"O Come O Come Emmanuel": Homily for the First Sunday of Advent

  

Isaiah 63:16b-17, 19b; 64:2-7

Mark 13:33-37

 

"Veni, veni, Emmanuel

captivum solve Israel."

 

O come, o come Emmanuel

and ransom captive Israel.

 

This most-well known and beloved advent hymn has been recorded, rerecorded, arranged, and bowdlerized, more times than one can accurately count.  I put  "O Come  O Come Emmanuel" into Google and got an impressive 70 million hits.  Following Google's suggestions at the bottom of the first page and adding the word 'lyrics,' resulted in a somewhat more reasonable 13 million hits.  And, if going back to basics by adding 'Latin' to lyrics, the result was a manageable 1.2 million hits,  a mere afternoon's worth of research by comparison.   There will be much more to say about this 6^th century hymn as December 17 comes closer.

 

"Veni, veni, Emmanuel

captivum solve Israel."

 

Advent is a time of anticipation and preparation.  One of the best explanations of the word Advent is that of Pope Benedict XVI in his short book of meditations Benedictus where he writes that Advent is  derived from the Latin roots 'ad'  and 'venire', 'to come to' or 'to come toward.' He goes on to clarify that advent is the translation of the Greek word parousia which means 'presence,' but even more specifically means 'arrival.'  It is that arrival and presence for which we prepare with anxious and joyful anticipation.

 

When we are expecting another to come his presence is already influencing our actions.  The anticipated presence of the one for whom we wait influences what we do in the present moment.  Consider preparing to welcome a guest into your home.  The menu may be chosen with the hope that the guest will like it.  It will be prepared with special care.  Even mundane tasks such as emptying the dishwasher or setting the table may be completed under an advent influence, a preparation for the presence of one coming into this place, a preparation to welcome the one coming toward us.  

 

For this reason the readings, the prayers at Mass, and the traditions that have developed over centuries have come into being so as to prepare us as fully as possible for the coming of Jesus toward and into this world. 

 

The reading begins with an interesting complaint that borders on whining. "Why do you let us wander, O LORD, from your ways, and harden our hearts so that we fear you not?"

 

Isaiah is asking 'Why did you give us free will?'  Why do you allow us to be free self-determining creatures who can and must choose between good and evil, between virtue and sin?  Why did you make us human?  It's HARD.

 

Yes, it is.

 

"Veni, veni, Emmanuel

captivum solve Israel."

 

Then the prophet confesses the truth of human nature, "we are sinful;  all of us like unclean people, our good deeds are like polluted rags; we have withered like leaves,  our guilt carries us away like the wind."

 

The sense of guilt for sinning is fascinating whether it is encountered in the confessional or the psychiatrist's office. It emerges in particular, when the penitent or patient realizes that he or she is responsible for bringing on a state of disquiet, a sense of abandonment, a loss of self, or has harmed another through his or her actions, decisions, or wrong exercise of free will.  

 

We all savor new beginnings, oftentimes seeing them as second chances for a kind of redemption.  Thus, the New Year's resolution, the birthday wish, the hope with which we greeted a new school year when we were young.  We seem to need a defined starting line for any attempts at change.  Advent is one of those beginnings.  It is the beginning of the new church year during which everything changes but also remains the same.  It can be a time of renewed hope and optimism or a new way of prayer for us.  Or it can be a desultory 'same old, same old.'  The choice is ours.  

 

The past months have been difficult.  Things are not going to magically change with the new year that begins in advent or the new year anticipated on January 1. The only change we can hope for is the change we initiate within ourselves.  Perhaps the best we can do under current circumstances is make the changes in attitude and behavior that are necessary to endure ongoing quarantine, arbitrary freedom-limiting edicts from on high, and a heightened sense of anxiety about illness.  

 

"Veni, veni, Emmanuel

captivum solve Israel."

 

The gospel is neither comforting nor comfortable.  As has been true of the readings the past few days, we are advised to remain alert and  remain awake because we do not know the time.  Uncertainty is among the most uncomfortable situations for humans beginning in infancy.  Uncertainty has become a chronic situation over the past months. It is being exacerbated in this present reality of not knowing what is going on, of not knowing what is coming next, of wondering exactly what I must fight for or fight against. The questions can be formulated in many ways.  The end result is that of questioning or losing hope.

