullback’s claims that his running back is the best in the business. In fact, they’re pretty vocal about criticizing the team... right up until they start having enormous success on the field, when all of a sudden they begin gushing about how great the gameplan is and claim they are 100% on board with the strategy in place for the running game. What John the Baptist is saying to these individuals is... are you really sold on this gameplan you’ve been so critical of? Or are you just jumping on the bandwagon now that all the other fans are rallying behind it? Do you really buy into what we’re doing? Or are you simply putting on a show of it? Is this newfound enthusiasm, in a word... legit?
The Pharisees and Sadduccees were undergoing this external physical gesture—being Baptized publicly—and yet John demanded to know from them, “What’s behind your action? What does all this mean to you?”

His words ring true for us today as we consider how we, ourselves, are taking actions to prepare for the coming of Jesus. Many of us will undertake any number of physical gestures this Advent—lighting candles on an Advent wreath, putting lights in our windows, listening to Christmas carols on the radio. And yet, John the Baptist looks us in the eye and says to us, “What’s behind all of that? Are you just doing it because everyone else is doing it? Or does this really MEAN something to you? Is the external ritual (in his case, Baptism in the Jordan; in our case, putting up Christmas decorations and baking sugar cookies) connected to or motivated by some deeper underlying sense of what this is all about?”

John the Baptist heralded a radical message—Repent! In other words, identify what needs fixing in your life, and take aim at it. Zero in on those things that you need to work on, in order to be properly prepared for the coming of Jesus into your life. His message is as potent and pertinent in the 21st century as it was for its initial hearers in the Middle East some two thousand years earlier. We, who undertake the external rituals, are asked bluntly, “What’s this all mean to you? What does the call to repentance entail, specifically?”

Reflection Questions

1) In what sorts of rituals or traditions to you partake each Advent? Do you light candles on a wreath? Open an Advent Calendar? What do these external gestures mean to you, in relation to the season of Advent itself and your attempt to prepare spiritually for the coming of Jesus at Christmas?

2) Do you feel like you ever are just “going through the motions” at Mass, or participating in something to do with your faith just because everyone else is doing it? Is there a connection between the rituals of your religious practice and your deeper-seated reli- gious beliefs? If not, should there be?

3) John the Baptist calls us to repentance as an explicit way to “Prepare the way of the Lord,” which many theologians have suggested to mean, “Preparing the way of the Lord (in our hearts).” What sorts of things might you need to address this Advent in order to prepare the way of the Lord?

1st Sunday of Advent - 28 November 2010 [Cycle A]

First Sunday of Advent [Cycle A] - November 28th, 2010

"Swords into Plowshares"

Swords are used to hurt people. That is the explicit purpose of their existence—to cause damage to another living being. A sword’s merits are evaluated upon criteria pertaining to that raison d’etre: its sharpness; how its weight and balance allow its user to thrust and strike with maximal force. Swords are necessary when people feel threatened or put on the defensive, and often times that same crippling sense of vulnerability leads people to go on the offensive preemptively, and to attack others.

Plowshares, that is, farm tools used to till the soil and prepare the earth for agriculture, are an object with a very different purpose. Made of the very same materials as swords, these instruments allow humans to produce food, to nourish their families and engage in constructive enterprise. Agriculture is a fundamentally life-giving type of activity. Swordsmanship is one that focuses on the most effective delivery of death. Swords exist to allow humans to destroy. Plowshares exist to permit humans to create new life.

In the ancient Middle Eastern society of which the Israelites lived, warfare between tribes was ubiquitous and unavoidable. Before modern agricultural practices allowed farmers to produce a surplus of food to support the community, it was incredibly difficult to reap enough produce from the land to stave off hunger and malnutrition. Such challenges were exacerbated in the desert lands of modern-day Egypt, Jordan, Iraq, and Israel, because water was so very scarce a commodity. In the face of prohibitive restrictions on natural resources like water, which was necessary not only for drinking but for irrigating the fields, and patches of vegetation that would allow sheep and cattle to graze, it was inevitable that various tribes would clash.

