First Sunday of Advent
With the First Sunday of Advent we begin our four-week pilgrimage, mystically speaking, to Bethlehem to meet our Incarnate Lord come to earth. Of necessity, then, this must be a time of preparation for our souls - who in his right mind would fail to prepare himself to meet so great a king?
The coming of Christ is known in Scripture under a different title: "The Day of the Lord." The very words evoke a theme of judgment, of testing - when the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on the earth? This is the question Our Lord asks of us.
Although the "Day of the Lord" refers primarily to Our Lord's Second Coming - when He will come in glory to judge the living and the dead - it can be said that any "coming" of the Lord is a day of judgment. Thus, even the Incarnation, the first coming of Our Lord to earth, is a time of judgment - or rather, of separation. His presence of necessity causes division, because His presence demands a response from Men: we are either like the shepherds and wise men who acknowledge Him as king as worship Him as such, or we are like Herod, who tried everything in his power to destroy this King of the Jews.
So it is that, as we prepare for Christmas, the Church places before us on this First Sunday of Advent these words from the Gospel: "There shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon the earth distress of nations, by reason of the confusion of the roaring of the sea and of the waves: men withering away for fear and expectation of what shall come upon the whole world. For the powers of heaven shall be moved. And then they shall see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with great power and majesty."
These words are perhaps more appropriate now, in our time, than ever before, by reason of the fact that we are most certainly living in the "end of times." For most, this Second Coming (which is prefigured and anticipated by the First Coming) will be a time of great distress and confusion, of "men withering away for fear and expectation of what shall come upon the whole world."
However, the text goes on to tell us what ought to be our disposition: "But when these things begin to come to pass, look up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is at hand." This is the judgment that the coming of the Lord causes: you will either be in fear at His coming, or you will lift up your head in joy to see your redemption drawing near.
In order that you may be in the latter category and not the former, St. Paul instructs us in this Sunday's epistle, "now is the hour for us to rise from sleep. For now our salvation is nearer than when we believed." See the similarity in the Gospel and the epistle: in the former, we are told that our redemption draws near, and in the latter, that "our salvation is nearer than when we believed."
What must we do to prepare for this Day of the Lord (that is, His coming, whether at Christmas, the Last Judgment, or even to the altar in the Most Holy Eucharist)? The Apostle continues, "the night is passed, and the day is at hand. Let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and put on the armour of light. Let us walk honestly, as in the day: not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and impurities, not in contention and envy: but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ." To put on the Lord Jesus, which is to say, to "put on the armour of light," is to put on justice and righteousness - that is, the state of grace.
The Apostle tells us to "cast off the works of darkness," a most appropriate instruction for this season. Nature itself is giving us clues in this regard (did not Our Lord say in this Sunday's Gospel that there would be "signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars?") - we are approaching the Winter Solstice, the one day in our 365-day calendar when the sun shines for the least amount of time, when the majority of the 24-hour day will be covered with darkness. But the Solstice (December 21) is succeeded quickly by the Feast of Our Lord's Nativity (December 25), and from this day forward the days begin to get longer, the darkness is increasingly dispelled, and the light of the sun grows stronger after the Incarnation of "the Sun of Justice."
As we enter the darkest days of the calendar year (and indeed, the darkest days of our ecclesial history), we are reminded of the spiritual choice which is ours: to be swallowed up by the darkness, or to increasingly resist the darkness by casting it off, along with all of its works.
This casting off of the darkness consists in the very works which we ought to be doing during Advent: mortifying the flesh, fasting, praying, meditating, performing the corporal and spiritual works of mercy, and in all other ways lifting up our souls to God (as we pray in the Introit).
However, as anyone knows who has attempted to make this preparation, there is great struggle involved. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak, is it not? But what choice do we have? To fail to cast off the works of darkness is to be conquered by the darkness, is to find ourselves on the side of Herod instead of with the Magi.
Recognizing the seriousness of the situation - the necessity of working towards our salvation, and simultaneously the (human) impossibility of doing so - the Church gives us these words from the Introit: "To Thee have I lifted up my soul: in Thee, O my God, I put my trust, let me not be ashamed: neither let my enemies laugh at me: for none of them that wait on Thee shall be confounded."