 

Erik Erikson described the struggle to develop hope that confronts the newborn who is entirely dependent on others to meet his or her needs.  He refers to it as the struggle between basic trust and mistrust.  If the struggle is successfully met, a struggle over which the infant has little control, a sense of hope that will help carry the child through life will emerge.  The opposite is mistrust and suspicion if the caretaker fails to meet the infants basic needs in a consistent manner.  

 

Uncertainty drives anxiety.  A patient fears the diagnosis while awaiting the biopsy result.  It seems odd but even a bad diagnosis may relieve a patient's anxiety by placing a name, an image, a title to what had been an unknown.  On defining the situation in which the patient finds himself other anxieties and uncertainties will emerge but knowing the 'what' allows a patient to begin formulating battle plans, to develop coping mechanisms, or plans how to adapt.  One of the most difficult aspects of the months of covid has been the waffling of government and medical authorities, the insane flip-flopping:  'Yes this works.'  'No it doesn't work.'  'Well maybe it does.'  'Gee, no one seems to know.'  The inconsistency with which the "rules" are obeyed by those who make them is not comforting to anyone. 

 

As advent progresses toward the Great Feast of the Nativity of Our Lord we will hear readings that remind us of that which has occurred and of those final things that are to come.  We will hear of the end times as we do today, and we will be reminded of the beginning of our salvation.  We will be reminded of the greatness of this feast that does not stand alone but begins the story of our salvation.

 

On the second and third Sundays of Advent the Gospel will focus on John the Baptist;  Jesus' herald, who though unworthy to untie his sandal, announced the coming of the Lord.  On the fourth Sunday the Gospel will speak of the Annunciation to Mary when we will again hear the words of Mary's fiat, words that changed the history and nature of the universe once and forever.

 

Ecce ancilla Domini,

Fiat mih secundum verbum tuum, 

 

Behold I am the handmaid of the Lord

May it be done unto me according to your word.

 

As we enter into the season of Advent it is crucial to recall that despite the pressure from advertisers, advent is not the time of preparation for a holiday.  It is the time of preparation for a Holy Day.  As we begin the four weeks leading to the Great Feast of the Nativity of Our Lord, we must remind ourselves not to  buy into the ridiculous sentiment 'Christmas is for children' (said in a soft sighing voice).  Christmas is not for children.  It is for all mankind from the youngest to the oldest, the healthy and the infirm, and everyone in between

 

We are preparing to commemorate the birth of the Messiah, the Anointed One, Son of God, Son of David, Son of Man, who was born of a woman, like us in all things but sin, who became man to ransom us from sin and death.  

 

This is the only reason can we sing with great expectation.

 

Veni, Veni Emmanuel!


Captivum solve Israel!

______________________________________________________

The photos below are from Advent 2016 when I was in Slovenia.  

Christmas lights in Prešernov Trg (Square) in the Center of Ljubljana.  It was taken from Ljubljanski Grad (Castle) right after 'Thanksgiving' which was memorable in that the community arranged a complete American Thanksgiving dinner for me, minus cranberry sauce which is only available on Army bases.

Prešernov Trg from ground level.  The Franciscan Church is just to the right of the tree.

The Christmas Market along the river.  I was fascinated by the month-long installation and went down often.  

Another view of the market 

A friend and I went to Vodnikov Hram, a restaurant not too far form the Jesuit community.   I was in a very contorted position to get this shot.  It was worth it.  

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD
 

 

 

 

George B. Murray, SJ, MD: Three Short Dialogs and an Appreciation

Dialog the First:       

13 September 1991

Setting:                       Office of George B. Murray, SJ, MD

                                   Warren Building 6th Floor

                                   Massachusetts General Hospital

 Background:              Last few minutes of  fellowship interview 

Murray:                       "Do you want to come here?"

Siberski;`                   "Yeah."

Murray:                       "I'm tough." 

Siberski:                    "No shit!"

Murray:                       "Get a Massachusetts license by July."

Siberski:                    "OK"

 

 

Dialog the Second:    24 August 1997

Setting:                      Baggage carousel Logan Airport

Background:              Arriving in Boston to enter the novitiate of the Society of  Jesus                                                                           

Murray:                      "Those your bags?"

Siberski:                    "Yeah"

Murray:                      "Let's go.  The car is in the lot." 

Siberski:                    "OK"

 

Dialog the Third:       9 June 2007

Setting:                     Church of St. Ignatius, Chestnut Hill, MA

Background:             Murray putting the vestments of a priest on me for the first time                                         

Murray:                     "Ready?"

Siberski:                    "Yeah."