The tribes of ancient society were constantly on the defensive, always prepared for the next attack, or, conversely, seeking out new, better lands that they might come to occupy so as to give their own families the best chance of survival. Places that had sufficient access to water and vegetation; places that were elevated and easily defended. Swords had to be sharpened at all times; men prepared always to spring into action and defend their families from attack. So when Isaiah suggests that, on the Day of the Lord, the people would be able to beat their swords into plowshares, he is making an incredible claim: he is telling them that, no longer will they have to live in fear. No longer will they have to worry about being on the defensive and being prepared for the next battle. Beating swords into plowshares says that the constant threat of death is no more. All of the people’s energies could be poured into agriculture, that is, devoted to a fundamentally life-giving activity. With the weapons con- verted to farm tools and the men spending more time tilling the soil than learning the skills of swordsmanship, they would be able to produce more food. They would be able to spend more time with their families. To live in safety and peace—to flourish.

Obviously, this imagery has important meaning for our own day. The annual budget of the Pentagon is around $600 billion dollars. The cost of wars in Afghanistan and Iraq has topped $1 trillion. Imagine if all of those “swords,” were converted to “plowshares”—if the same resources we now commit to defending ourselves were put to the cultivation of life here at home. Funding better schools. Building more hospitals. Advancing medical research. There was only so much metal (the resource from which comes both swords and plowshares) to go around back then, and there is only so much money (the resource that funds education and military weaponry) in our own day. Imagine if Isaiah said to us today, “Melt down your tanks and build better highways. Defund the School of the Americas and bolster Teach for America.”

But the metaphor also bears import for us as individuals. Though the analogy is less literal, it is every bit as direct—we humans invest our psychological resources in “swords,” that help us ward off emotional attack from others. Perhaps we were ridiculed in school for our unique sense of style, and we develop the defense of “blind conformity” (or conversely come to loath whatever society deems “fashionable” and “hip”). Perhaps our intelligence caused us to be attacked at some point or another, and so we become arrogant and superior—or conversely, insecure and uncomfortable showing others our true talent for fear they will react with hostility. Maybe we have been criticized for our looks, or told we were not attractive, and so we develop defenses that help us cope with that threat of pain. Or we have gone through a painful breakup, and so we build up thick walls to keep others out and defend us against future hurt. The ancient Israelites sharpened their swords and thickened their walls to fend off attack from other tribes—many of us sharpen our sarcasm and thicken our emotional defenses to ward off the pain that can result from human relationships.

Isaiah’s words ring true for us on many levels—both communal and individual. What resources are we, as a nation, or you, as a person, investing in defense? What sorts of energies do we de- vote to keeping ourselves from harm, energies that could be invested in constructive, life-giving activities to help us flourish? The promise of Christ is that we will no longer need our swords. That our entire day can be devoted to bringing forth new life, whether it is plowing the fields or, for us, taking a pilates class; learning to play the guitar; trying the tango; or cultivating new friendships. The radical reality of Jesus is that accepting Him into our lives means we can beat our swords into plowshares. It requires an enormous leap of faith that, once this is done, we won’t ever need them again. It’s a risk, and a terrifying one. But it’s one made possible by faith. God says to us today: beat your swords into plowshares—I come to bring life, and death has no place in the Kingdom I am preparing for you.

Reflection Questions

1) What sorts of “swords” do you see us investing our current national or communal re- sources in? How are we motivated by fear, insecurity, and vulnerability to make sure our swords are sharpened and our readiness constant?

2) What types of plowshares might we create if we were converting our swords? What would the process of transformation look like?

3) What are some “swords” you have developed as defenses in your own life? What fears do you harbor? How are you on the defensive to protect yourself from hurt?

4) What would transformation of your own psychological “swords” into “plowshares” entail? Do you trust the promise of Jesus that your swords will no longer be needed?