This is our confession and our petition: we confess that we are not able, in our own strength, to prepare ourselves worthily for Our Lord's coming or to stand before Him at the judgment; thus, we cast ourselves upon His mercy and say, "let me not be ashamed." Or, as we pray in the great hymn Te Deum, " In Te, Domine, speravi: non confundar in aeternum" (in Thee Lord I have trusted, let me never be confounded).
With these words we have a sort of key-note for the four Sundays of Advent: O Lord, let me not be ashamed before Thee when Thou comest to earth. We hear in such words an echo of the original state of grace and innocence that was the possession of our First Parents: "they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed." It is this original state of holiness which was lost by Adam, and which became the occasion of Our Lord's coming at the Incarnation.
In Adam we were, at one time, not ashamed; through his sin we have become ashamed; but the Incarnation of Our Redeemer offers us the grace to once again "be not ashamed," and it is this that we ask of Almighty God in the Introit. So important is this prayer, along with its note of confidence that "none of them that wait on Thee shall be confounded," that it is repeated in the Gradual and in the Offertory.
Although not used in this Sunday's Mass, we cannot help but hear the response of God to our prayer, through the mouth of Isaiah the prophet: "They are all confounded and ashamed: the forgers of errors are gone together into confusion. Israel is saved in the Lord with an eternal salvation: you shall not be confounded, and you shall not be ashamed for ever and ever." (Is. 45:16-17)
There is the promise - both a promise of judgment and simultaneously a promise of salvation: the forgers of error will indeed be in confusion (recall the words of the Gospel, that there will be distress among the nations "by reason of the confusion of the roaring of the sea"), and will be confounded and ashamed; but Israel (that is, the Church - "whosoever shall follow this rule, peace on them and mercy: and upon the Israel of God" [Gal. 6:16]) belongs to Our Lord, and She "shall not be confounded ... shall not be ashamed for ever and ever."
Thus we pray in the Collect, "Stir up, we beseech Thee, O Lord, Thy power, and come: that from the threatening dangers of our sins we may attain by Thy protection to be delivered, and by Thy deliverance to be saved."
In Te, Domine, speravi: non confundar in aeternum.
The coming of Christ is known in Scripture under a different title: "The Day of the Lord." The very words evoke a theme of judgment, of testing - when the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on the earth? This is the question Our Lord asks of us.
Although the "Day of the Lord" refers primarily to Our Lord's Second Coming - when He will come in glory to judge the living and the dead - it can be said that any "coming" of the Lord is a day of judgment. Thus, even the Incarnation, the first coming of Our Lord to earth, is a time of judgment - or rather, of separation. His presence of necessity causes division, because His presence demands a response from Men: we are either like the shepherds and wise men who acknowledge Him as king as worship Him as such, or we are like Herod, who tried everything in his power to destroy this King of the Jews.
So it is that, as we prepare for Christmas, the Church places before us on this First Sunday of Advent these words from the Gospel: "There shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon the earth distress of nations, by reason of the confusion of the roaring of the sea and of the waves: men withering away for fear and expectation of what shall come upon the whole world. For the powers of heaven shall be moved. And then they shall see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with great power and majesty."
These words are perhaps more appropriate now, in our time, than ever before, by reason of the fact that we are most certainly living in the "end of times." For most, this Second Coming (which is prefigured and anticipated by the First Coming) will be a time of great distress and confusion, of "men withering away for fear and expectation of what shall come upon the whole world."
However, the text goes on to tell us what ought to be our disposition: "But when these things begin to come to pass, look up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is at hand." This is the judgment that the coming of the Lord causes: you will either be in fear at His coming, or you will lift up your head in joy to see your redemption drawing near.
In order that you may be in the latter category and not the former, St. Paul instructs us in this Sunday's epistle, "now is the hour for us to rise from sleep. For now our salvation is nearer than when we believed." See the similarity in the Gospel and the epistle: in the former, we are told that our redemption draws near, and in the latter, that "our salvation is nearer than when we believed."