Murray:                     " . . . . . "

Siberski:                   " . . . . . "  (At times words are useless)

 

Former Fellow Beatriz Currier, MD put it best when I asked what being a Murray Fellow meant to her as we spoke at one of the every five year fellow reunions.  She replied, "George turned me into the kind of psychiatrist I wanted to be but didn't know how to become."   I stopped in my tracks, she had put into words exactly what I felt.  I suspect many of the 102 former fellows feel the same thing but may not be able to put it as well. 

 

For a man who vowed perpetual chastity as a Jesuit in 1955 and thus precluded genetic progeny, Murray completed Erikson's stage of generativity vs. stagnation in a manner most men never can and never will approach.  His former fellows celebrate that legacy in our lives and our practice as George's progeny and in our teaching where we prepare his grand-progeny.  

 

George died in his room at Campion Center seven years ago this morning.  His death was sudden though not unexpected.  I had been preparing for it beginning with the eight-day retreat I made just before pronouncing final vows as a Jesuit on 1 October 2013. George witnessed both parts of the vow ceremony, the second being private with only Jesuits in attendance.  He was one of eight in the sacristy.  

 

We had spent day before his death, Sunday 17 November 2013, in the ER at Newton-Wellesley where he had been taken around 11 AM after telling the nurse at the health care center that he had been having some chest pain.  After six or so hours the doc found no evidence of cardiac damage.  We got back to Campion about 6 PM.  He was found dead in his room twelve hours later.  Even at the time it was obvious that his quiet death surrounded by his things, at least some of them, was a great blessing as opposed to CPR, intubation, and all that goes with that. 

 

Planning the funeral, notifying those who needed to be notified, and writing the homily took hours.  At some point that night I poured a few fingers of Macallan 12 year-old, splashed in a bit of ice water, and sat back to reflect, listen to some jazz (Charlie Haden to whose music he introduced me) and to begin to prepare the homily for the funeral which I would celebrate a few days later.  

 

As he did for Dr. Currier, George turned me into a real psychiatrist, challenged me to push beyond sometimes self-imposed limits, and helped me understand how to be a "hyphenated Jesuit" as priest-physician.  The only man to whom I owe more is my dad, also a physician who died at the end of my junior year at Temple Medical (Dad was class of '37 at Temple and I finished in '75).

 

Later on today I will celebrate Mass with one or two others present in the small chapel we created in our satellite community.  Will take the option to wear purple vestments rather than the white the church permits for funerals and memorial Masses, and then, later tonight, pour some 12 year-old Macallan and listen to Charlie Haden.  And I will meditate, pray, contemplate, and recall with tremendous gratitude that I would not be who, where, and what I am today had it not been for the influence of this great man.

 

REQUIEM AETERNAM DONA EIS, DOMINE, 

ET LUX PERPETUA LUCEAT EI. 

__________________________________________________________________

George speaking with the late Father General Adolfo Nicolas, SJ, after I'd pronounced simple vows in the sacristy at Camion Center on 1 October 2013.  He would be dead several weeks later. 

At the Association for Psychosomatic Medicine in New Orleans with former fellows Susan Abbey, MD and the late Anthony Boukoms, MD.   

Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

 

 

 

 

 

                                                            

On Wisdom: Homily for the 32nd Sunday Ordinary Time

Wis 6:12-16

Ps 63

1 Thess 4:13-18 

Mt 25:1-13

The reading from Paul's First Letter to the Thessalonians is appropriate for this month in which we commemorate the souls of dead in a particular way.  The Catholic Church sets itself apart from many Protestant denominations by her persistent and daily prayer for those who have died.  Indeed, the prayers  and liturgies for the dead are among the most consoling gifts of being Catholic.  

My first funeral was for a college roommate, a friend of forty years who was at our ordination eleven months earlier.  My legs turned to rubber as I approached the ambo for the homily.  I was increasingly shaky--and shaking--as the consecration approached. And then something happened.  As I elevated the Sacred Body of Our Lord I realized in the depth of my being that though the physician had lost the struggle with disease--as he always will and must--the priest had won a victory that would never be diminished or surpassed. The shakiness vanished.   It never recurred at subsequent funerals for family--my mom, my sister--or friends.

 

The first reading at Chris' funeral was from the Book of Wisdom. "The souls of the just are in the hands of God and no torment shall touch them."  Never has that truth and consolation been more real than it was at the moment of consecration a few minutes later. The wisdom gained at that moment, an experienceI can never forget, has stood me in good stead over the years.

