CHRISTMAS III

December 25, 2023, 9 am

Saint Mark’s Episcopal Church, Warwick, R. I.

 

Hebrews 1:1-12

John 1:1-14

 

Yesterday, on Christmas Eve, we heard the familiar account of the Lord’s Nativity, complete with the angels and shepherds, as told in the Gospel according to Saint Luke. This morning, however, the appointed readings for Christmas Day take us deeper into the great mystery of the Lord’s Incarnation.

 

Down through the centuries, the Christian tradition has spoken of not just one but three births of Christ. The first birth takes place in eternity, before the beginning of time. Today’s Gospel is taken from what’s known as the Prologue to Saint John. The Fourth Gospel, the Gospel of John, gives us no Nativity story as such. Rather, echoing the first verse of the first chapter of the Book of Genesis, John begins in the beginning:  

 

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.”

Here “the Word” denotes the Son of God, the Second Person of the Holy Trinity. In John’s Greek, "Word" or Logos means something like thought, reason, purpose, plan, or self-communication. And it’s by speaking this Word that God creates the world. Our reading this morning from the Letter to the Hebrews similarly describes the Son of God as the one “whom [God] appointed heir of all things, through whom he also created the worlds. He is the reflection of God's glory and the exact imprint of God's very being, and he sustains all things by his powerful word.”

 

So, even before the universe’s creation, God the Son already exists. The Nicene Creed, which we recite every Sunday and major holy day, affirms that the Son is “eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one Being with the Father.” In other words, even before the beginning of time, God the Father begets the God the Son, who shares co‑equally and co-eternally with the Father in the Godhead’s own life and being.

 

So, when we speak of the first of the Christ’s three births, we mean this eternal begetting or generation of the Son of God from his Father before all ages, outside of time and space. 

 

The second birth of Christ is the more familiar one that we encounter at Christmas time: the birth of the infant Jesus in Bethlehem. John’s Gospel sums that whole story up in just one sentence: “And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth.”

 

In other words, the eternal Son of God came down from heaven and took flesh in the womb of the Virgin Mary to assume our human nature and to share fully in our human existence. The doctrine of the Incarnation teaches that Jesus Christ is one Person, fully divine and fully human, true God and true man. He's divine on account of his heavenly birth from the Father in eternity; and he’s human on account of his earthly birth from the Virgin Mary in Bethlehem.

 

Thus expressed, the Incarnation of the Son of God is not so much an proposition to be understood, or a puzzle to be solved, as a mystery to be worshipped and adored. The fourth century church father Gregory of Nazianzus describes this mystery in one of his sermons by a series of wonderful paradoxes: “He who has no mother in heaven is now born without father on earth. . . He who is without flesh becomes incarnate; the Word puts on a body; the Invisible is seen; he whom no hand can touch is handled; the Timeless has a beginning; the Son of God becomes Son of Man—Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today, and forever.” 

 

This second birth of Christ took place at a specific time and place, Bethlehem in Judea two thousand years ago, so that a third birth may take place today: namely, the birth of Christ in our hearts. In this respect, the Blessed Virgin Mary stands as a model for us all. Just as she literally conceived and brought the Christ child into the world, so we’re all called to let Christ be conceived in our hearts so that we may bear him into the world in our own day. 

 

This birth of Christ in our hearts begins the lifelong process by which we become like him. As he’s the Son of God by nature, so in him we become sons and daughters of God by adoption and grace. As John also says in today’s Gospel: “But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God …”

 

The early Church fathers expressed this idea by the image of a wonderful divine exchange. Christ came down to earth that he might raise us up to heaven. He became what we are that we might become what he is. He shared in our human life that we might share in his divine life. Or again, as St. Gregory Nazianzus puts it in the sermon from which I’ve already quoted: “He shares in the poverty of my flesh, that I may share in the riches of his Godhead.”

 

So, in our celebration of Christmas we contemplate three births of Christ. First, the eternal begetting of the Son from the Father before the beginning of time. Second, his coming down from heaven to be born of the Virgin Mary in Bethlehem during the reign of Caesar Augustus. And third, his birth in our hearts, here and now, which in turn marks the beginning of our rebirth in his image and likeness.

