Reflection written and read by Kris Veldheer.

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We are a people in a hurry. Do you keep your phone nearby even when you go to bed? Are you always available if someone needs you? Recently I came across something called a culture of urgency. A culture of urgency is the idea that people are always free and available to respond to any and all requests. Does that sound like your life? It sounds a lot like mine.  The readings appointed for this Sunday have an urgency about them too. From the emphatic questions in the Isaiah passage to Paul’s urgent opening statement in 1 Corinthians about his obligation to preach the gospel, reading the lessons appointed for the day could leave you breathless.

The Gospel lesson from Mark is no less urgent. In these eleven verses we go from synagogue to house, to a deserted place, to neighboring towns around Galilee. This is a whirlwind tour!  We aren’t even out of the first three verses when we meet the first woman mentioned in Mark’s Gospel, although we only know her as Simon’s mother-in-law. This woman stands out to us for two reasons. First, for being the only person in Mark’s Gospel who is healed by Jesus and then does something for him, by serving him. Second, Mark uses the Greek word for service- diakonein– which means to wait tables. But this was charged language and meant more than waiting tables. Mark used the same word earlier in Chapter 1 to describe the way the angels ministered to Jesus after his forty days in the wilderness.

The urgency continues even as Simon’s mother-in-law serves Jesus and the disciples while the sick and demon possessed line up at the door waiting for Jesus to cure them. There is a deep humanity in this gospel reading. We see Jesus in the thick of the day-to-day motions of living in a specific time with specific people who were drawn to him because a word or a touch from Jesus had the power to release them from the forces of chaos and to heal them. But amid all the urgency and rush, Jesus does something unexpected, he goes out to pray in a deserted place. While the whole world was at Simon’s door, Jesus shuts down for a while. But soon enough Simon and his friends find Jesus and get back to their travels, to preach the good news and cast out demons in Galilee.

Among the crush of so many people in need of healing, Jesus comes to teach us how to live in this passage from Mark’s Gospel. Even though we are very early in the book of Mark, this is a text we can claim for ourselves. Like Jesus, we may need to take time from the hurry and urgency of our everyday lives to shut down and to pull away to refocus on what God is calling us to do or be. Everyday life is overflowing with what we could and should do. Many of us are pressed on all sides by someone or something demanding our time and energy. So was Jesus, and it is vital that we, like him, find a deserted time to focus on our main task in life of answering God’s call.

Reflection written by Dianne Bergant, CSA

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Nowadays we seem to be dissatisfied if we are considered ordinary. We seek to be the first or the best, or at least to belong to the group that is first or best. Yet, most of us are really quite ordinary people living ordinary lives. Despite this, there need be nothing ordinary about being ordinary. With this Sunday we enter the interlude between seasons. Christmas with its excitement and glitter is behind us and the sober experience of Lent followed by the glory of Easter is in the future. In the liturgical year, this is the period known as Ordinary Time. It is the time during which we reflect on the very ordinary ways that God enters our lives, thus making them extraordinary.

The first reading recounts an event in early life of the prophet Samuel. As a young boy he lived in a religious shrine, entrusted to the keeping of the old priest Eli. One very ordinary evening he went to sleep and was awakened by a very strange occurrence. Both he and Eli to whom he reported this occurrence misunderstood what was happening. He thought that Eli was calling him; Eli thought that the boy was mistaken. Who could have imagined that God was calling Samuel out of sleep? Furthermore, who would have thought that God would choose a young boy, one with no power or prestige, someone whose chief responsibility was making sure that the light in the sanctuary was kept burning? Surely there were others more qualified.

A comparable situation is described in the gospel passage. In it Jesus appears to be so unremarkable that John the Baptist has to point him out to two of John’s disciples. In this account, Jesus does nothing that will attract attention. He does not yet have a following. And, unlike his depiction in much religious art, he does not look or dress differently. He is just an ordinary Middle Eastern man. There is no miraculous healing that amazes the crowds; there is no dramatic instruction that mesmerizes his audience. He is simply passing by the people who are standing around. It is a very ordinary scene. Yet John knows who he is and informs his own disciples of Jesus’ hidden identity: “Behold the Lamb of God.” It is only after the two disciples spend the day with Jesus that they realize how extraordinary he really is.

