Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 6:27-38

In today’s gospel selection Jesus lays out his prescription for how his followers are to transform society.  Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you.  And he goes on to give us several more impossible commandments.  Lending money to those who can’t repay you?  From the one who takes what is yours, do not demand it back?  From the person who takes your cloak do not withhold your tunic.  Is Jesus serious?  I can see loving my enemies -- in the abstract, of course.  I can even see praying for them, as long as I don’t have to actually deal with them personally.  But that’s not what Jesus is saying.  For Jesus is very serious about action -- love is a verb, not a noun.  

Before I try to put together a sermon, I usually do some research.  I don’t mind looking at other people’s sermons.  What was interesting about sermons people have written about this gospel is how often the illustration has an arrogant person being put down.  An example.  In a small town there was a bridge which was as wide as a single lane.  People knew that of someone was on the bridge you waited until they had crossed before you drove onto the bridge.  One day despite the fact that Mrs. Harrington was on the bridge, Mrs. Thobauld, got on the bridge going the other way.. When they met in the middle Mrs. Harington said, “I guess you didn’t see me.  Please back up and let me cross.  Mrs. Thobauld replied, “You back up.  I’m late for an appointment and In any event I wouldn't back up for a fool.  Mrs. Harrington replied, “Well in that case I will  back up because I always back up for fools”.  

And it was entertaining as I saw so many sermons where a similar story was the main point.  The idea being that someone who followed Jesus’ plan would have the last laugh.  Here’s another bridge story.  Two brothers had farms next to each other.  One day the older brother woke up to realize that his younger brother had dredged an eight foot trench between the two farms and diverted the river into it.  The older brother was furious and after much thought he hired a carpenter to build a fence so that he wouldn't have to even look at his brother’s farm.  The carpenter agreed and the next morning there was a bridge across the water.  The younger brother was half-way across with his hand out, asking for forgiveness.  “I was terrible to you,” he said, “and you have forgiven me”.  And the two brothers reconciled.  And the carpenter told them he had to leave because there were many other bridges to build.  

That’s a nice story also.  IF you follow Jesus’ plan your enemy will become your friend.  

But in real life, most of the time real enemies stay enemies.  You can forgive, you can give up what you're fighting over, you can lend money without expecting repayment, and the enemy is still your enemy.  It’s especially apparent in these days of the internet, where because it’s easy to be anonymous, you can do terrible things to someone, destroy his reputation, even destroy her relationships with her friends.  And you can do it because you can.  Enemies stay enemies.  

Jesus is not elaborating on his new way of life because he expects us to turn our enemies into friends.  His advice is not there so that if we follow it somehow it will shame our enemies.  I think the real point is that Jesus recognizes that living a transactional life is not the way to happiness.  A transactional life means that if someone hates me, I hate them back.  If someone borrows money from me I will count the days till I’m repaid, and if not I’ll sic the law onto him.  And if you take my cloak, do you think I’ll gladly give up my tunic as well?  

I don’t like confrontation; I don’t think most people do.  But avoiding confrontation is part of that transactional world.  If I don’t risk having an enemy, I won’t have to think about the topic at all.  Hermits don’t have problems with other people..

But Jesus wants you and I to be happy, and points us to the example of our heavenly father, who has a lot of enemies, but keeps on giving, because he is pure love and love has to give itself a way.  And the more we give love away, the more love we have to give away.  And when we step outside of the transactional world, where human relationships come down to quid pro quo -- If I give you something, what will you give me?  Then we will be happy.  

Someone once said, “Imagine you meet God and discover that he is your worst enemy?”  Those people who follow Jesus’ commandments don’t have to worry because the only way you can have an enemy is if you let someone be an enemy.  

Martin Luther King said, someone has to cut the chain of hate and the chain of evil in the universe -- and you do that by love. 

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 5:1-11

When I was in medical school, and especially later in my internship and residency, I didn’t realize it then but I was being broken down and put back together again.  I suspect that’s true of anyone who enters a profession or a trade.  You start out with the intention of learning a subject, but  you find yourself imitating those who are teaching you.  

In today’s gospel we see something profound happening to Peter.  This isn’t the first time Peter encounters Jesus.  Just before this passage Jesus healed Peter’s mother-in-law, and furthermore, spent much of that day healing people who came to him because they had heard about his reputation.  Surely Peter knew something was special about this wandering preacher.  But the real change happens when Jesus engineers that massive catch of fish.  OPeter and his partners were fishermen with a capital F.  They owned boats, they hired help, they knew their trade backward and forward.  Peter at Jesus’ request puts his boat out from shore so that Jesus will have a pulpit to teach the crowd.  But when the teaching is over, Jesus does a remarkable thing.  He tells Peter to put out into the deep and cast those nets once again.  