 

What is wisdom? It is a word that is tossed about sometimes without thinking. The first reading tells us that Wisdom is resplendent and unfading, perceived by those who love her and found by those who seek her. But these descriptions do not define wisdom.  Proverbs 9 verse 10 gives a definition.  "The beginning of wisdom is fear of the Lord."  That verse can be the basis of a homily in and of itself.  But that will have to wait for another time.

  

One way to know wisdom is to know what wisdom is not: It is not cleverness.  Many clever men and women are anything but wise.  Wisdom is not cunning, slyness, or the ability to manipulate others into doing one's bidding. Neither science nor scientific learning impart or guarantee wisdom.  

 

Wisdom may accrue with age--heavy underline may--but, after forty-five years in geriatrics it is apparent that the foolishness of youth can survive well into old age.

Psychologist Erik Erikson defines wisdom as a positive outcome of a life well-lived and understood. He makes a compelling argument but notes that the opposite is possible as well.

 

Ultimately, we have the example of Solomon to give us a positive definition of wisdom. 

 

When told by the Lord to ask for anything he wanted, Solomon asked not for wealth, power, or a long life but for wisdom so as to have an understanding heart, the ability to discern between good and evil, and the grace to rule with justice.  Wisdom includes the knowledge of life and living.  It includes the knowledge of God that grows along with us.  Wisdom reminds us of the necessity of prayer, the sacraments, and caring for others.   

 

The parable reminds us of the need to remain awake and prepared for that time when we are called to render an accounting of our lives.  We do not know the future. We do not know the time. We do not know the way. We do not know when the householder will return or when will the master arrive home from his travels. We do not know when the groom will return  now ready for the banquet. 

 

It is no surprise that the women awaiting the groom to begin the wedding feast--women who symbolize us--became sleepy. It had been a long and exciting day.  Perhaps they had had many things to prepare beforehand. They expected to wait. Some, but not all of them, were prepared and provisioned for that long wait.  And only the wise virgins who were prepared, were allowed into the hall when the bridegroom arrived for the banquet of the lamb. 

 

I was disgruntled with the original version of this part of the homily.  Until last night when I edited a homily on this gospel for Fr. Peter, a Chinese friend who included something I'd never considered.  He wrote, "many wonder why the five wise virgins didn’t share their oil?  Why were they so mean and withholding?”  Were they truly mean? Were they completely lacking in generosity?  No, they were not. 

 

This is after all a parable, a mix of narrative, metaphor, simile, and hyperbole. The oil represents something intangible. That intangible is our relationship with God. That relationship must be personally developed.  We must bring it along with us. It cannot be given to us by someone else. 

 

I was particularly taken with Father's image below. 

 

"When we die and face God’s judgment, we cannot say, “Please let me in, my mother was very pious.”  Or “Lord, please let me in, my grandpa was a devout Catholic. He prayed a lot.” 

 

People around us can help us build our relationship with God, they can show us the way and light the path,  but no one can do it for us.  No one can serve as our substitute. We must build and maintain that relationship with God on our own. We have a choice. That choice exists because of free will, God's gift to humankind that sets us apart from all lower animals.

 

We can imitate the wise virgins in their preparedness who, despite their fatigue and sleep and despite the challenges of life and living were ready at a moment's notice.  Or we can imitate the foolish virgins in their carelessness, who, when they finally struggled awake, when they finally realized their error, were unable to accompany the bridegroom because they were not prepared. 

 

The psalm reminded us that 

"Light dawns for the just;
and gladness, for the upright of heart."

 

We can add, light and eternal joy dawn for the wise who are watchful and prepared. 

____________________________________________________________

The photo below is one of the holy oils on a credence table the afternoon of Holy Saturday.  It is an older shot as I have not been to Plymouth the celebrate the Triduum in a very long time.  I was intrigued by the reflections of the stained glass and the paintings on the ceiling of the church in which I grew up.  Because of the Agnes flood in June 1972 and a very ugly remodeling about ten years later.  When three churches were brought together as one parish (more than half the population of the town has been lost since I was a kid) the ugly remodel was undone and the church brought back to a more appropriate esthetic.  

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

All Soul's Day

Wisdom 3:1-9

1 Cor 15:51-57

Jn 11:17-27

 

"People don't want to let go. . . . They think it's supposed to last forever" 

 

"But it happens anyway . . . . it doesn't matter what you do, you can't stop it."

 

"This living . . . . this life . . . . it doesn't last forever"

 

"It was never supposed to last forever."  

