A dialogue on the Readings for the Third Sunday of Advent
R. Millan, The Infant Christ Giving Water to the Infant John the Baptist
RICHARD: Dear Giovanni, these days, we might wonder what Saint Paul was thinking when he wrote “Be happy at all times” to the Thessalonians in the passage that we hear in church today. I am not saying that Paul is writing nonsense here or that Holy Scripture is wrong. So, how can today's readings be good news for us on this third Sunday of Advent? Despite the third candle being lit and the liturgical colour is rose instead of purple - although you and I might agree that “rose” is just a fancy word for pink panther pink - it does not seem like a time of great joy, this Sunday Gaudete. Where do we proceed from here? Where will we find joy in these dark times? The example of Saint John the Baptist in the gospel today might give us some insights.
When John is asked, “Who are you?” he gives this rather peculiar answer. Instead of saying, “I am John,” he begins to say who is not. So, he says, I am not Christ, I am not Elijah, I am not a Prophet. And then, citing the prophet Isaiah, he says, “I am a voice that cries in the wilderness.” John completely empties himself; we call that kenosis to become this tool in the hands of God, to prepare the way of the Lord. John’s message, life, and work are not about John, but Christ. And because of Christ, John is making himself vulnerable, unworthy. But in that vulnerability and unworthiness lies his strength.
Dear friend, one way of understanding the Christmas message is to see how our access to God is proportionate to our vulnerability. John makes himself vulnerable for Christ, and God makes himself vulnerable in Christ, being born in a manger among the weak and marginalised people in society for whom there was, and is, no room.
“We must be open to God and to others, and that means being willing to suffer with or for others, to be dependent on others and therefore to be vulnerable to them. Yes, vulnerable even to their fears. Only in vulnerability to others will we become strong in ourselves because it is the other who gives structure to my one. The phenomenon of one alone is less than one, while the phenomenon of one vulnerable to the other becomes greater than the sum of its parts, and it turns fear into fortitude.” (Robert Hamerton-Kelly, sermon 14 December 2008).
We, simple human beings, still struggle with the idea of vulnerability, especially God’s vulnerability. We want God to be mighty and strong. We want God to take away all our present ills in one mighty sweep and restore the Merry Christmas we all long for. But, my friend, instead of God acting from on high, He is coming down to share in our vulnerability this Christmas. Once again, God takes the risk of love to lay himself in human arms as a defenceless baby. And that vulnerable little child in a manger is being handed to each of us at Christmas. What will we do?
In all likelihood, many of us will hand Him back or refuse to take the baby in the first place because they are still angry that “Christmas as we knew it” has been taken away from us. Some of us may be open and take the baby in our arms, embracing the Christmas message for what it is: accepting the responsibility for someone vulnerable because we are vulnerable. When we dare to do that, we will find that in this shared vulnerability, we start to find God. Amid the current crises, we begin to see some light. It will strengthen our hearts and give us the courage to move ahead.
Now, if this is true, if the Christmas message is about finding courage and hope, and even God himself, amid crisis and our vulnerability, then St Paul was right after all. We should be happy at all times. And we should give thanks that God is meeting us in crisis and a “Silent Night,” turning our fear into a fortitude.
N. Poussin, The Nativity
GIOVANNI: Dear Richard, it seems that following the instruction to “be happy at all times" is not the only seemingly impossible challenge St. Paul presents to us today. Indeed, how can we reasonably be invited to "pray constantly" and even to "give thanks for all things"? Amid our daily activities, how can we pray unceasingly? And when we are caught in a downpour without an umbrella (wanting to take the most trivial example), how could we ever be thankful?
The answer to these questions is far from obvious. If I attempt an answer, it is mainly because of the long months of silence spent in my noviciate and the effort to fill the time by living out a bit of the wisdom of the Desert Fathers. I believe that the answer again involves reconciliation with our vulnerability, which you mentioned in reference to being "always glad."
The desire to adopt the New Testament teaching of praying unceasingly has given rise in the East to the practice of the so-called “heart prayer” or “prayer of Jesus”. The text is extremely simple: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner." Monks recite this prayer almost continuously, making constant remembrance of God (memoria Dei), and emerge transformed.
Obviously, most Christians cannot devote the entire day to uninterrupted recitation of the Jesus Prayer. However, we can all cultivate during the day this spiritual attitude of memoria Dei. Even a brief moment, perhaps with a simple mental recitation of this prayer, can nurture in us that life of the Spirit who prays in us even when we are unaware of it.
Some might interpret the continual plea for mercy and self-identification as sinners as a way of once again demonising our humanity, falling into a kind of fearing servility toward God. I admit that this is a risk, especially at the beginning, but it is certainly not the real meaning of this prayer!
To affirm before God that we are sinners like the publican in the Gospel means recognising our vulnerability, the possibility of being hurt by others and hurting ourselves in turn with our morally wrong choices. Recognising ourselves in such a condition is not only an act of truth toward ourselves but also a constant opening to God's love, who can and wants to transform our vulnerability into the dwelling place of His merciful presence.
This unceasing prayer is not limited to our intimate sphere but, if authentic, is bound to change how we perceive the world. The famous Russian pilgrim of The way of a Pilgrim tells how, thanks to the prayer of the heart, he began to feel a burning love not only for Jesus but also for all creatures. He states, "The invocation of Jesus' name illuminated my path. Everyone treated me well, it was as if everyone loved me; if someone hurt me, it was enough for me to think 'how sweet is Jesus' prayer' and the offense and anger vanished and I forgot everything."
When our gaze on reality and on other people is transformed in this way, we can be able to "give thanks in all things," seeing God's love at work in every situation, even where evil seems to hold sway.
Dear Richard, I think we have put far too much on the table for this Sunday. And what we have been talking about seems so difficult that it sounds perhaps impossible to put into practice (one should perhaps blame St. Paul more than us!). However, we must not lose heart because being happy at all times, praying constantly, and giving thanks for all things are, first and foremost, the fruit of God's action in us. As St. Paul tells us again, "The One who calls you is faithful and will do all this!" Here is a good reason to be glad and give thanks!
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