Peter and his partners had been at it all night. That’s the best time to catch fish with nets.  My dad was an ardent fisherman and he would go out at four in the morning to catch fish.  That’s when fish feed.  The conditions are just right;  insects hover near the surface of the water.  When the sun rises and begins to really warm things up the insects go into hiding and the fish retreat into their hiding places.  Peter knew all this, and had just come back from a fruitless effort.  And now Jesus is telling him to put out into deep water in the middle of the day.  No one could hope to catch a fish under these circumstances.  But Peter decides to humor Jesus.  And when the massive catch of fish takes place, that’s when Peter falls to his knees and says “Depart from me Lord, for I am a sinful man.”  

Peter, who knows all about fishing, has his entire world turned upside down.  Something impossible has happened.  Peter realizes he is in the presence of someone more than a mere human being.  He has reached the point where he is ready to be broken down and put back together, and this begins when Jesus invites him to become his disciple and a fisher of men.

We’ll meet Peter again many times in the gospels and the Acts of the Apostles.  We’ll see him progressing and falling back.  He’ll recognize that Jesus is the Messiah of God, an insight that comes from God himself; and then he’ll start telling Jesus what he should be doing.  He will witness Jesus transfigured on the mountain. And hear the voice of the Father.  And the next thing you know Peter is denying that he ever knew Jesus.  We will even see Peter, who has witnessed the resurrection, not know what to do next -- so he falls back on the familiar and tells the other apostles that he is going fishing.  Even after spending three years with  Jesus and witnessing his rising from the dead, Peter reverts to what he knows well -- fishing.  

But then we see Peter’s transformation.  He’s there at the first Pentecost, and receives the Holy Spirit, along with the other apostles, Jesus’ mother and a few others.  He and John go out and preach in the temple-- Just as Jesus did.  He finds that he can work miracles, and heals a man who is lame and later, raises a person from death.  And while it isn’t in scripture, we learn from some of the e earliest Christian historians that Peter suffers martyrdom, crucified like Christ, but crucified upside down because Peter doesn’t think he’s worthy of being crucified just like Jesus.  

Jesus offers Peter the opportunity to become another Christ.  It doesn’t happen suddenly nor completely, but gradually Peter does what Christ does, and in fact becomes the first in a long line of people who take Christ’s place leading the church.

Whenever I think about Peter and his transformation, his becoming another Christ, I can’t help but remember the rich young man who was also offered the opportunity to be broken down and rebuilt as another Christ, but went away sad because he had many possessions.  

Jesus offers each of us the opportunity to allow ourselves to be broken down and rebuilt in his image.  For some of us it’s happening bit by bit; for some it happens more suddenly.  And for some despite Jesus’ offer, it isn’t accepted and they go away sad because they have many attachments.  

Today let us ask, where are we in our transformation?  Jesus wants to make each of us his brother or sister.  He wants to pass on to us a share in his own divine nature.  But over and over again we have to go through those moments when we realize that we have to empty ourselves out if Jesus is to build us up again.  We have to recognize that we are nothing without Jesus.  

Presentation of the Lord, 2025(1)

Luke 2:22-40

Today we celebrate the Presentation of the Lord.  In some parts of Christendom this feast is called Candlemas, or something like that in other languages.  It used to be a day when candles for the liturgical year would be blessed.  And that in turn is related to Simeon’s prophecy when he refers to Jesus as the light of revelation to the Gentiles.  In our Roman Catholic tradition, we are big on candles.  We have the easter candle, which is trotted out for baptisms and funerals, symbolizing Christ’s presence at these major life events.  We have the candle before the tabernacle, a constant reminder that Jesus is present, body and blood, soul and divinity, in the Eucharist which the tabernacle encloses.  And of course we have the candles we use for Mass, showing a connection between all masses, which indeed are basically one perpetual sacrifice we offer to God.  When I was growing up I just assumed there would be lots of candles in heaven.