 

These lines come from the poignant final scene of "The Shadow Box,"  Michael Cristofer's 1977 Pulitzer Prize winning play that was later made into a TV movie starring Valerie Harper, Christopher Plummer, and Joann Woodward, directed by Paul Newman.  (The full movie is available on You Tube.  Type in The Shadow Box 1980, video quality adequate to OK).  

 

"The Shadow Box" reminds us of the limits of life.  It recalls the shock when we realize that our lives are finite. It brings into sharp relief the stunning realization that our lives, and the lives of those we love, will end, as they must end for all of us.  The play, set in a kind of hospice, explores the days as death approaches for three unique characters and their family members.  It does not ignore the strains on their relationships when it becomes obvious that death is inevitable, when the realization hits that  "this living . . . . this life . . . it doesn't last forever."  It captures the difficult moment when the realization hits, "It was never supposed to last forever." 

 

 

Being with someone at the moment of death is to experience awe in the truest sense of the word.  The last blip on the cardiac monitor.  The moment when all movement stops.  A sigh as the final breath escapes the body.  Suddenly it is over.  A life.  A relationship.  An era. Everything has ended.  Everything has changed.  

 

" . . . in an instant, in the blink of an eye."

 

Paul described how we all die using one short phrase; In an instant.  In the time it takes to blink.  A mere  flicker in time.  

 

Though the illness that led to death may have been prolonged, though death may have been held off with medical technology, the transition from life to eternal life takes place in an instant.  In that moment when someone we loved dies, we are thrown into the tasks of grieving, mourning, and being bereaved.  We are forced to begin the task of adapting to an absence in our lives.  

 

We don't want to let go.  We never want to let go. We think it is going to last forever. But it doesn't last forever.  It never will.  We rage against the knowledge that we have carried around forever that "It was never supposed to last forever."  

 

While the Church commemorates All Soul's Day  on the Second of November, we experience multiple private personal All Soul's Days throughout the year.  We observe those private All Soul's Days, not in November but in February, or May, or the searing heat of August.  It is a private All Soul's Day as we see the painful anniversaries of the death approach or observe another holiday without those whom we love, or recall something that only we would know. And the pain recurs. 

 

"The soul's of the just are in the hands of God and no torment shall touch them."

 

The first verse from Wisdom is a source of consolation, though it may take months to feel it.  The souls of the just are in the hands of God.  The souls of those whom we loved have something more than we could ever imagine.

 

Those whom we mourn have returned to the hands of God.  We will never know the how, the what, or the where of the eternal life won for us through Jesus' sacrifice.  We can never know eternal life until we ourselves have died.  For now, we can only know through faith that the souls of those whom we loved and who loved us, are held now, and for eternity, in the hands of God. That knowledge does not in any way relieve us of the pains and tasks of grieving our loss, but it should at least dull the sharpest edges of grief. 

 

Paul posed two questions in the Letter to the Corinthians. Both are examples of sarcasm. 

 

"Death where is thy victory?"

 

"O death, where is thy sting?"

 

One can almost hear the sneer in his voice.  Death's victory was snatched away through Jesus' passion, death, resurrection, and ascension. Hell's sting was defanged by the Body and Blood of Christ.  We know this through faith.  Martha made a profound statement of faith in the gospel just proclaimed. 

 

Imagine the scene. Lazarus' two sisters, friends, and other family,  all gathered at the new tomb.  They felt the heaviness of grief on their shoulders, and the tears of sorrow on their cheeks.  Some were confused.  I suspect others were angry and doubting God's goodness and cursing Him.  

 

"Lord, if you had been here . . . ."

 

"Your brother will rise." 

 

"I know he will rise . . . on the last day." 

 

And the Jesus utters the most consoling words imaginable: "I am the Resurrection and the Life; he who believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die."

 

And then we hear Martha's response: 

"You are the Christ, the Son of God . . . . "

 

Today we commemorate the souls of the dead: family, friends, members of our religious communities, and those who have no one to pray for them.  It is a day to visit the grave and place candles or flowers.  It is a day to attend Mass even though not obligatory.  It is be a day to sit quietly alone, perhaps absentmindedly fingering a rosary, as we recall, grieve for, and pray for those who have died. 

 

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, 

et lux perpetua luceat eis. 

Requiescant in pace. 

 

Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord, 

and let perpetual light shine upon them. 

May their souls and the souls of the faithful departed

rest in peace.

 

Amen.

_____________________________________

Photos of the crucifix overlooking the Jesuit cemetery at Campion Center in Weston, MA.  The grave of my mentor George Murray, SJ, MD shortly after his burial.  November 18 will be seven years since his death.