 

There’s a sense in which the birth of Christ in Bethlehem remains incomplete until he’s born in each of us. The Christmas Season affords us a wonderful opportunity to invite him in. As the  nineteenth century bishop and preacher Phillips Brooks put it in his great Christmas hymn, “O holy child of Bethlehem, descend to us we pray; cast out our sin and enter in, be born in us today.”

CHRISTMAS II

December 24, 2023, 10 pm

Saint Mark’s Episcopal Church, Warwick, R. I.

 

St. Luke 2:15-20

 

“So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger.”  (Luke 2:12)

 

By reliable tradition, the birth of Jesus took place in a cave or grotto. While the Gospels of Matthew and Luke say nothing about this cave, from the first and second centuries, Christians in the vicinity of Bethlehem kept alive and handed down the memory of the exact location—a cave among trees at the end of a ridge, so it was said.

 

Saint Justin Martyr wrote of this cave in the mid-second century, as did Origen of Alexandria in the third, even though the Emperor Hadrian had turned the site into a pagan shrine of Adonis in a vain attempt to wipe out all vestiges of Judaism and Christianity in the region. Then, in the fourth century, the Emperor Constantine constructed on the site a Christian church, the Basilica of the Nativity, rebuilt by the Emperor Justinian in the sixth century, and still standing, restored and renovated many times, to this day.

 

Throughout the year, pilgrims wait in the basilica, sometimes for hours, to descend the stone staircase to visit the Grotto of the Nativity, located directly underneath the high altar. Set in the stone floor, a fourteen-pointed silver star marks the spot with the Latin inscription: “Here Jesus Christ was born of the Virgin Mary.” Close by, a small side chapel marks the location of the manger.

 

When Mary and Joseph arrived in Joseph’s ancestral home of Bethlehem to be counted in the census, one of the villagers—perhaps a relative of Joseph’s—would have given them lodgings. The customs of hospitality demanded no less. Family dwellings in that area were often built against hillsides, and they often incorporated natural or man-made caves that were used to shelter animals during the night. So, Mary and Joseph probably received lodgings in just such a cave—and this would account for the presence of a manger, a stone feeding-trough for animals, ready-made for use as a makeshift cradle.

 

In Luke’s Gospel, the Greek word translated “manger” is derived from the verb “to eat,” and denotes a stone feeding trough for animals. The English word “manger” has a similar derivation, coming from the French verb manger, to eat.

 

Early Christian writers such as Saint Ambrose and Saint Augustine point out that Jesus at his birth, wrapped in swaddling cloths and placed in a stone manger in a cave, foreshadows Jesus at his death, taken down from the cross, wrapped in a linen shroud, and placed on a stone slab in another cave not so far away. The parallel symbolism suggests that the Lord’s death fulfills the purpose for which he was born into the world in the first place. Other writers note that in Hebrew the name Bethlehem means “house of bread,” so that in the manger we see the one who’s the true Bread from Heaven. When we go to the Altar for Holy Communion, we make a cradle of our hands to receive Him.

 

We don’t know exactly at what time of year Jesus was born, but Mary’s bundling him in cloth bands does suggest that it was cold. In any case, the sight was sufficiently distinctive that the shepherds knew instantly that they’d found exactly what the angel had told them to look for.

 

“This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger." For the shepherds, then, the sign’s purpose was to confirm the truth of the angelic announcement: “I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”

 

Without the prior angelic announcement, the sight of a swaddled newborn lying in a manger might have been a bit unusual but wouldn’t really have meant anything out of the ordinary. And without the sign, the angelic proclamation of the Savior’s birth would have gone without verification. The shepherds’ unique mission is to put the two together, the announcement and the sign confirming it, and then bear witness to what they’ve heard and seen.

 

The shepherds fulfill this calling admirably. Their immediate response to the angel’s message is to go as quickly as they can into Bethlehem to see this thing that has taken place, that the Lord has made known to them. And when they find Mary and Joseph, and the babe lying in the manger, they relate what the angel has told them concerning this child. All who hear their testimony are amazed. The shepherds thus become the first human preachers of the Gospel, the good news of Jesus Christ come into the world. Finally, they return to the fields, glorifying and praising God. For the true preaching of the Gospel always leads to worship and adoration.

