Homily Gaudete Sunday
12 December 2010
Today, I would like to talk about “time.” Now don’t get nervous. This is not going to be some Stephen Hawking or Albert Einstein dissertation on time. No danger about the stuff of theoretical physics from me! Rather, today I would like to consider what “time” means to us in our spiritual journey through life. It is, I think, a good day for that kind of reflection. Today marks a very specific day in our liturgical year. We haven’t just given it a number, the Third Sunday of Advent; we have given it a name: Gaudete Sunday. Rejoicing Sunday. Allow me to begin with a story.
Several years ago, on this day, in this church, a friend of mine came to Mass with her young niece. When the third candle on the wreath was lighted the little girl became very excited. “Oh,” she said with great anticipation, “only one more candle to go!” She was measuring time, and doing so with the help of our sacramental church that relies on signs to help us to understand the profound truth that is the mystery of our faith. Few of us are Stephen Hawking or Albert Einstein or Socrates; we don’t live in the world of ideas. Rather, we look to the stuff of the senses to help us understand and to express what is significant in our lives.
Let me give you some examples.
It might be hard to think about “bread” in a conceptual way. But smell bread baking and immediately we are in touch with the comfort and warmth we have felt in our childhood when, after hours of arthritic hands kneading and yeasted dough rising, our grandmothers put the loaves in a coal-stoked oven and, no matter what the troubles of the day, the aroma of home-made bread baking said all is right with the world.
We may not be able to wax eloquently about the virtue of compassion, but dry one tear from a child’s quivering cheek and what compassion means is felt deep within our caring hearts.
I would struggle to understand the fine points of musical theory; but allow me to hear just a few notes of “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” and I will know instantly how the intricacies of tone and rhythm are able to sooth the savage beast that is in all of us at times.
I say it often to remind myself: we are sacramental by nature. To understand the profound truth of “mystery,” that is, “God’s way about things,” we need to hear and see and feel and smell and touch; and when we do, a light goes on inside our sometimes “slow to get it” brains and we say: “Oh, now I’m beginning to understand what God is all about!” That is why, in our church, there are candles flickering, incense burning, water flowing and oils anointing. We say these sacramentals are outward signs of inner grace. The signs and symbols of our Catholic faith, combined with our sacred rituals, appeal to the senses so that God’s grace is not just an idea in our minds. Rather, God’s grace is a reality felt amid the confusion and chaos of everyday life; a confusion and chaos that, at times, keeps us from focusing on what is at the heart of things: the very presence of Jesus.
Now, back to time. I escaped for a few days this week for my annual pre-Christmas trip to New York City. Somehow, there would be something missing for me at this time of year if I didn’t see the tree in Rockefeller Center and smell chestnuts roasting on the cart of a frozen street vendor. As usual, I awoke early one morning before the lazy winter sun and looked out the window at a maze of skyscrapers and leafless trees outlined against a deep purple sky. I don’t know if you can really “see” cold, but I did that morning, and I thought to myself, “Another winter has arrived.” What is it we do when we consider time? Often, I think, we are not counting hours and days when we look at the clock or turn the page of the calendar. In this faced-pace world of ours, “time” often means “what I have to do before the day ends,” or, on this Gaudete Sunday, “what I have to accomplish with just 13 days until Christmas.”
Time has become, not where we are, but what we have to do. To go back to the eyes of a child, for our young friend the lighting of the rose candle meant that she was ever so close to the promise and joy and excitement of Christmas day. I suspect to her aunt and mother and father and to most of us, the lighting of the third candle reminds us of how little time we have left to do so many things.
On this Gaudete Sunday, the church says to us, no, the liturgy commands us to “rejoice.” But we can only rejoice when we at home with who we are and where we are, right now. When we are focused on where we think we should be and what remains to be accomplished, there is no room for rejoicing; there is only room for fretting and fussing; a fretting and fussing that keeps us from being in God’s presence, which is what rejoicing, “gaudete-ing” if you will, is all about.
Here is how spiritual thinkers, not theoretical physicists, have described time throughout the centuries. In Greek, there are two words for time: chronos and kairos. Chronos measures time on the clock, time on the calendar, the ticking away of the hours and passing from one day to the next. Kairos, on the other hand, measures God’s time: time that we tell not with the watch on the wrist or datebook on the desk. Rather, kairos is the time we know when our heart beats in sync with the heart of Christ, the reason we have to rejoice. Kairos tells us not where we ought to be and what we ought to do. Kairos tells us that we are, right now, in God’s presence and He is in ours.
Chronos time is a construct we have invented to punctuate our years into months, our months into days, our days into hours, our hours into minutes and our minutes into seconds. Perhaps Kairos, God’s time, should not be called time at all. Kairos is not about measuring anything; it is about being in God’s presence. It is forgetting about time and all the agida time causes us when we realize we have so little of it. Kairos is taking off the wrist watch and closing the date book and remembering who we are and what we are all about.
Kairos is the face of a little girl enlightened by a rose candle whose smile goes on for miles because she knows that Jesus is, oh so near.
Kairos is the shopping cart parked in the supermarket aisle while we talk with a neighbor about our grandchildren and our vacation and aches and pains, even though there are dozens of cookies to bake before the day is over.
Kairos is the TV silenced so we that can hear the wind rush through the barren trees telling us that another season of grace is upon us.
Kairos is sharing a memory before we sign the Christmas card to a friend we have not seen in too long a time.
Kairos is turning off the Blackberry and silencing the cell phone and going to church, where God waits for us to rejoice in his presence as his word is proclaimed and his sacrament is shared.
Kairos is Advent, which has nothing to do with Rudolph and Frosty and everything to do with John called the Baptist and Mary called the Mother of God and Joseph called his just father on earth.
Kairos is strengthening hands that are weak and knees that are feeble when we dare to say to those who are burdened with the cares of everyday life: “Be strong, do not fear… God will help you through this.”
Kairos is a life once blinded by the lure of talk show gurus promising an easy life now seeing with the eyes of faith the only true way to eternal peace of mind.
Kairos is ears once deafened by the lies of false prophets now hearing clearly the wisdom of the only prophet who speaks the truth from the pulpit of his cross.
Kairos is the lame once crippled by fear and oppression now running joyfully in the freedom that belongs to the children of God.
Kairos is waiting in patience for God’s seed to grow, knowing that it is his harvest alone that will satisfy the hungers of our hearts.
Kairos is today, and tomorrow and every day after that because the presence of God transcends our silly calendars and our obsession with time and all that we think we have to do before tomorrow dawns and today is just a memory. Kairos is the Third Sunday of Advent. Gaudete Sunday. Rejoicing Sunday. The day when there is only one more candle to go and Jesus is, oh, so near.
