Why We Still Need John the Baptist

During Advent, we always meet John the Baptist in the Sunday Gospel readings.  John is a colorful figure, and we all love him for it.  But we might not love him so much if we met him in the desert!  Especially if he was shouting in our direction!

There’s a wonderful question in Luke’s account of the birth of John the Baptist.  When John was born, people asked themselves:  “What then will this child become?” (Lk. 1:66). 

What did John become?  And why is he still so important?

Luke's Gospel identifies John as the prophet who came to smooth rough ways by levelling mountains and filling in valleys.  That sounds like hard work.  And it is.  Because when it comes to the human heart, most of us have no interest in having our mountains levelled or our valleys filled in.  We go through our days saying, “I’m just fine thank you,” continuing right along the same rough path as always.  It was John’s momentous task to convince people that they are not fine.  As Jesus would later explain, “Those who are healthy do not need a physician, but the sick do” (Lk. 5:31).  It is hard work convincing people that they need a physician.  How often have you put off a visit to the doctor?  How often have you ignored pains and symptoms, hoping they would go away on their own?  John’s preaching convinced people that they could no longer ignore the symptoms.  And they repented, making way for a healing Savior.

John was a sight to see, a man of the desert, and I imagine his prophetic voice was quite loud.  We still need that loud voice ringing in our ears, that strange sight of someone so different telling us that something is not right in our lives, in our world.  Our own spiritual blindness, our self-satisfied complacency, is the impenetrable fortress John wanted to knock down. 

This was the work of the one who was not even worthy to loosen the thong of Jesus’ sandal!  This was the preparation for something even greater.  So imagine – imagine – what Jesus can do in our hearts if first we listen to the voice of the Baptist!

What Does It Profit Me?

The Solemnity of Mary the Mother of God (Jan. 1) marks the Octave of Christmas.  Next Sunday, we will celebrate Epiphany, and the Sunday after that, the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord.  As we transition from the Christmas season back into Ordinary Time, as we pack up the outward signs of Christmas, we want to find some small way of keeping Christmas – its meaning and its light – with us.  Has Christmas changed us?  How?

An image from an Edith Stein poem is a simple way to express the change that should take place within us every year:  “My heart has become your manger.”

Meister Eckhart in his own mystical way makes a similar point, and one which expresses the longevity of Christmas in the enduring power of the birth of Christ:  “But if it does not happen in me, if this child is not born in me, what does it profit me?  What matters is that God should be born again in me.” 

Has your heart become a manger – a refuge – for him?  Has he been born – in you?  How will you share him with the world?

-- Meister Eckhart (1260-1328) was a German theologian and mystic who was a member of the Dominican Order.  Eckhart was tried by the Inquisition as a heretic but has had many contemporary defenders, including John Paul II and the Dominican Order. 

-- Edith Stein was a Jewish academic who converted to Catholicism and became a Carmelite sister.  She died at Auschwitz in 1942.  Stein was canonized in 1998 and is known as St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross.  She has also been honored with the title of "martyr."  The quote above comes from her poem "Holy Night."

A Christmas Prescription from the Angelic Doctor

As a theology student reading selections of St. Thomas Aquinas’ Summa Theologica, I was never quite sure whether I was falling into a rapture or falling asleep.  Although I’m sure Aquinas is entirely worthy of the ecclesial title “Angelic Doctor”, I always thought of him as more of an academic than an angel, and even though I treasure those volumes of the Summa given to me by a friend as I went off to college, I see them now as having more symbolic value than immediate theological relevance in my life.

That being said, I came across one of the Angelic Doctor’s sermons a few days ago that reminded me that Thomas Aquinas was not only methodical and intelligent, but also sensitive and spiritual.  In this homily, given on the First Sunday of Advent, he associated several unexpected Scripture verses with the impending birth of Christ.  I found each of them very worthy of Christmas meditation.

I offer these verses to you here with my own Christmas greetings.  I thank each of you for the support and encouragement you have offered me this past year, and I wish you and your loved ones a peaceful, meaningful, and very merry Christmas:

“And so it happened that there was in the same man justice to the full and infinite mercy, and so mercy and truth have met one another; justice and peace have kissed one another (Ps. 95:11)….  Thus he came to make peace between mankind and God.  And for this he is the appropriate arbiter, since he is himself our peace which makes both one (Eph. 2:14)….  He came to take away the contamination of sin, like a doctor.  Mt. 8:7 reads:  I will come and cure him.  He came to be in our company, like a friend; it says in Baruch 5, From the holy one my joy comes.”

-- St. Thomas Aquinas, Veniet Desideratus: Sermon on the First Sunday of Advent

Humanity's Dream

“Humanity’s dream which began in the Garden of Eden – we want to be like God – is realized in an unexpected way, not through the greatness of man, who cannot make himself God, but through the humility of God who came down among us in His humility, raising us to the true greatness of His being."

-- Pope Benedict XVI, General Audience, Jan. 4, 2012

Lessons of the Trees #5: O Tannenbaum!

In the U.S., the definitive sign that your household has entered into the Christmas spirit is that the tree is up and decorated.  Although there is great variety in the ways we celebrate, decorate and commemorate the season, the tree is a common, unifying symbol.

As you can imagine, the history of the Christmas tree is long and complicated.  Trees have symbolized many things through the ages, and with good reason.  They are strong and dignified, living and resilient.  Their wood is used to build things (including mangers and crosses) and their branches and leaves protect small animals and birds.  In some cultures, trees are thought to have their own spirits, and to be worthy of worship.  And certainly they do point to and reach toward the heavens!

The conifers we use as Christmas trees have the added symbolism of a triangle shape (Trinity, anyone?).  And of course they stay green through the long winter, symbolizing the hope we always have in Christ, as fresh as the day he rose from the dead.  I can certainly attest to this effect of the evergreen; one reason I don’t mind the long winters in Connecticut is because of the gorgeous view of five stately green conifers in my back yard.  I am not a fan of snow, but snow settling on pines is one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen.

Despite these symbolic tidbits, the most interesting thing I’ve read about the history of the Christmas tree is a tradition that is really more of a precursor.  It comes from the medieval European tradition of celebrating Christmas Eve as “Adam and Eve Day.”   Evergreens, symbolizing the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, were decorated with apples, symbolizing the forbidden fruit.  At some point, white wafers, symbolizing the Eucharist, were also hung on the trees.  And so two foods decorated the medieval “Paradise Tree” – one which brought down the human race, and another which is an “antidote”, a sign of our redemption. 

Decorating “Paradise Trees” is a tradition that persisted but evolved.  Fresh apples were replaced with – you guessed it – bright red balls.  Now sure, I’ve thought vaguely before about the relationship between the Tree of Knowledge, the Tree of the Cross, and the Christmas Tree.  But this year, when those bright red balls go on, I might just see old Tannenbaum in a whole new light!

The lovely pines in my back yard were my landlord's kids' Christmas trees.