 

But Mary’s reaction is unique. Luke tells us that she treasured all these words, pondering them in her heart. As we celebrate Christmas, a temptation for us may be to join in the seasonal festivities, sing the carols, exchange greetings, join in family gatherings, and give gifts—and then forget all about it until the same time next year, and then again the year after that. Perhaps that’s what the shepherds did—carry on with the rest of their lives just as before, save for occasionally remembering the strange proceedings of a winter’s night and wondering whatever became of that couple and their newborn son in the manger …

 

But Mary treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart. Here she holds up an example for us. If some aspect of our Christmas celebration touches you this evening, even if you don’t understand all at once what it all means—nonetheless, don’t let it go. Hold on to it. Ponder it in your heart. Who knows how it may grow, and where it might lead? 

CHRISTMAS I

December 24, 2023, 5 pm

Saint Mark’s Episcopal Church, Warwick, R. I.

 

St. Luke 2:1-14

 

A striking feature of the Nativity story in Saint Luke’s Gospel is its focus on the shepherds. More than one commentator has remarked that Luke disposes of Our Lord’s actual birth in one sentence: “And [Mary] gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.”

 

Then the narrative switches immediately to the shepherds in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. Totally unexpectedly, an angel appears to the shepherds, and the glory of the Lord—the supernatural light that characteristically accompanies God’s presence—shines round about them. As in almost all such biblical accounts of appearances of heavenly messengers, the shepherds’ initial reaction is one of sheer terror. Angels are frightening to behold. For this reason, their first words are almost invariably, “Fear not,” or “Be not afraid.”

 

The angel then proceeds to deliver the announcement: “I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people …” Here, the verb translated as “to bring good news” is exactly the same verb that Luke and the other New Testament writers use for “preach the Gospel” when writing of Jesus and the apostles. The angel’s message is thus a proclamation of the good news of God’s salvation.

 

The angel continues: “to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” Here the angelic proclamation takes a form resembling that of a court herald announcing the birth of an heir to the throne in an earthly kingdom. But the three titles—Savior, Messiah, and Lord—signify unmistakably that this birth is no ordinary royal birth, but none other than that of the Christ, God’s anointed one.

 

Then the angel gives a sign: "you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger." In the Bible, the purpose of signs accompanying messages is to provide a means of verification, so that the recipient may know that the message is true, and not a hallucination or deception.

 

Without having heard the angels’ message, onlookers and passersby in Bethlehem might not find anything much remarkable in the event itself: an infant born to a traveling couple in makeshift lodgings lying in a feeding trough used as a makeshift cradle. The gift of new life is always a joyful and awesome event. At the same time, however, it’s a common enough occurrence.

 

At the same time, the sign is distinctive enough that as soon as the shepherds see it, they’ll recognize exactly what the angel told them to look for. So, the announcement interprets the birth as that of "a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” And, reciprocally, the birth’s unusual circumstances—“a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger”—confirm that the announcement is true.

 

Once the angel finishes speaking, the shepherds are granted a glimpse into heaven itself, of the angelic host worshiping God and singing: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors.” The shepherds’ experience that night thus combines into one the heavenly and the earthly: on one hand, a miraculous supernatural vision; on the other hand, a plainly natural scene—and what could be more natural than a newborn infant? But that is the deepest meaning of the Incarnation: God comes down to earth from heaven; the Word is made flesh and dwells among us.

 

The angels proclaim that the birth of Jesus not only glorifies God in heaven, but also brings peace on earth. But what does “peace on earth” mean? Clearly, the world’s history in the two millennia since Christ’s birth has not been marked by what we normally think of as peace. On the contrary, it’s been a sad chronicle of conflict, war, revolution, massacre, and genocide. If God’s reign of justice, love, and peace is meant to be an historical reality, its realization is clearly not yet.

