Kent Beausoleil, S.J.

First Sunday in Advent – November 30, 2008 Homily

Readings: Isaiah 63:16-17, 19b; 64:2-7; 1 Corinthians 1:3-9; Mark 13:33-37

It was my senior year of college and I still needed one three credit hour course to graduate and so I had to stay behind alone that summer of 1985 in the townhouse that I normally shared with three other guys. My roommates and I had previously decided to cancel our phone service, since I was the only one going to be living in the townhouse, so that we all could save some money. And since this was 1985 and there was no such thing as an inexpensive cell-phone for the masses, and since very few students at the time had a computer, let alone an e-mail account, I was, in effect, ‘incommunicado’ with the outside world.

Yet, I was concerned, for I spent a major part of my college experience worrying about my mom who suffered terribly with emphysema. Every three or four months or so, she had to enter the hospital to have her blood cleaned, her blood re-oxygenated. And as I began summer school that senior year it had been a while since she went into the hospital to have this procedure done. And so with no way to keep in contact with my family that summer, I became increasingly worried for her. Well, one evening, after coming home from a night out with friends, celebrating an ‘A’ I had received on a test taken earlier that week, I hit the sack, and floated of into a deep, and to be honest, slightly room spinning sleep. I awoke in a jolt, to loud pounding on the townhouse door.

Looking at my watch I saw that it was three in the morning, I put on my robe and tentatively, if not with a little fear, walked down the lovely brown shag covered stairs. Immediately as I turned the corner to descend the stairs I saw the bright red flashing lights, the unmistakable sign of a police cruiser, splashing a red warning on the white washed walls of the townhouse. Now being a typical 21 year old college student who went out from time to time with friends and seeing it was the cops, I immediately went to the personal blame game: was I speeding on the way home from my time out with friends, did I blow a red light somewhere unawares, or did I in my post celebratory state, in this rural Illinois farm land university, hit a cow or park my car in a cornfield.

Well, buddy I said to myself, there is only way to find out, open the door, and see what the police officer has to say. I opened the door, the officer asked me for my name, I told him, and then he responded, ‘son, your family has been trying all night to get a hold of you, I cannot tell you what is going on, but you need to call home right away – something’s going on at home. Immediately my heart knew what it was, it was my mother. I thanked the officer, shut the door, and my heart sank; here when I was out celebrating my test victory my mother was hanging on for her life.

Shaking, and since I had no phone, I walked to the strip mall across the street, and entered there an all night diner.

It’s funny sometimes how certain rooms and spaces when coupled with our life’s journeys, with life changing events, can come to hold a special place in our dreams and hopes, in our fears, in our imaginations, and in our hearts.

And so, I walked into the waiting area of this diner, turned left, and walked down the restroom hallway, with its bright red wallpapered walls, its coat hooks, its restaurant issued high chairs, and saw the object of my destination, on the far wall, perfectly centered, there was a black and silver pay phone. I said a prayer to Jesus, and in the noise of that all night diner, on that warm and humid night, at three o’clock in the morning, I called home.

My sister Andi answered the phone, and filled me in on what was happening, it was indeed my mom, she was checked in to the hospital after dinner and was in a very bad way. Andi then dropped the bomb, she told me to come home right now. In tears she said that the doctors didn’t expect mom to last much longer. And then the funniest thing happened, as I hung up that phone, I felt the presence of Christ come, entering that diner’s hallway, and in the midst of this troubling and difficult time I felt the strength to not, well at least at this moment, lose it. I felt the strength of Christ assuring me that I could drive the two hours from school back home.

The truth of a Christ alive and there for me that night, of a Christ who sustained me, who touched my heart, and who brought me peace, was very real. In that moment, in the narrow, garish hallway, in that greasy spoon diner, with its banged up bathroom doors, ketchup splattered high chairs, dusty, dirty baseball caps and windbreakers hanging on hooks, ripped up telephone books, and that utilitarian telephone – here this space became a place of prayer, a place of sanctuary, a place which would become forever etched in my mind and heart as a place where Christ truly came. I drove home, went right to the hospital, held and caressed my mother’s hands, and her eyes looked at me with the pleading look that she was truly ready to let go of this world.

A while later, after my mom closed her eyes to rest, I drove my dad home, this man who was at my mom’s side all night, awake and alert, watching his loved one, so that he could get some rest and freshen up. The moment we pulled into our driveway, Laurie, another sister, told us to turn around and go right back, and that she would follow us, for the minute we left the hospital, mom had passed and at that moment I thought of that diner hallway and felt again the presence of Christ bringing me peace.

Yes, it’s funny sometimes how certain rooms and spaces, as experience meets faith, can come to hold a special place in our dreams and hopes, in our fears, in our imaginations, and in our hearts.

And so we begin this day, here in this space, the liturgical season of advent.

A time that begins in mystery, that begins in darkness. Mysteriously, during this season we await the coming of the Messiah. Yet, we already know from our faith that Jesus the Messiah both was born in the town of Bethlehem, and we already know from our faith that in the resurrection of Jesus and the coming of the Holy Spirit that the presence of Christ truly lives among us and is in us now. We know that Christ is indeed present here in this space, in our community, and in our hearts.

And so we find comfort, reassurance, and hope in the already of God and God’s intimate life with creation found in that child born in Bethlehem all those centuries ago. We are reassured then today by the prophet Isaiah for we have heard from his lips that we do have an intimate creator, our redeemer from of old, which is God’s name. We have a God who has come down, who meets those who work for justice and righteousness, who lovingly holds us and molds us like clay, who will never ever abandon us for we are all indeed, we are all indeed, the work of God’s hand.