All we know about Simeon is that he was righteous and devout, and had received a revelation from the Holy Spirit that he would witness the Messiah of God before he died.  After a lot of waiting the Spirit whispers -- this baby is the one! And Simeon takes the baby and offers the prayer that clergy and religious sisters and brothers say everyday in the evening, “Now Master you may let your servant go in peace …”  

For Luke’s gentile audience it’s enough to point out that the prophecy came from the Spirit.  The early Church was Spirit driven as far as we can tell -- kind of charismatic.  But Luke’s churches had JEwish Christians as well, and that’s why Anna is important and why we know a lot more about her background.  She is a true daughter of Israel, descended from Asher, one of the twelve sons of Jacob.  Her life of prayer and her background make her a worthy prophet for Jewish people.  

But think about Mary and Joseph.  They have been through very upsetting times.  Angels, shepherds, wise men;  exile into Egypt, and now another indication that this child of theirs is the Holy One of God.  And what is next?

They go home, they wait.  They do the ordinary things that people do, cleaning, cooking, working at a trade, going to the synagogue -- I wonder whether they ever talked about the remarkable beginning of Jesus’ life.  I wonder if they felt as though it had all been a dream.  Certainly if their boy was the MEssiah, it didn’t seem to make a difference in their day to day lives. 

Luke tells us more than once that Mary pondered these things in her heart.  I imagine Mary, sitting in the candlelight in the evening, mending a garment or sewing on a button, because if she was like my grandmother, her hands were always busy.  Mary is pondering in her heart.  And she is always waiting.  And she has never forgotten that old Prophet who told her “you yourself a sword shall pierce”.  That was the first sorrow, according to our tradition.  The flight into Egypt to escape Herod’s soldiers was the second.  The loss of Jesus in the temple was the third.  The next four sorrows have to do with the last hours of Jesus -- Mary meeting him on the road to calvary, Mary watching him die on the cross; Mary receiving the dead body of her son, and Mary witnessing his burial.  And there were other sorrows as well, I’m sure -- the death of Joseph being one; maybe the day Jesus left home to go on mission.  But at the presentation all these things were in the future.  

And how often in the months and years to come as they watch their son learn to walk and talk, as they teach him how to pray and how to practice trade, how often did Mary and Joseph wonder whether it was all a dream.  This child, this MEssiah of God -- what a responsibility to be his parents.  And they had no direction, they had to do the best they could and deal with each day as it came.  And yet their attention to the little things of life, their efforts to do everything as well as they could, and their utmost trust in God to see that their work accomplished what God wanted of them was what got them through the challenges of their lives. 

Today as we think about the candles let us again remember that God works through us in ways we probably don’t have a clue about.  Let us be comfortable in his presence.  

Second Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

John 2:3-11

When I was very young, maybe before I went to school, I learned the Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be, and the morning offering.  I distinctly remember the words “I offer you all my prayers, works and sufferings of this day”.  I remember this because at some later point, maybe after I started grade school, I learned the version I still use today -- “I offer you all my prayers, works, joys and sufferings of this day”.  I don’t know if the first version was ever “official” or just something my mother had learned from her mother. 

But joy is an interesting word, scattered throughout the bible and in our prayers.  In the epistle of James, it says “Brothers, count it all as joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.”  Saint Paul says in Romans, “"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope."  We Christians are supposed to be joyful.  

But that brings us to the question, what is joy? It isn’t the same thing as happiness.  I’m still getting used to my recently purchased car.  Whenever I drive it I have a sense of happiness, because it was exactly what I wanted -- had all my favorite bells and whistles and then some, and a hybrid drivetrain to boot, so I don’t have to use much gas.  Happiness, though, is momentary, and requires something external.  That’s not a bad thing.  But joy is different.  Our ancestors in the faith understood that joy was something internal, something that could not be taken away.  It’s a sense that we are part of something permanent, something that nothing can touch.  It’s the product of belief.  If we believe that God is in control of what is happening around us, then instead of getting upset because things don’t go our way, we take joy in seeing that what is happening is part of God’s plan for us.  We don’t get the sense of it too often, but it’s a characteristic of sainthood -- to be joyful.  Mother Theresa had joy, even when she was suffering from doubt and a sense of being abandoned -- because even though she was in pain, she believed God was working in her and through her. Saint John of the Cross was imprisoned by his fellow monks for more than a year, because he kept trying to call them back to the authentic Carmelite way of life.  During this time, he wrote a long poem titled “Dark night of the soul” which maintains that God allows adversity to purify our desire for him; and knowing this we can be joyful even in prison.  Martyrs especially experience joy, knowing that they will soon be face to face with Jesus.