 

The New Testament nonetheless uses the word “peace” 92 times: most often to describe a gift of God available to us here and now. In Bible translations, the English word “peace”—like the Latin pax and the Greek eirene—harks back to the Hebrew shalom. And shalom signifies far more than what usually passes for peace in our world—namely, the absence of active hostilities or a state of armed truce. Instead, shalom implies a state of communal wholeness, well-being, reconciliation, forgiveness, unity, and harmony.

 

And I’d like to suggest that the peace that Christ brings has three dimensions: namely peace with God; peace with one another; and peace within ourselves.

 

Peace with God comes first. In the biblical understanding, the basic human predicament is that we’re not at peace with God. Our first and greatest need is for God’s forgiveness. And at Bethlehem Christ comes into the world precisely to reconcile us with God by means of his death, resurrection, and ascension.

 

Then comes peace with one another. Christians are called to be peacemakers. Because Christ has reconciled us with God, we’re obligated to be reconciled with one another. Nothing is more destructive to our souls than harboring resentments and bearing grudges. So, if we have anything against anyone, we need to pray for the grace, that only Christ can bestow, to forgive and be at peace.

 

Last but not least is peace within ourselves: “the peace of God, which passes all understanding.” In what seems a curious contradiction of the angels’ proclamation, In a later part of Saint Luke’s Gospel, Jesus says: “Do you think that I have come to bring peace on earth? No I tell you, but rather division …” He then goes on to foretell the persecution and sufferings that his disciples must undergo on his account. Still, it’s the peace within, the peace that only Christ can give in our hearts, that equips us to withstand all turmoil, conflict, and persecution without. 

 

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!"

 

Even while peace remains conspicuously lacking in the world around us, Christ’s birth in Bethlehem brings us peace with God, peace with one another, and peace in ourselves. One of my favorite hymns, “They cast their nets in Galilee,” concludes with this verse: 

 

The peace of God, it is no peace, 

But strife closed in the sod; 

Yet let us pray for but one thing: 

The marvelous peace of God.

FOURTH SUNDAY OF ADVENT, YEAR B

December 24, 2023

Saint Mark’s Episcopal Church, Warwick, R.I.

 

II Samuel 7:1-11, 16

Luke 1:26-38

 

The readings appointed for this Fourth Sunday in Advent reveal that our God is a God of surprises! In the Old Testament reading from Second Samuel, God surprises King David; and in the Gospel reading from Saint Luke, God surprises the Blessed Virgin Mary. Let’s look at both of these surprises.

 

Finally enjoying the peace of his kingdom, King David tells the Prophet Nathan that he wants to build a house for God—that is, a Temple to house the Ark of the Covenant which up until that time has had only a tent for shelter. The Ark, we may remember, was the chest containing the two stone tablets of the Law which Moses had brought down from Mount Sinai; it was also considered God’s earthly throne: the appointed meeting place between God and humanity. 

 

But God tells Nathan to say to David: “Are you the one to build me a house to live in? I have not lived in a house since the day I brought up the people of Israel from Egypt until this day, but I have been moving about in a tent and a tabernacle.”

 

Then in a wonderful play on words, God basically says, “No, you don’t build me a house; I build you a house!” Here the word “house” means not a physical building or a material edifice, but rather a royal dynasty. And God makes David an amazing promise: “Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure for ever before me; your throne shall be established forever.” It’s not what David is expecting to hear; but God is a God of surprises!

 

Approximately nine centuries later, God sends the angel Gabriel to Nazareth of Galilee to tell the Virgin Mary that she’s the one chosen to fulfill this ancient promise to David. Literally out of the blue, Gabriel addresses Mary with the mysterious words: “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” Mary’s shock and surprise are apparent as Luke tells us: “She was much perplexed by his words and wondered what sort of greeting this might be.”

 

But the most surprising part is yet to come. Gabriel explains to Mary that even while remaining a virgin she will conceive and bear a son who will inherit the kingdom of his ancestor David, and of whose kingdom there shall be no end.