Perhaps what Paul describes in his Letter to the Corinthians is the most startling example of the extraordinary hidden within what is ordinary. He argues that ordinary human beings, by means of faith, are members of Christ. Their human bodies, thought weak and limited, are temples wherein dwells the Holy Spirit. He further claims that since God raised Jesus from the dead, God will also raise all those who are joined to Jesus. Paul insists here on the dignity of the ordinary human body because he is condemning the licentious lives of many of the Corinthians. He is trying to show them that their immoral behavior is violating the very bodies purchased by Christ at the price of his blood.

In these three incidents, the extraordinary was not at first apparent. It takes eyes of faith to recognize it. Both Samuel and Eli initially misunderstood the voice, but when they realized that it was God calling in the night, they accepted its message. Paul rebuked the Corinthian Christians who had lost sight of their bodily dignity and were participating in illicit practices. Those who accepted his words glorified God though the morality of their lives. Initially the disciples of John saw nothing unusual in Jesus. However, they listened to John’s advice, spent the day with Jesus, and eventually became his disciples. At first, all these people saw only what was obvious. However, in each instance God called them to deeper insight through the agency of another.

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Reflection written by Ferdinand Okorie, CMF

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Recently, I was in the crowd at a dissertation defense of a young woman whose family fled violence from her native country into the United States. For every member of her family, English language was foreign to them, except in the movies and TV shows they watched with subtitles back home. Notwithstanding the challenges of a foreign language and a culture, they were convinced of the providence of God in their successful relocation to the United States. She believed that the efforts of her family alone would not have made their relocation to the United States a reality if God was not guiding the process from the beginning through their successful resettlement. She overcame the challenges of learning a new language to earn a doctoral degree in Business Administration. When I congratulated her at the end of her successful dissertation defense, she bellowed: “God gave me this degree, and made this country a place of success for me.”

In the first reading today, God has positioned Jerusalem as the center of a new life and a new beginning for all peoples. God has made Jerusalem the place of shelter, refuge and encounter for all peoples. Jerusalem becomes a place where divine glory and splendor spread out to the ends of the earth bringing about a happy life for all peoples (Isaiah 60:1-2). The tradition identifies Jerusalem as the city of God, and the dwelling place of God on earth. God has made the city a beacon of hope, a standard of good life and human flourishing for all peoples. It is important to keep in mind that the role God has assigned the city of Jerusalem includes the inhabitants of the city, the children of Israel (Isaiah 60:4). Therefore, God has given the city and its inhabitants the mandate to make the presence of God known in the world. The splendor and the shining light of the city is amplified by the inhabitants of Jerusalem who mirror the presence of God in the world.

The same is true in the second reading as St. Paul speaks about his stewardship of the presence of the grace of God to benefit the church in Ephesus (Eph 3:2). He received the revelation of the mystery of the presence of God in the world; and he positioned himself to be the herald of God’s invitation of relationship with the gentiles, who through Paul’s ministry have been called into membership in the household of God. In other words, through the revelation of the mystery of God in Jesus Christ, gentiles have become children of the household of God with the rights to inheritance (Eph 3:6). They have become members of the same body, sharing in fellowship, equality and nobility. In Jesus Christ, God has united the human family into one divine household as the visit of the Magi revealed in the gospel reading.

