All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet:
Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means "God is with us."
As we recite the Rosary and the Liturgy of the Hours we often pray the Glory Be prayer, which concludes with, "...as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, Amen."
With that prayer Catholics wrap the past present, and future around themselves like a warm, reassuring blanket. Particularly today, when the past seems more glorious, and the future promises little more than its fated inevitability, we remember Our God is the God of all time.
His authority, power, and benevolence are not only assured; they're also revealed in time. God has spoken in our past; God remains with us today; God will reveal his Kingdom in the future. There may be little else we can say about the future, but of that much we are sure.
The United States is blessed to have many Catholic citizens because Americans typically despise history. Whenever they meet opposition or even hear of a conflict, they are eager to believe one side is good and the other bad; as if life is an old-fashioned western. But history introduces shades of grey, darkening the bright side and lightening the dark side, and they would ignore all that. Only in retrospect, when a favored candidate wins, for instance, do they show some interest in discovering how that happened. Inevitably, the story is retold as if, "We knew it all along. That candidate was always a loser!"
So we need Catholics because the Catholic reading of history is relentlessly hopeful. During the darkest times, when violence is rampant, we cheerfully declare, "The blood of martyrs is the seed of faith." We only have to wait and expect the oppressors to collapse under the weight of their idiocy.
Many of our contemporaries have little hope for the future; their freedom seems pointless. In the recent novel The Hours -- a meditation on Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway -- we hear the leaden sound of London's Big Ben clock. The hours weigh heavily on the burdened characters as they struggle to find meaning or purpose in their unremarkable lives. There are occasional glimpses of the numinous -- a royal person who may be in a closed carriage in London; a nameless-but-perhaps-famous movie star in a sealed trailer in New York City. But these sitings are dismissed as the characters try to make something meaningful out of flowers and canapes.
Advent reminds us that time is short, judgment is real, and there is vindication for those who live sacrificially. We enjoy much freedom from oppression; but more importantly, we enjoy much freedom to serve the Lord Our God.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I love to write. This blog helps me to meditate on the Word of God, and I hope to make some contribution to our contemplations of God's Mighty Works.
Ordinarily, I write these reflections two or three weeks in advance of their publication. I do not intend to comment on current events.
I understand many people prefer gender-neutral references to "God." I don't disagree with them but find that language impersonal, unappealing and tasteless. When I refer to "God" I think of the One whom Jesus called "Abba" and "Father", and I would not attempt to improve on Jesus' language.
You're welcome to add a thought or raise a question.