What must we do to prepare for this Day of the Lord (that is, His coming, whether at Christmas, the Last Judgment, or even to the altar in the Most Holy Eucharist)? The Apostle continues, "the night is passed, and the day is at hand. Let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and put on the armour of light. Let us walk honestly, as in the day: not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and impurities, not in contention and envy: but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ." To put on the Lord Jesus, which is to say, to "put on the armour of light," is to put on justice and righteousness - that is, the state of grace.
The Apostle tells us to "cast off the works of darkness," a most appropriate instruction for this season. Nature itself is giving us clues in this regard (did not Our Lord say in this Sunday's Gospel that there would be "signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars?") - we are approaching the Winter Solstice, the one day in our 365-day calendar when the sun shines for the least amount of time, when the majority of the 24-hour day will be covered with darkness. But the Solstice (December 21) is succeeded quickly by the Feast of Our Lord's Nativity (December 25), and from this day forward the days begin to get longer, the darkness is increasingly dispelled, and the light of the sun grows stronger after the Incarnation of "the Sun of Justice."
As we enter the darkest days of the calendar year (and indeed, the darkest days of our ecclesial history), we are reminded of the spiritual choice which is ours: to be swallowed up by the darkness, or to increasingly resist the darkness by casting it off, along with all of its works.
This casting off of the darkness consists in the very works which we ought to be doing during Advent: mortifying the flesh, fasting, praying, meditating, performing the corporal and spiritual works of mercy, and in all other ways lifting up our souls to God (as we pray in the Introit).
However, as anyone knows who has attempted to make this preparation, there is great struggle involved. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak, is it not? But what choice do we have? To fail to cast off the works of darkness is to be conquered by the darkness, is to find ourselves on the side of Herod instead of with the Magi.
Recognizing the seriousness of the situation - the necessity of working towards our salvation, and simultaneously the (human) impossibility of doing so - the Church gives us these words from the Introit: "To Thee have I lifted up my soul: in Thee, O my God, I put my trust, let me not be ashamed: neither let my enemies laugh at me: for none of them that wait on Thee shall be confounded."
This is our confession and our petition: we confess that we are not able, in our own strength, to prepare ourselves worthily for Our Lord's coming or to stand before Him at the judgment; thus, we cast ourselves upon His mercy and say, "let me not be ashamed." Or, as we pray in the great hymn Te Deum, " In Te, Domine, speravi: non confundar in aeternum" (in Thee Lord I have trusted, let me never be confounded).
With these words we have a sort of key-note for the four Sundays of Advent: O Lord, let me not be ashamed before Thee when Thou comest to earth. We hear in such words an echo of the original state of grace and innocence that was the possession of our First Parents: "they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed." It is this original state of holiness which was lost by Adam, and which became the occasion of Our Lord's coming at the Incarnation.
In Adam we were, at one time, not ashamed; through his sin we have become ashamed; but the Incarnation of Our Redeemer offers us the grace to once again "be not ashamed," and it is this that we ask of Almighty God in the Introit. So important is this prayer, along with its note of confidence that "none of them that wait on Thee shall be confounded," that it is repeated in the Gradual and in the Offertory.
Although not used in this Sunday's Mass, we cannot help but hear the response of God to our prayer, through the mouth of Isaiah the prophet: "They are all confounded and ashamed: the forgers of errors are gone together into confusion. Israel is saved in the Lord with an eternal salvation: you shall not be confounded, and you shall not be ashamed for ever and ever." (Is. 45:16-17)
There is the promise - both a promise of judgment and simultaneously a promise of salvation: the forgers of error will indeed be in confusion (recall the words of the Gospel, that there will be distress among the nations "by reason of the confusion of the roaring of the sea"), and will be confounded and ashamed; but Israel (that is, the Church - "whosoever shall follow this rule, peace on them and mercy: and upon the Israel of God" [Gal. 6:16]) belongs to Our Lord, and She "shall not be confounded ... shall not be ashamed for ever and ever."
Thus we pray in the Collect, "Stir up, we beseech Thee, O Lord, Thy power, and come: that from the threatening dangers of our sins we may attain by Thy protection to be delivered, and by Thy deliverance to be saved."
In Te, Domine, speravi: non confundar in aeternum.
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