1st Sunday in Advent (part 1)

This Sunday sees a new church year commencing. Here’s my homily, based on Mark 13:33-37:

Watch therefore for you don’t know when the master of the house will come; in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow or in the morning lest he come and find you asleep. And what I say to you I say to all: Watch! [Mark 13: 35-37]

What is going to happen? Tomorrow, next month, next year? Our view of the future radically effects how we live today.

I suspect most people see the future in one of two ways: bleak or bright.

Bleak: There are many who see the future as a decadent slide into disaster; things are going downhill fast, from bad to worse.

Bright. There are some who see the future as holding bright promise. Nothing is beyond us if we will only pull together.

The bleak ones tend to live the present in a constant state of anxiety, which results in either frenetic activity (the chook running around without a head syndrome!) or inhibited and immobilised like a terrified rabbit (the Lot’s wife syndrome!). Because they have no faith in the future, the present becomes a maze of threats and pointless toil.

The bright ones, provided they aren’t merely superficially optimistic (the Labrador puppy syndrome!) live purposeful, daring, creative lives. They have long-range goals. Because they believe in the future they can dare to be relaxed and productive in the present, and be patient for that which takes time to bring to fruition.

Of course, one must admit there seems to be plenty of grounds for pessimism. There’s a plethora of evidence around us to support those who only see a bleak future. How optimistic dare be the 80% of the world’s population who have access to only 20% of the world’s resources and wealth? How much optimism can the AIDS ravaged countries of Africa afford? How much optimism can people sustain through the violence of Basque regions, Kurdish areas, Indonesian Aceh and Bali, Colombia, Laos, and Palestine? How much optimism is there in the Western world following all the economic, political and military consequences of the terrorism that hit New York in September 2001? How much optimism is there among the children of those homes (sadly, more numerous that we once suspected) where domestic violence is endemic? How optimistic dare young people be as they study for a future in a society where employment commensurate with one’s acquired skills is by no means guaranteed?

For many people at here and abroad, the outlook does indeed appear bleak. Not to recognise this would be folly. For the church to ignore the human misery and uncertainty that exists would be a grave lack of love. Those of us whose “lines have fallen in pleasant places” cannot pretend that the miseries of others are self-inflicted, or flaunt a pious optimism which counts the unhappiness of others of no account.

However, a Christian sees something greater than the bleak aspects of life. No matter how jittery we may feel at bad times, we are called to hope. “Watch! For your salvation is nearer than when you first believed,” says the Gospel. Hope is our business.

This hope is not a matter of ignoring grim realities. It is not pretending that every cloud has a silver lining. We aren’t called to be hymn-singing ostriches who pop their heads out of the sand during the choruses. No, we’re asked to have our eyes wide open. Watch!

In truth, our eyes should be wider open than those of our hardheaded humanist friends. It’s our job to look honestly at life, to recognise evil and name it openly, yet also to see our coming Lord everywhere at work, even in the places of greatest cruelty and chaos. We are called to see a Lord who dares to be redeemingly busy in the bleakest of circumstances. The cross remains forever the surest mark of his presence among his people.