We also find the presence of God in Christ Jesus alive in the world from our hearing of the words of Saint Paul. Paul, calls us to remember that we have, in Jesus Christ, indeed a God who sustains us, who is faithful, a God who in Christ Jesus has given us any and all spiritual gifts.

Further, we have the words of assurance in our Gospel from the very mouth of Jesus, from the Messiah who has already come, in words filled with promise and truth, that there will be one day the future coming of the Lord of the house, and so we are reassured both that our savior lived, lives and will come again.

So we are asked to hold in our hearts during this season of advent the already of Christ alive in those hearts, in our community, in our prayers, in our worship here this day. As I witnessed Christ in that diner’s hallway in my prayer and as I witnessed Christ in my family who loved and supported one another during this difficult and challenging time, we too witness to one another, through our gifts shared and the care we have for one another – the truth of Jesus’ presence among us. In our worship and the faith we profess we witness to the reality that God has indeed become incarnate in Jesus, and that the spirit of God’s love never dies. It is alive, in the depths of each one of our souls, in the way we find the Lord’s presence in family and friends as we love and support one another. Finally, we see in our world a Christ alive when goodness and justice triumphs over evil.

And yet, advent would not be advent, unless we own up to the reality that there is also a ‘not yet’ of Jesus, of a savior which is not yet fully present in our hearts and in our world. We are asked, in order to bring the full impact of our liturgical season to fruition, to focus on a time, to focus on a world, where the Messiah has not yet come, where that crib in the manger still remains empty, and a future time where the full richness and beauty of the created world will be filled with the fullness of God in a Messiah who will come again.

So much in our hearts, especially this first week of advent, where only one dim candle on our wreath is lit, remains dark, And so we await the coming of the light once again. So much in our world needs the loving hand of our creator, to once again send a Messiah to heal and save us once and for all, for all that is not right, for all which is still evil or unjust in our world.

So Isaiah today reveals the ‘not yet’ of our relationship with God, where we have been, as the prophet says, in our sins a long time, where our deeds are like polluted garments, where we call on the Lord to once again turn a loving face back to creation. And Paul, claims to the Corinthians, just as he claims for us, that we wait for the full revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ, who sustains us not just now, but til the end. And finally, Jesus, in words filled with clear impact, calls us to take heed, to watch, to keep alive in our faith for the time when the Lord of the house will come again. Jesus calls to us to stay awake, to watch, and to await the coming of the Lord.

And even though I felt the presence of Christ in that hallway and on that drive home, for example, there was much about my mother’s passing, her funeral, the emotions, feelings, and grief, that occurred after her passing, where my family and I felt so much the ‘not yet’ of Christ – of a Christ that we waited to take away our pain and loss, of a Christ to supplant our grief and to bring us once again life and hope – a not yet, that in some way, to this very day, for each of us, still awaits salvation.

Every one of us knows of our own struggles, we know of our own darkness, our worries, the loss of people we love, of relationships that mattered but now know longer work, of our own insecurity and areas of low self-esteem, of the many ways our troubled hearts hurt one another rather than love and so we await and pray ‘come Lord Jesus’.

We look out to our world and see an uncertain economy, and worry about our finances, our mortgages, our debt, and how we are going to make ends meet and so we await and pray ‘come Lord Jesus’. We look out to our world with its violence and terror, alive in Mumbai as well as so many other places, of war, in Iraq, and war in other worldly places where we again await and pray ‘come Lord Jesus.’ We look out to starvation, oppression, desperation, and injustice in our world and we cry in prayer ‘come Lord Jesus’.

We come to this place of faith, calling on the Lord, all of us in our winter coats, our caps dusty and sweat stained from life’s journey, and pass the parish offices and bathrooms. We move through the glass doors, and glide into these wooden pews which support the weight of our journey, and we embrace the noise, the communal talking and sharing, the song and the prayers, at this all night diner of hope, and are fed at the table of the Lord.

We find here, in this stained glass, baptismal water sprinkling, incense perfumed place, a space where the ‘not yet’ of our lives meets the ‘yes’

of our exultation. We enter into this space, turn to the object of our destination, the table of our thanksgiving, where, for two thousand years we have placed our hopes and desires, our needs and gratefulness, and there in word, sacrament, and community, we encounter the Christ of our longing and the hope of the Messiah yet to come. We find here, in the midst of the saga of wherever our lives journey has taken us, sanctuary.

Isn’t its funny sometimes how certain rooms and spaces when coupled with our life’s journeys, with life changing events, can come to hold a special place in our dreams and hopes, in our fears, in our imaginations, and in our hearts.

Yes, its advent . . .

and here in this room, alive among us, the phone is ringing, can you hear it?

Yes, its advent . . .

will we answer Christ’s call, and hear the Lord calling us with words of love.

Yes its advent . . .

there is a pounding at the door, can you hear it?

Yes, its advent . . .

will we open that door and let Christ become alive in our hearts and our world once again?

Will we allow the Messiah to come again – for the news that Christ is bringing, that God gifts us with during this season, is the good news of truth – a world filled with, yet still crying out for, hope-filled possibilities.

Yes, its advent . . .

and here in this sacred space where we live in the tension of the already and not yet of faith, we pray, ‘Come Lord Jesus.’

and we, in this place of sanctuary, and on our journeys, catch a glimpse of the divine and we believe.