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Reflection written and read by Joanne Doi, MM

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The reading from Sirach affirms that honoring our mother and father in youth and old age honors God as our prayers are heard. Caring with kindness, consideration and patience for as long as they live, even if their minds fail, firmly plants against the debt of our sins or rather, brings us closer to God as the sacred shines through their vulnerability and touches ours. In today’s world, the challenge of caring is great since often family members are located in different cities, states, even countries, and continents. We also have blended families, families of “choice” of those near and dear to us, even laying our life down for one’s friends who have become family. In a way, God chose a family for Jesus with Mary and her betrothed Joseph, who was not his biological father, yet a loving parent in every sense. Thus they are the Holy Family.

Yet Jesus will not have the opportunity to care for his parents in their old age as Luke’s gospel has Simeon blessing and saying to Mary that Jesus is destined “to be a sign that will be contradicted” and a sword will pierce Mary’s heart. The cross will take him and hearts will be broken. Parker J. Palmer writes that “there is no way to be human without having one’s heart broken,” and notes two ways for the heart to break. Broken apart into “a thousand shards” of an unresolved wound that inflicts its pains upon others or “broken open to hold one’s own and the world’s pain and joy,” deepening heartfelt compassion, empathy, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience, as St. Paul writes to the Colossians. The peace of Christ that emanates from a love that is stronger than death transforms a heart broken apart to one that is broken open in our vulnerability that can connect with others’ suffering and sacredness, called into one body. This expansion of love gives cause for “singing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God.” Frederich Buechner reminds us that where God seems most helpless and fragile is where God is most strong; “just where we least expect God” is when God comes most fully.

That we are living in heart breaking, despairing times is an understatement, with wars and conflicts erupting across the globe; horrific loss of many family members is real and stark. Climate change threatens our common home. Refugees, migrations and politics accelerate the disruption of families. For those in solidarity, reference to compassion fatigue is now common. Yet a larger sense of family can help us orient our healing and deepen our convictions for peace. Here I refer to the indigenous concept of All My Relatives (Mitakuye Oya’sin in Lakota) that includes the four legged, two legged, winged creatures, all of creation. We are all interconnected in our vulnerability and strength. The earth herself offers her life energies even as she is suffering from the destruction of wars and increasing carbon footprints. As the Covid pandemic revealed, she is able to rebound when we pause from polluting and extracting. Can we care for our Mother Earth in her old age and thus for each other? Thus, may God hear our prayers for peace in our hearts, peace in our world and teach us how to live in the tragic gap between what is and what could be with faith and hope.

Reflection written and read by Roger Schroeder, SVD

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The Christmas vigil and “midnight” Masses—with the Christmas carols, crib scene, decorated church, messages of joy, and the gospel readings from Matthew and Luke—invite us into an old and a new experience of Christmas. One of my aunts told me that the most sacred time of the year for her was being absorbed by the Christmas music before midnight Mass.

The gospel of John on Christmas morning now invites us to turn to reflecting a bit more intentionally on this experience for its deeper meaning—bringing the head together with the heart. The well-known Prologue of John is very different from the beginnings of the other three gospels. The outline of these verses was probably initially a hymn within some early Christian communities before the verses became the prefix for John’s gospel. They situate the meaning of Christ’s birth within the much larger history of humanity and all creation.

The first five poetic verses offer a beautiful cosmic image, starting with “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” The first-time listener to this phrase may wonder about the term “Word” (“logos”), but John’s community was probably already familiar with the use of this philosophical term by Philo of Alexander to describe the divine presence within creation from the beginning through which all people can know God. In verse 17, John identifies the logos as the pre-existing Word that became flesh in Jesus Christ.

The words of “life”, “light”, and “darkness”, which are highlighted in these initial verses, provides a connection between the grand narrative and daily experience, and between (positive and negative) memories of the past and hope for the future. “What came to be through him was life, and this life was the light of the human race; the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (Jn 1:4-5). What a Christmas message—the darkness has not and will not overcome the light of Christ and of God! We all know the power of darkness—loss, depression, war, violence, sickness, addictions, betrayal. The Word that became flesh experienced lack of recognition and rejection (Jn 1:10-11), and yet “grace and truth came through Jesus Christ” (Jn 1:17b). And like John’s community, we are to believe in that “glory as a father’s only son” (Jn 1:14) which is the true identity of Jesus. And furthermore, the good news is that we share in that same glory as “children of God” (Jn 1:12).