So what does this have to do with today’s gospel?  Saint John’s gospel is very different from the others.  He takes events from the life of Jesus and things Jesus said and weaves them together to show something of the divine nature of Jesus, and today’s gospel is no exception.  This is the first public miracle recorded by John.  Why did the other gospel writers not mention it?  I think again, it’s that Jesus worked so many miracles they all had to pick and choose what was going into their gospels,because they all had different things to emphasize.  But here, wine is a symbol, a symbol of joy.  It was a wedding feast, and let’s face it, it was a week of partying and wine helped with the rejoicing.  And Mary tells Jesus, ‘They have no wine”.  They’ve run out.  And the amazing thing is that Jesus tells his mother “This isn’t the time or place, my hour hasn’t come yet”.  Jesus is a human being like you and I, although perfect, and open at all times to the Father.  He’s been waiting for a sign from the Father to begin his ministry and his march to the cross.  But wine? At a village wedding?  But Mary keeps on, “Do whatever he tells you”.  And she sits down, picks up her glass and drains the last few drops of wine, and looks at him expectantly.  And he gives in.  And about 120 gallons of wine take the place of water, and joy is returned to the party, and everyone has enough wine to celebrate the marriage -- celebrate with no holding back.  Wine is a symbol of joy.

When the Holy Eucharist is celebrated, Jesus comes to us in two forms, the bread and the wine.  Why both?  Because you and I have offered bread, symbolizing all that is necessary for sustaining our lives -- food, clothing, shelter, relationships, and so forth.  We offer that as a sacrifice to the Father.  But we also offer wine, which symbolizes what God has given us that we don’t need -- the beauty that we experience, the companionship of friends, the pleasure of watching a football game, if that’s your thing; an intimate moment with your spouse -- we offer all our joys as well.  

And the Father returns them both to us transformed into the Body and Blood of his Son and invites us to eat and drink and become what we consume.  And when we enter into this mystery, when we allow God to work in us, can there be any greater joy?

In the Litany of the Blessed Mother, we call her “Cause of our joy”.  She is the one who said “yes” to the angel.  She is the one who bore the child.  She is the one who sees to it that his first miracle is to  bring joy to a peasant village celebrating an ordinary wedding.  Saint Theresa of Avila said “From silly devotions and sour-faced saints, good Lord, deliver us!"  Let us share the wine of joy we have been given!

Epiphany 2025

During the Christmas season, we meet the shepherds and the magi.  The shepherds haven’t really captured our imagination; after all, they were just out there tending their sheep whe all of a sudden a very talkative angel appears and tells them everything -- “Don’t be afraid, I’ve got great news.  A savior is born this day, in the city of David, who is the Messiah, and as I sign to you, you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in a manger over the hill in Bethlehem”  All the shepherds had to do was go where the angel told them.

In contrast, those magi had to come from afar.  We think they came from Persia, which is about as far from Bethlehem as Chicago is from Springfield.  The gospel refers to them as “magi”.  We don’t quite know what magi were -- some say advisors, some say rich people, but the consensus is that they were priests of the Zoroastrian religion.  The Zoroastrians believe that every person is given a star, and the bigger and brighter the star, the more important the person.  That bright star must have been extremely significant to the Persians.  Was it real?  Several astronomers and historians have great explanations including Father Mcgonagle of our diocese, who was an astronomer before becoming a priest.  Maybe it was a comet, or a supernova, or two or three planets whose orbits overlapped during that time.  The magi had to figure out what was going on; no angel to tell them.

How did we decide there were three?  Because of the three gifts, one for each magi.  How did we come to call them kings?  Because in psalm 72 it says that the kings from many different nations will come bearing gifts. But early Christians fleshed out the story even more. At least by the sixth century everyone knew their names were Balthazar, Melchior, and Caspar.  Another legend says that the three were made bishops by Thomas the Apostle and went on to serve the Christians in India.  You see in our manger scene another legend about the magi -- one was young, one was old, and the third was Ethiopian.  This indicated that Christ’s reign was to include everyone, and Ethiopia was in those days a symbol for the ends of the earth.

