A Homily for the Third Sunday of Advent
Readings: Isaiah 61:1-a, 10-11 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24 John 1:6-8, 19-28
We like things to fit. It is how we make sense of the world. “This is where one thing ends and another begins. This is this, and that is that. This means this, and that means that.”
Granted, we are forever revising what “this” and “that” mean. Doing so is also how we make sense of the world. The world changes, and so do we. But only a fool would reject the notion that things should fit, that we should know where one thing ends and another begins. We cannot have a world, a concert of individual things, without distinctions. We have a name for the swirl of the indistinguishable; we call it “chaos.”
But consider Marci. She does not quite fit, and this is an important lesson we need to learn: Things do not always fit; not everything fits.
Marci never married, and she was nearing retirement when her unmarried niece became incapable of raising her three sons. There was no close member of the family to step forward.
Who would choose an older, unmarried great-aunt to raise three boys? No one! Except the great-aunt herself, and, watching it unfold over the years, evidently, God as well.
I drive by their home and see them playing in the yard. I see the whole family arrive at the Saturday vigil Mass, always a couple of minutes late and always seated in the back. I suspect Marci thinks her brood will disturb others. I have never observed any such thing. Marci is a wonderful mother to those boys. These four people clearly love and respect each other.
Marci prays that the Lord grant her the health and the longevity to see her boys raised. He seems to favor her petition.
We like things to fit. We need things to fit, but things do not always fit. Not everything fits, not even in God’s plan of salvation. God also improvises his plan, if we can call it improvisation when God does it.
Here’s an example. In the Old Testament, kings were ritually anointed to stand between God and the people. The spirit of God infused prophets as the need arose. Put another way, monarchy was an office; prophecy, a charism. One was fixed; the other was fluid. Yet Isaiah says:
The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me (61:1).
No prophet had spoken of being anointed previously. Why did Isaiah do so? Because the times were rough, because there was no one to represent the people before God. So Isaiah stepped in—“the Lord has anointed me”—even though he did not exactly fit. Someone had to do what needed to be done.
He has sent me to bring glad tidings to the poor,
to heal the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives
and release to the prisoners,
to announce a year of favor from the Lord
and a day of vindication by our God (61:1b-2a).
“A man named John was sent by God” (Jn 1:6). That makes sense. That fits, though the evangelist feels compelled to explain what it means and what it does not mean.
He came for testimony, to testify to the light,
so that all might believe through him.
He was not the light,
but came to testify to the light (Jn 1:7-8).
The Baptist has been sent by God, but he does not fit our categories. How do we make sense of him and what he does?
“Who are you?”
He admitted and did not deny it,
but admitted, “I am not the Christ.”
So they asked him,
“What are you then? Are you Elijah?”
And he said, “I am not.”
“Are you the Prophet?”
He answered, “No.”
So they said to him,
“Who are you, so we can give an answer to those who sent us?
What do you have to say for yourself?” (Jn 1:19-22)
Things do not always fit. At least, they do not always fit from our perspective. Yet they must fit for God because God is not chaos; chaos is not God. But how they fit for God is not always, at least not immediately, given for us to see.
John the Baptist knows who he is.
I am the voice of one crying out in the desert,
“make straight the way of the Lord” (Jn 1:23).
The prophet Isaiah knows who he is.
The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me (Is 61:1a).
And Marci knows who she is.
We like things to fit; we expect things to fit; we need things to fit. But we say that how things fit is something that we discover, not something we create. That means that we are not the ones who do the fitting, and we are not the ultimate judges of what fits. God is.
This sacred season of Advent reminds us that the great “fitter,” the grand architect is at work in ways we can neither understand nor even imagine. Are we to throw up our hands in frustration? No, we are to keep them pliable and open, ready to receive.