The first reading from Isaiah complements the message of light in the face of darkness with words of glad tidings, peace and good news (see Is. 52:7). More importantly, this is extended to “all the nations” and “the ends of the earth” (Is. 52:10; see Ps 98:2-3). Of course, this is both a hopeful message and challenge for us. On the one hand, the pre-existing Word with God’s loving intention for life and light was and is extended to all peoples of all times and into all of creation. At the same time, we are challenged to be instruments of this vision and practice as diverse individuals, communities, cultures/races, generations, nationalities, and as church.

“What came to be through him was life, and this life was the light of the human race; the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (Jn 1:4-5).

BLESSED CHRISTMAS!!!

Reflection written by Gil Ostdiek, OFM

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Advent and Christmas are seasons filled with stories. They tell the story in many forms: baroque Christmas concertos, religious hymns and popular Christmas carols, literary masterpieces by Dickens (A Christmas Carol) and O’Henry (The Gift of the Magi), medieval plays and modern opera (Amahl and the Night Visitors), Renaissance paintings of the Annunciation, Madonna and Child, and the adoration of the magi, simple children’s stories, songs, and rituals (gift-bearers St Nicholas, Santa Claus, Befana), the little drummer boy, and especially the Christmas cribs. Cribs owe their inspiration to St. Francis of Assisi, who set up a simple nativity scene of live ox and donkey, and manger with straw in a cave outside Greccio in the early thirteenth century, so he and local townsfolk could see with their own eyes the poverty and self-giving love of the newborn Christ. Cribs have gradually developed into many forms: with sculpted images, nativity sets including local townsfolk, and living nativity scenes played by young children.

These are all winsome and gentle ways to remember the story of Christ’s birth and to delight in telling it again and again. His life from birth to death has been called ”the greatest story ever told.” But we are not the first story-tellers. God is. We love stories because God loves stories and we are “created in God’s own image . . . and God found it very good” (Gen 1:27, 31). The story God tells is a much larger story, an epic as grand as the universe itself, yet as tiny and delicate as the smallest subatomic particle.

We get a first clue in today’s second reading. It begins to lift the veil on God’s “mystery kept hidden from long ago” (Rm 16:25). Not a mystery novel, but something much more wonderful. God has a secret plan, a dream. God did not need creation; rather, God loved all creation into being. God graciously shared the gift of existence and life out of love. God is love (1 John 4:7-10). God does not selfishly hoard that love, it must be given away (Ad Gentes, 2).

The wonder and beauty of this vast universe tell us something else about God. Creation also revealed something of God’s secret, that God loves beauty (Wisd 13:5; Rm 1:19-20). And there is yet more to be revealed. God could not keep that love selfishly hidden between the three Persons. God wanted to have a creature who could freely return that love as fully as possible. The Incarnation was what God dreamed of from the beginning and wanted most of all, according to medieval Franciscan theology. That human lover would also need to share love with others like itself. They would require a habitat with sunlight, water, air, and food to sustain life. God loved all that is into being, to share life and love.

The first reading gives us another clue to God’s grand design (2 Sm 7:1-16). When David thought to build a house for God, God turned the tables on him. Through the prophet Nathan, God let David know that he would provide “a place for his people Israel” and a descendent of the “house of David” in whom David’s “house and kingdom shall endure forever.” “I will be a father to him and he shall be a son to me” (2 Sm 7:5-14). The promised “revelation of the mystery kept secret for long ages now manifested through the prophets” (Rom 16:26) would soon reach fulfillment in a new covenant, like the covenant at Sinai and all those that preceded it throughout God’s great epic. From the creation of nature on, God’s plan has favored relationships, from the entanglement of subatomic particles, to flocking and gathering together of fish, flora and fauna, to human community. God loves things in community; God is a God of the group.