It was said that Gaspar was young, Balthazar was middle aged, and Melchior elderly.  In one story the baby JEsus was asleep in a small room and the Blessed Mother invited them to see him, but they would have to go in one at a time.  Melchior went in first and met an elderly man; they talked about the good old days, and Melchior expressed his thankfulness for his life and experiences.  When Balthazar entered he met a middle aged man and the two of them talked about leadership and responsibility.  When Gaspar entered he met a young man and they talked about the promise of the future and how to prepare for it.  Later when the infant woke up, Mary brought him out of the little room and all three observed the baby.  In other words, the baby can identify with the main concerns of any person. 

But whatever else, the gospel story tells us about the magi who left home and traveled a long way because they believed the star must mean something.  They were searchers.  They were befriended by Herod, and had to make the decision to sneak out of town without returning to him, as he had requested.  They had to make the long trip home again, maybe wondering if the whole thing had been a dream; after all, they had met a child of a poor peasant couple, and they had only their prophecies and that star to tell them something great had happened.  They had faith.

And we are more like the Magi than the shepherds. We are searchers; we don’t see the big picture.  We are surrounded by people who tell us to spend more money, to put ourselves first, to abort our children or at least make sure that if he wants to play with dolls or she picks up a baseball, they will know they can become the opposite sex.  We wonder about crime, illness, cancer, death, and war.  We would love to have heavenly messengers to assure us, like they did the shepherds, to have no fear, that the Messiah has already won the victory.  But we are more like the magi, who struggled across the desert, with only a vision and a hope.  Our church isn’t a resting place, it’s a caravan.  By ourselves we can become confused, misguided.  But together we have the wisdom of a community.  That’s why we come to church, because we listen together, encourage and comfort each other; we come to church because it is an alternative to the ways of the world.  It’s a fellowship, with the light of Christ to guide us.  And the best part of the Magi story is that they found what they were looking for.  And so will we.  

Third Sunday of Advent, cycle C

Luke 3:10-18

If we had listened to the gospel passage before this, we would have heard John the Baptist being fairly intemperate.  He tells his hearers that things are going to get pretty bad and that they can’t expect to escape just because they are descendants of Abraham.  In fact, John insults them by telling them that God can make sons of Abraham out of rocks.  You would think that the crowd would leave, but they don't. They ask, “what then shall we do?”  And that is when John gives surprising answers.  

A very long time ago while I was just starting medical school I was suffering an existential crisis.  I loved medicine; it was intellectually exciting, and I could help people, and being a physician looked like a good life.  On the other hand, I had read about saints who had given up everything; missionaries who had left their homes and native lands to die in foreign countries; monks who had turned their backs on the world to grow closer to God.  In addition, I was receiving spiritual direction from a wonderful guy who belonged to Opus Dei, and naturally he thought I would be a great fit as a numerary -- someone who takes vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience but continues working in a secular profession to support the organization.  So I went on a retreat by myself.  “What do you want, Lord?” I prayed.  And I heard an answer, deep in my spirit -- “Whatever you choose,” the voice said, ‘I’ll still love you.”  The next day I made my choice and here I am today.  

What then shall we do?  John’s answer is simple.  If you have food, share it with someone who doesn’t.  If you have clothing, same thing.  If you are a tax collector, you know how much you are supposed to tax-- do that.  If you are a soldier, be content with your pay and don't extort people.  

Notice that John doesn’t tell the people to go off and live with the Essenes, who were a monastic community that tried to have nothing to do with the world.  He didn’t tell them to join the Pharisees and practice their strict rules and spend all their time studying the law.  He just said, look around you.  If someone needs something you have, share it with him.  That's The goal, but that means you need to be alert to the needs of others.  Repentance means to change the way you think.  Instead of looking out for myself all the time, get in the habit of looking for people you can help, people who lack something you can give them.  Change the way you see the world.

And to the tax collectors, despised by their fellow Jews.  Tax collectors worked for the Romans.  They were supposed to collect taxes from a defined group of people -- maybe everyone in a small town, or in a big city, there was a chief tax collector who farmed out the work.  The whole idea was that you were entitled to part of what you collected as your salary -- a defined part.  And this was where with a little cheating, you could make a lot of money.  John doesn’t tell the tax collectors to quit their jobs.  He simply says, “Change the way you think.  Collect what you are supposed to, no more.  After all, when you take more than you should, someone ends up with less.”

And to the soldiers, who in John’s time were probably gentiles because the Romans made it a matter of practice to station soldiers in territories where they were unlikely to feel a sense of kinship with the people they helped control.  And to these John gives a similar message, “be content with your pay.”  Change your way of thinking.  Because the soldiers took bribes, extorted the people, had the power to make life miserable if they didn’t get their way -- and it was easy because they saw the people as other, as less than human. The Romans set things up this way so that intimidation would be easier.  And John is saying “these people over whom you are given power; they are your brothers and sisters.  Be content with what the Romans pay you.

