As many of you will remember, I’m originally from New York, and I come from a family of New York City firemen. Almost without fail, whenever I tell someone those facts, they immediately ask something about September 11th 2001.
By the grace of God, none of my family or friends were taken that day. Still, as peoples’ instinctive questions indicate, there’s really no way to be from New York and not to have been deeply effected by the terrible events of that day.
As it turns out, I was a long way from my hometown on that fateful day. I was in the mountains of Colorado, beginning my novitiate: a mandatory yearlong retreat that all consecrated men and women complete as part of formation for their religious order.
Unable to go home to New York; unable to walk the now empty streets that I knew so well, I was left to search, from a distance, for hope in the ruins of the Twin Towers. But like so many others, I found it so hard to see anything but suffering.
In the weeks that followed, I knew that what I really needed was to go home, even to a home in ruins, to be with those I loved. I knew I couldn’t “fix” anything, but I sensed that that was where I was supposed to be – home – not to “do” anything, but to wait with my family and friends for the arrival of some sign of hope, for which we so desperately longed.
I tell you all of this, because it was that feeling of longing, both for home and for some form of hope, that helped me to finally understand what the season of Advent is all about.
In Advent we, like Mary, are pregnant – so to speak – we are longing, anticipating, waiting, hoping. Like Mary, who heard the angel’s message, and then went in haste to assist her kinswoman Elizabeth, we too go to the homes of those we love, and we prepare and we wait with them. We anticipate Jesus’ coming by readying a house for the newborn Messiah, just as Mary and Joseph surely must have done in Nazareth.
The season of Advent, and its theme of longing and waiting, and the ultimate hope that it offers, are thus uniquely and intimately linked with the home.
If you think about it, so much of this time of year speaks of this connection. As the weather gets worse and worse we spend more and more time in our houses – and we spend a great deal of time, and effort, and money, on decorating – and we clean and prepare our houses to welcome guests, and host dinners, and parties – or we travel great distances to go home to be with our families and loved ones for the holidays.
It’s fitting, therefore, that in our first reading – which is a quintessential Advent reading – the prophet Isaiah, gives a vision of the Messianic kingdom – a vision of how things will be when the Lord comes at the end of time – and he says: “the mountain of the Lord’s HOUSE shall be established as the highest mountain . . . all nations shall stream toward it, many peoples shall come and say, “come let us climb the Lord’s mountain to the HOUSE of the God of Jacob.”
Building off of the readings we’ve been hearing these past several weeks, about the end of time, Isaiah offers a hopeful vision of the Lord’s coming – and it is a vision of all the nations streaming towards God’s house, where He readies and prepares a place for us, as Jesus promised – and where we gather with all people as brothers and sisters around the Banquet Table of Heaven.
This is undoubtedly a vision of great hope and peace. But thinking about this theme of God’s house might also unsettle us just a little . . .
Remember with me, back just a few weeks ago, when our Gospel reading was the story of Zacchaeus, the little sinful tax collector who climbed a sycamore tree to see Jesus. Remember that in response, Jesus calls Zacchaeus down and says, “I must stay at your house this day.”
I pointed out then that this is how grace works. It doesn’t ask politely, it doesn’t wait for an invitation. It pretty much barges right in, virtually unannounced, and it makes demands, and it takes over the house completely!
Especially at this busy time of year, this can be a terrifying thought: “Jesus is coming to dwell in my house? But my house is cluttered with piles of dirty dishes, and laundry, and decorations, and gifts.
And then there are the cobwebs and dust-bunnies, and things that are out of place and out of order.” And of course, if we’re honest, we’re not just talking about our house – we’re talking about the house of our souls as well.
God’s house is the place where all things are ordered according to Him – where all people correctly worship Him alone – that’s what gives the world the peace for which we long. And God desires to establish that house not just at the end of time, on the mountain of the Lord, but in the minds, hearts, and souls of each and everyone one of us. He wants to dwell in us.
But which one of us can say that the house of our own lives is ordered perfectly according to God and ready for His coming? None of us, I think.
So, this Advent season is more than a time for us to prepare our house for Christmas parties, and for our long winter nap. It’s a chance for us to prepare our souls for “the days to come” when “salvation will come to our house.” We are given this season each year to prepare a home for the Lord’s coming, a place for Him to dwell within us.
I want to conclude by briefly returning to the lessons I learned from that long Advent of 2001. I learned not only that Advent is a time of homing, and a time of longing, and of hope – I learned that Advent is a time of homing, and longing, and hope, even in homes that lie in ruins.
Even when things are going wrong, especially when things are going wrong, Advent is a season from which a message of hope can be drawn.
Even when there is war, and hunger, and suffering in the world; even when our hometowns, or our homes, or our souls, seem to lie in ruins, Advent reminds us that Jesus is still Emmanuel – God with us.
Jesus does not come only to houses that are perfectly prepared – He does wait to come into the world until all is already ordered and at peace. He comes to dwell with us in the ruins, and it is Him who rebuilds, and cleans, and restores right order.
Saint Augustine once wrote: “Lord, the house of my soul is too small for you to enter – make it more spacious by your coming. It lies in ruins – rebuild it.”
Brothers and sisters, as we observe this Advent season, let this be our prayer as well. Yes, let’s clean and decorate and prepare our homes for the holidays, and yes, let’s commit ourselves during Advent to the spiritual practices that will prepare our souls for the Lord’s coming. Let’s commit to prayer, and penance, and the Sacraments, and to acts of charity.
But let’s also recognize that in the end it will be the Lord who accomplishes these things in us. Let us give thanks that He comes to bring hope and salvation to the House of Israel, and to our homes, even should they lie in ruins.
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