 

Mary asks, “How can this be since I am a virgin?” And Gabriel’s answer effectively describes Mary as a new Ark of the Covenant. We remember that David’s son King Solomon finally did build that Temple in Jerusalem, and placed the Ark in its inner sanctum, the Holy of Holies. But when the Babylonians destroyed the Temple in the sixth century BC, the Ark disappeared, and to this day nobody knows what happened to it. By New Testament times, the Holy of Holies in the Jerusalem Temple stood empty.

 

When Gabriel says to Mary, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you,” he’s using the same language that the Old Testament uses to describe the glory of the Lord filling the Tent of Meeting when God would descend from heaven and overshadow the Ark. Similarly overshadowed by the divine glory, Mary thus becomes the Ark of a New Covenant, the new dwelling-place of God on earth. It’s probably the last thing Mary is expecting to hear; but God is a God of surprises!

 

In Luke’s Greek, the grammatical form of Mary’s answer, “let it be with me according to your word” expresses not merely passive acquiescence but enthusiastic affirmation and active cooperation. It’s not like she’s saying, “Yeah, right, whatever,” but rather, “YES! Let’s make this thing happen!” And that assent is the critical prerequisite to the Word taking flesh and dwelling among us that we shall be celebrating this evening on Christmas Eve and tomorrow morning on Christmas Day.

 

The great gift that Mary receives at the Annunciation doesn’t mean that her life will always be easy. There will be moments of inexpressible joy, like the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem. There will also be times of danger and hardship, such as the flight into Egypt. And eventually that sword of unbearable sorrow, prophesied by old Simeon in the Temple, will pierce Mary’s own soul as she stands at the foot of the cross watching her Son suffer and die. But in the end, her faithful obedience will turn out to have been infinitely worthwhile as she’s among the witnesses to the divine surprise of all surprises, namely, her Son’s resurrection from the dead and ascension into heavenly glory—into which she also will be taken up at the end of her earthly life.

 

Notice that in today’s Old Testament reading King David does nothing to earn or merit the promises he receives from God. On the contrary, David is not that exemplary a character, and God’s pledges to him are sheer gifts of undeserved favor—made according to God’s goodness and faithfulness and not David’s.

 

By contrast, the Church has traditionally taken the Blessed Virgin Mary as the highest model and example of Christian discipleship. Even so, God’s grace is still everything. Gabriel’s initial address to Mary, “Greetings, favored one!” might be translated better as “Rejoice, O highly-graced one!” This greeting suggests that God has already been preparing Mary for her unique mission. All that’s required is her willing assent, which in turn is made possible only by that special grace with which God has filled her from the beginning.

 

While Mary’s vocation to be the Mother of God Incarnate is utterly unique and unrepeatable, we each of us have our own unique calling to serve God and our neighbor in a distinctive way. The question is how we can ready ourselves to say yes to God with willing consent and active cooperation, as Mary did. 

 

The answer, I think, is fairly simple. We need to remain open to the unexpected, constant in prayer, and reliant on God’s grace and strength to do in and through us what we could never do for ourselves.

 

Today’s readings invite us to be receptive to whatever surprises God may still have in store for us—as individuals, as families, as communities, as the Church. This year has had its share of bad news, and I think that we’re all ready for some Good News.

 

And I think that the Good News will turn out to be that God has been equipping us with his grace all along. He continues to strengthen us daily and weekly, as we turn to him in prayer and receive his Sacraments. So, trusting in God’s promises, we stand ready to say “Yes, Lord,” when he surprises us, as he will, with his calling and with his gifts.

 

 

ADVENT 3, YEAR B

December 16-17, 2023

Saint Mark’s Episcopal Church, Warwick, R. I.

 

John 1:6-8, 19-28

 

One winter morning some years ago, we woke up in darkness—I mean, literally. In a storm during the night, our house had lost power. So my wife, my sons, and I had to fumble around in the dark as we went about our morning routines of getting washed, dressed, and out the door for school and work.

 

We weren’t totally in the dark, however, because in those days we kept lanterns with battery-powered fluorescent lights on hand for precisely this eventuality. So, we did have sources of light available to guide our steps up and down the stairs and in and out of the bathroom and the various other rooms of our house.

