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Each Sunday of Advent this year, I have focused my homilies upon the
beautiful Jewish prayer, “Maranatha.” It is generally
translated as “Come Lord.”
Unfortunately, we tend to hear that translation and think of the
prayer in somewhat trite terms, as if it were “invitation” or
perhaps even a “suggestion” for the Lord to come into our lives.
As an invitation, we’d be praying a bit more formally when we utter
Maranatha as if we were hoping for the Lord to come by for
High Tea (as the English call it), you know, to enjoy some tea,
biscuits, crumpets, and all sorts of small talk and gossip in the
front parlor. As a suggestion, we’d be praying a bit less formally
when we utter Maranatha as if we were concluding a telephone
conversation with the Lord and offered the suggestion that the Lord
stop by, you know, “Oh, and by the way, the next time you’re in my
area, Lord, why not stop by for a chat?”
Maranatha
isn’t either an invitation or a suggestion. No, the prayer is
actually a demand—a command, if you will—whereby we—God’s
creatures—tell God—the Creator—what He is to do. It’s a prayer that
turns everything around and upside down. We demand “Come Lord” as
Job did when he surveyed the terror and destruction all around him
that had completely destroyed his family and lifestyle. We demand
“Come Lord” as Jesus did when he realized the inevitable and cried
out beneath the olive trees in the Garden of Gethsemane, “Father, if
you would but take this cup away from me….” Whether we shake our
fist at God, like Job did, or cry out from the depth of our bowels
on the Cross of suffering and pain borne out of love, as Jesus did,
that’s praying Maranatha.
John the Baptist’s mother also cried out “Maranatha” because
she could not conceive and bear children. Her demand wasn’t simply
“Oh, pretty please, Lord, give me children and I’ll do anything for
you” but resulted from being labeled a sinner…a double burden of
pain and suffering. That is, to her friends and family alike, John
the Baptist’s mother had obviously sinned and the consequence was
that God rendered her infertile. They had a right to demean and
belittle the Baptist’s mother, awful sinner that she was. As
if that wasn’t bad enough, she would also never experience the joy
of motherhood or grandmotherhood. Staring at her sinful condition,
John the Baptist’s mother was incapable of doing anything to change
her situation. What she needed was for the Lord to save her, to
send the one who would free her from sin.
That is what crying out Maranatha means. We survey the mess
we’ve made of our lives, we see the stark reality into which we’ve
gotten ourselves, and we conclude that we are powerless to do
anything about it. Staring this reality straight in the eye—the
reality of our sin and impotence—we cry out, “Maranatha.”
That is, we demand, “Come Lord, save me. I am completely incapable
of getting myself out of the mess into which I have gotten myself.”
The
reason I call this prayer “beautiful” is because it emerges from
what is most destitute or “ugly” in our lives. The prayer comes
from deep within our bowels—the image is clear—where all sorts of
darkness is to be found and all of the dirt lays buried. It’s
the content of our lives that we don’t want to make public to any
other person—even a priest in the Sacrament of Penance—because, if
we do, we believe we likely would be rejected by others when, in
fact, we have already rejected ourselves. We are ashamed of all of
that stuff. We want to bury it—and we do bury it—as deep and hidden
as possible. That’s why we blush when we’re found out!
But, it’s when we take a very good look at that stark reality—the
truth of the person we’ve chosen to make of ourselves—that we are
reduced to shame and embarrassment. And, if we are without hope,
then there’s nothing we can do but continue to spend our days in all
of that muck and mire.
Sadly, this is an altogether common occurrence for most human
beings.
We
make choices, and sometimes very bad choices, that looked quite good
at the time. (Of course, that’s what temptation is!) Then, as
those choices play themselves out in our lives and impact the lives
of others as well, we become aware of the way we’ve not only
destroyed our lives but have also destroyed the lives of other
people. Alcoholics, drug, and sex addicts know this downward
spiral. Divorced people know this downward spiral. Liars know this
downward spiral. Murderers know it, too. People who gossip, bear
false witness, and form cliques that treat others as sub-human know
this downward spiral. Those smitten by materialism and consumerism
also know this downward spiral. Recognizing not only how I have
destroyed my life but also how I have destroyed the lives of so many
others, I am reduced to something that is much deeper than the
embarrassment, shame, and humiliation I feel and want to hide. I am
held prisoner by something more potent than the isolation and
depression I feel and pretend is the fault of everyone else.