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Reflection written and read by Anne McGowan, Associate Professor of Liturgy

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As Advent advances, so does the urgency for God to do great things for us, for generations to come, and for all God’s creation. In the growing light cast by Advent’s rose candle, we rejoice. We rejoice, however, not by peering at the world through rose-colored glasses but rather because God has revealed reasons for rejoicing that extend beyond our vision and even beyond our hopes. God is near peddling extravagant promises. We meet God giving resplendent robes here, slathering prophets with the oil of gladness there, and sowing seeds of hope everywhere. God the patient gardener nurtures growth that will “make justice and praise spring up before all the nations”—including the ones now devastated by wars, by natural disasters, or by the malignant effects of social sin. God leans low to break what binds us, precluding the stigma and shame humans inflict on one another through poverty, racism, and constructing categories for exclusion. God alleviates anguish arising within when we flounder in our past failures and cannot forgive ourselves. God manifests mercy to the fearful. God helps. God heals. God the Almighty Holy One remembers us. With Emmanuel who is still coming, God continues unfurling the great plan to re-member us in and with Christ. The Spirit dwelling within and among us reminds us to remember when we forget – and to rejoice. “Rejoice in the Lord always,” exhorts the entrance antiphon for the Third Sunday of Advent; “again I say, rejoice. Indeed, the Lord is near.”

This God of generosity and justice grows our capacity to do nothing less than bear God within us, to act as Christ’s body in the world because of who we are in Christ, and to respond nimbly to the nudgings of the Spirit of God who is upon us and in us too. Like Isaiah, we have become anointed announcers who proclaim how favored we all are by God. And we rejoice! Like Mary, we acclaim God’s greatness and goodness to us and to all who are steadfast or stalled or struggling to attend to God’s logic and participate in God’s plans. And we rejoice! Following the trajectory of John the Baptist’s ministry, we attract the curious, admit who we are in relation to God’s coming, accept our identity in God’s great plan, and finally activate and animate the paving process that makes the way ready for God to come soon, to come now, to come again! And we rejoice with that voice crying out in the wilderness, and sometimes we rejoice as that lone-but-never-alone voice in the wilderness.

We keep rejoicing unrelentingly because God has come, will come, and is still coming. We are strengthened to be faithful because God who calls us and sends us was faithful first. When there is a gap between our calling and our sending for the service we were uniquely created for, we remember that the one who calls us is faithful and will accomplish the holiness in us that we could not otherwise dare to hope for ourselves. There is a map in CTU’s Atrium studded with stickers indicating “where God found us” and “where God sent us.” Whether we are well on our way or still waiting for the contours of our sending to be fully revealed as we set about our way-straightening work with the light we now have, we rejoice.

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Reflection written and read by Carmen Nanko-Fernández, Professor of Hispanic Theology and Ministry

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Those who know me might be surprised to learn that I am a fan of Project Runway, a reality show featuring aspiring fashion designers. As a theological educator, I appreciate the program’s creative challenges. They motivate participants to consider the interactions between textiles, contexts, resources, audiences, messaging, and the designers’ own talents, growing edges, and points of view.

With that in mind, I am drawn to the fashion forward description of John the Baptist in Mark’s gospel as “clothed in camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist. He fed on locusts and wild honey” (1:6). Original audiences would have made a connection between John’s outfit and the prophet Elijah (2 Kings 1:8), signifying the mantle of prophecy they shared. From the perspective of 21st century sensibilities, contemporary audiences may imagine John to be a man with expensive tastes, attired in sartorial elegance and dining on exotic delicacies.

This portrait contrasts sharply with the ascetic John that many of us have inherited, also influenced in part by interpretations of his clothing and diet. We tend to be more familiar with an image like the painting San Juan Bautista by the late 16th century artist El Greco. Gaunt, scantily clad in rough-hewn vesture, Juan confronts us from his wilderness. Beneath his cruciform staff, a lamb rests near his feet, alluding to the Baptist’s role as precursor to Jesus.