 

The Bible often describes God as light; and Saint John’s Gospel in particular depicts Jesus as the light of the world. This biblical image conveys two principal ideas. 

First, God’s light illumines our path and guides our steps. Without this light, we’re in darkness, blindly stumbling around, liable to trip, fall, and injure ourselves. But just as those hand-held lanterns helped us to find our ways through a darkened house, so the light of Christ enables us to find our way through the life of this world.

 

But second, the Bible also often depicts our sins as darkness: those thoughts, words, and deeds that we’d rather keep hidden. The light makes them visible and reveals them for what they are. In the biblical worldview, then, a world apart from God is a world in darkness. But the light of God’s Word gives us the opportunity to repent and mend our ways so that we may live in its light.

 

Today’s Gospel identifies John the Baptist as a witness to the light: “There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.”

 

Whereas the other three Gospels—Matthew, Mark, and Luke—identify John primarily as a preacher of repentance and forerunner of the Messiah, the Fourth Gospel presents John first and foremost as a witness to the light.

 

When emissaries of the Jewish religious authorities in Jerusalem come to question John about who he is, he refuses to speak about himself, and instead says who he’s not. He repudiates all the titles by which they seek to pigeonhole him. He’s neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the Prophet. When they press him to say then who he is, he answers somewhat mysteriously: “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord’, as the Prophet Isaiah said.” 

 

But rather than attempting to engage with that answer on its own terms, they fall back on their own preconceived categories and ask instead why he’s baptizing, if he’s neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the Prophet. Here again, he doesn’t answer the question directly, but instead speaks even more mysteriously of one standing among them whom they do not know, the thong of whose sandal he’s not worthy to untie.

 

The point of this seeming evasiveness is that the role of a witness is not to talk about himself. John avoids putting himself on center stage, and instead directs attention to the one coming after him. 

 

For this reason, John the Baptist is sometimes compared to the moon at night. He seems to be a source of light, but it’s really the reflected light of the sun below the horizon. And when the sun rises at the dawning of the day, the moon becomes less and less visible. Just so, John reflects the light of the one coming after him, whose coming into the world is the dawn of a new day.

 

And here John stands as a model and example for us in the Church today. After his Resurrection from the dead, Our Lord says to his disciples: “you shall be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria and to the end of the earth.” 

 

In the Prayer Book’s baptismal service, one of the promises we make is to “proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.” And then, one of the prayers we offer for those about to be baptized is, “Send them into the world in witness to your love.”

 

The only reason that the Church has survived and flourished down through the centuries has been the Gospel finding a home in the hearts of countless believers who’ve been unafraid to bear witness to Christ and the light that he brings into their lives.

 

But testifying to the light can also be a risky business. For while the light represents salvation to some, it’s threatening to others. Ultimately John the Baptist is imprisoned and beheaded on account of his witness. We must always remember that the Greek word for witness is martyr.

 

Nevertheless, as baptized members of the Church, our calling is always to bear witness to the light. Here the words of today’s Gospel are particularly instructive. We are not the light, but we’ve been sent to bear witness to the light. 

 

The great temptation, however, is to fall into the trap of thinking, speaking, and acting as if we were the light. Come to Saint Mark’s: We’ve got a wonderful parish full of friendly and caring people, lots of fun activities, and great community outreach. While that’s all certainly true, the problem with that type of appeal is that it’s all about us. It’s all about who we are and what we do.

 

But on the contrary, if we do anything here that’s at all worthwhile, it’s on account of its capacity to point beyond ourselves. Wonderful as they are, the worship, the social activities, and the outreach are not intended primarily for our own edification, inspiration, fulfillment, or entertainment. For they’re not all about us, but about him to whom we bear witness. Just as the moon reflects the light of the sun, so our calling is to reflect the light of the Son of God.

 

During this season of Advent, the figure of John the Baptist reminds us of our calling to point to Jesus as the one who stands among us, often unnamed, unrecognized, and unknown. We do so not only by individual words and deeds, but most of all by the quality of a common life shaped by his Gospel. And when we fulfill that calling, then it can truly be said of us, along with John the Baptist, that we ourselves are not the light, but have come to testify to the light.