John’s message is the same for us today.  Repent.  Change your mind.  Ask yourself if you are being the best you can be, because for most of us the answer is usually no.  Where could I be better?  I don’t need a hair shirt; I don’t need to retreat from the world; I don’t need to spend all my time in church.  I do need to change the way I think.  Am I giving my best to my employer?  Am I being sensitive to the needs of my family, emotional and spiritual, as well as physical. Where can I do better?  Am I being the best version of myself?  That’s what John is asking the crowd.  And we hear him challenge us today as well.  Let us go forward knowing that God gives us what we need to change our minds, to work toward sainthood in the very place he’s put us.  

First Sunday of Advent, cycle C

Luke 21:25-28, 34-36

The world was very different when I was learning to drive.  For one thing, we gave very little thought to insurance, to the possibility of being arrested for traffic violations -- after all, we knew the police officers by their first names.  I had been going out with one or the other parent learning to drive.  One day I was bugging my mother to take me on another training run, when she said, you go by yourself.  So I called up my best friend and told him that I was coming to get him and we were going to go on a drive.  I picked him up and off we went, cruising the drag, we called it.  You would start at Gertie’s drive-in at one end of town and proceed to the other end of main street, then turn around and go back, and do this till you got tired of it or ran out of gas.  We teenagers were pretty cool as you might imagine.  Anyway, somewhere around the third pass we decided to park and get something to eat.  I had not been sufficiently instructed in parallel parking, and managed to quite seriously damage the right front fender.  To add insult to injury this happened in front of Officer Sam’s patrol car, as he had been following me.  He called my dad, who got someone to drive him to the car.  After pulling on the fender enough to get the metal away from the tire, he drove me home.  It was a while before they resumed my driving lessons.  

I’m sure most of us have had similar experiences -- experiences where we got in trouble because we didn’t wait long enough.  I wasn’t ready to drive on my own, but I couldn’t wait to make this all-important step into independence.  I think advent is a time to practice waiting.  In advent we symbolically join all those spiritual ancestors -- Adam and Eve, Noah, Abraham, Moses -- and the list goes on.  Why did God make the human race wait so long for the Messiah he promised?  Today we heard Jesus tell his disciples, “Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life, and that day catch you by surprise like a trap.”  Waiting means paying attention to what is important right now, listening to what God is telling us through our experiences; it means reflecting on what is really important and what is not.  It’s very easy, especially as we approach Christmas, to get so busy that we lose sight of what the season is all about.  

Father Ron Rolhauser relates waiting to chastity.  Chastity, he says, is not something to do with sex.  It really has to do with how we experience reality in general, all experience.  To be chaste is to have the proper reverence, towards God, towards each other, towards nature, towards ourselves, and of course, towards sex.  We can see why chastity is about proper waiting if we look at the opposite; to lack chastity, to be irreverent, is to be impatient, selfish, callous, immature, undisciplined in any way so that our actions deprive someone else of his or her uniqueness and dignity.  Since matters having to do with sex touch us in our deepest souls, you can see why chastity has come to be associated with our attitudes towards sex, and unchastity dehumanizes people through the misuse of sex. 

The gospel today is from a section of Luke’s gospel called “the little apocalypse”.  It does resemble parts of the Book of Revelation, and you can find such passages throughout the New Testament as well as some of the later books of the Old Testament.  Apocalypse comes from Greek, and means “to unveil”, or to draw aside a curtain.  It isn’t really about the future; it’s a reminder that there is a bigger picture, our lives really aren’t under our control, and everything that happens, no matter how good or bad, is temporary, and if we wait with reverence, if we accept all our experiences in a sense of anticipation of what will happen at the end of time, then we are living the virtue of chastity.

As to why we had to wait so long for the Messiah -- as to why we seem to be waiting so long for his second coming, before the messiah can be conceived, carried in Mary’s womb and given birth to, there must always be a time of waiting, a necessary advent, a certain quota of suffering.  As one poet said, “God is never in a hurry!  Every tear brings the messiah closer.  It is with much groaning of the flesh that the life of the spirit is brought forth.”  A feast can only happen after some fasting.  Advent is a time when we learn to wait for God’s coming, for Christmas.