Ultimately, I am reduced to powerlessness. I am utterly incapable
of being the person God has created me to be and called me to become
in my life because I’ve chosen to act in very inhumane ways.
Maranatha
is such a beautiful prayer—it’s our Advent prayer—because it emerges
from all of this decay and rot, just as trees, shrubs, and flowers
emerge in their fullest splendor each spring when they have been
fertilized and taken all of that rot into themselves and allow God’s
grace to transform it into physical and spiritual nutrition.
Looking at ourselves, we see darkness and death on all sides.
Realizing we are powerless, our anguish can cause us to lose
hope—and to damn the Lord—or to grasp onto hope—and to demand the
Lord. “Come Lord, save me,” we pray.
Isn’t it this a wonderful prayer? Likely it’s the most honest and
self-effacing prayer we can utter. We acknowledge that it is only
the Lord—the Creator—Who can save us—the Lord’s creatures—from the
evil we have freely chosen and the pain and suffering our choices
have inflicted upon the world! We heard this wonderful prayer in
the Psalm response:
O
shepherd of Israel, hearken,
From your throne upon the cherubim, shine forth.
Rouse your power,
And
come to save us.
Maranatha!
The
Season of Advent is the time when we work assiduously to see
ourselves for who we are—God’s creatures—and our complete and utter
dependence upon God—our Creator. Then, in that graced moment—as we
let all of those pretensions go and grasp onto the whole truth with
hearts full of hope—we realize that only God can save us. All we
have before us, then, is to await the day and to celebrate how God
has already saved us in the birth of His only begotten Son, Jesus
Christ.
A very brief commercial
break...
As
Catholics, we prepare for Christ's coming by celebrating the season
of Advent. During the coming four weeks, we prepare the way
for Christ to come into our own lives each and every day not just on
Christmas day. For Catholic families, let me suggest five
practical ways to prepare for Christ's coming:
1. Place
an advent wreath in the center of your dinner table. Each
evening before sitting down for dinner, have one member offer a
prayer of thanksgiving to God for His presence in the life of your
family and light the appropriate candle(s).
2. Use
an Advent calendar.
Hang an
advent calendar on the refrigerator door beginning on December 1st.
Each morning, before everyone scatters for the day, have one member
of the family open one door and read the scripture verse or describe
the biblical scene behind the door. This is a great way for
family members to keep focused on the coming of Christ for the rest
of the day.
3. Make
a Jesse tree. The Jesse tree is the traditional way that
Catholics recall Jesus' heritage, coming from the line of King
David, the son of Jesse. Have members of the family make a
symbol for each day of Advent that marks an important moment in
Israel's history (e.g., Noah's ark, Jacob's ladder, Moses' stone
tablets, David's harp). Then, each evening before everyone
goes to bed, gather the family around the Jesse tree, have the
family member explain the symbol, and hang it on the tree.
4.
Celebrate the Feast of St. Nicholas on December 6th. One
way to "put Christ back into Christmas" is to reclaim the
faith-filled life of heroic virtue revealed in the great Christian
saint, St. Nicholas of Myra. Besides sharing simple gifts with
family members, like placing candy in shoes that have been left
outside of the bedroom door, share some time with people who are
alone, in the hospital, convalescing, etc.
5.
Celebrate God's mercy. Advent is a particularly fitting
time for every member of the family to welcome the light of God's
forgiveness into the dark places of family life. Gather the
family together and go to church to celebrate the Sacrament of
Penance together. Then, go out for pizza to celebrate God's
mercy and a new beginning free from sin.
By
participating in these five practical activities to prepare for Christmas
day, Catholic families will not only have contemplated their need
for God and God's self-revelation through salvation history.
In addition, they will have experienced God present and active in
their family's life. Then, on Christmas day, when family
members greet one another by saying, "Merry Christmas," they all will
truly be prepared to celebrate the Mass wherein Christ will
strengthen and nourish them with his body and blood to bring Christ
to the world.
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HOMILY