John’s fashion sense, however, may have been more practical than ascetical. For an itinerant preacher who spent time in the desert, a camel hair garment would have proven quite versatile. Known for its insulating properties, such raiment provided protection from the elements. Much like sarapes, they were multi-functional, serving as both apparel and blankets. At the very least, the details of John’s clothing indicate an adaptation to his place.

When it comes to food, in his investigation of honey in antiquity, biblical scholar James Kelhoffer offers a similar contextualization with respect to details mentioned in today’s gospel. The source of the wild honey—whether derived from bees or from fruit trees—does not matter. Kelhoffer suggests “the reference to John’s honey has more to do with where John was rather than what he ate…. John’s food is simply a reflection of what was plentiful in his midst: insects and uncultivated honey” (72).

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Reflection written and read by Mary Frohlich, RSCJ, Professor Emerita of Spirituality

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In these days when news of wars, ecological catastrophes, and political fragmentation swirl about us constantly, how we long for God to “rend the heavens and come down”! If only God would intervene decisively in the messes we humans have made, instantly raising up a new world sparkling with love and righteousness. This poignant longing remains even when we know very well that God is unlikely to act in this way. A glance at the cross reminds us that even God’s Beloved was not rescued from the horror of pain and injustice. As Advent begins, we are invited to reflect long and hard on what it really means for God to enter our world and make it new.

The gospel for today makes it clear that this reflection cannot be superficial. We may have an abiding faith that God is always at work, but that does not mean it is easy to discern what God is really up to in the world. Jesus tells us “You do not know when the lord of the house is coming.” We must be willing to dwell in that uncertainty for a long time, without losing our readiness to respond when the realization comes that the moment to do God’s work has arrived. This long unknowing may be more difficult for our generation than for previous ones, since we expect all our questions to be answered instantaneously with a quick search of our phones. The question of recognizing God’s presence and action, however, is different. It will require honing a different set of skills.

“Be watchful! Be alert!” says Jesus. Watchfulness has several levels, but the first and most basic is awakening to our own senses. In a harried and screen-saturated world, we often remain oblivious to most of the sounds, sights, smells, tastes, and touches through which the myriad beings with whom we share life are offering us their presence and their gifts. To return to our senses, we must turn away from our screens, slow down, and gently enhance our physical alertness. I have been astonished at how a walk I have taken a hundred times, in an urban location not known for any special natural beauty, can become almost paradisical simply by practicing this gentle alertness of the senses. A multicolored insect, some heads of grass waving in the wind, the woody fragrance of moist soil, the rippling touch of the breeze on my skin, a bird’s simple trill – each small detail, deeply received, reveals wonders. One discovers the presence of God shining forth from the very heart of the world.

Watchfulness in prayer takes us to another level. Like life, prayer too has its seasons of uncertainty, when one can only wait and watch without clarity about how to find the God for whom one longs. With Isaiah, we complain that “you have hidden your face from us, and have delivered us up to our guilt!” Here too we are invited to an ever-deepening openness to all that emerges within our mind and heart. Sometimes one must traverse mountain ranges of painful thoughts and feelings, all the while alert for the tracks of the One who will guide us surely. We will recognize that One by his utter humility and kindness.

Meanwhile, we live in a culture addicted to screens. Whether we use them for doomscrolling or for endless entertainment, screens tend to nurture fantasies – some of them terrifying, others pleasurable. Contemplative watchfulness in nature or in prayer, on the other hand, reveals that the new world that God is actually raising up is not the world of our fantasies. Rather, it is a world where love finds a way to bloom everywhere – in every blade of grass, in every open heart and mind, and even, astonishingly, on the cross. “Be watchful! Be alert!” Only those who are awake realize the joy of this new world that is breaking forth here and now, right in the midst of this broken and suffering “old” world of our everyday lives.