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Today's Readings
Dearest Lord,
Hope you don't mind, Lord, but your cousin isn't exactly my favorite Christmas character. Don't get me wrong: I think John the Baptist was pretty heroic, but I'm not sure if it's right to read about him during Advent, as we did today in the Gospel, since we should be preparing for Christmas, shouldn't we?
I'll take the usual angels with their wings and halos anytime--or the shepherds visiting the manger or the wise men bearing their gifts. Certainly not this ascetic prophet from the desert, who feeds on a diet of locusts and who, any chance he got, reminds us that we are sinners and need to repent.
Who wants to hear about a man whose life doesn’t have a happy ending? The first time we meet him, he is dancing in his mother Elizabeth’s womb. The last time we meet him is at another, but bloodier, dance: Salome performs a dance that steals the heart of her stepfather, Herod, who, in that drunken moment, promises everything to her. Upon the prompting of her mother, Salome asks for the head of John the Baptist on a plate. Not exactly the kind of story you’d like to hear in a Christmas carol!
Whatever else we say about him, John the Baptist is one figure you won't find hanging in most people's Christmas tree.
But more than his tragic story, it is the meaning of his life that doesn’t quite seem to fit into this merry season. After years of preaching in the desert and baptizing in the Jordan, John the Baptist, realizing that the time of the Messiah had arrived, told his disciples to follow Jesus instead, telling them that the Messiah must increase, but he must decrease.
What could that mean—all this talk of decreasing so that others might increase? Dag Hammarskjöld, the former Secretary General of the United Nations, expressed this attitude beautifully when he wrote that we should pray for grace of what he called “transparency”—i.e., to vanish entirely as an end, but to remain purely a means. To be so totally selfless, so that everything we do is for others. In other words, to decrease so that others, including the Lord, might increase.
To be honest, Lord, in this world and age, who wants to decrease? Isn’t it more fashionable these days to increase? And in getting things done, isn’t it more effective to wield whatever authority we can wield and even throw our weight around especially when we face people who might hurt us? Who wants to make himself small and defenseless in a world that can often turn hostile and dangerous?
And so it would seem that it’s probably best to reserve John the Baptist for some other, less festive season.
And so as Christmas approaches, we prefer leave John the Baptist behind in the desert and rush eagerly to the manger with all its usual angels, shepherds, and kings. But as we break into song, we find in their midst the Christ child and realize that there in the scene of the very first Christmas we find--of all people--John the Baptist and everything that he stands for.
When I think about it, what is Christmas about, if not about the God who is infinite vastness decreasing Himself in order to become one of us so that we, in turn, might increase and become one of His? Isn’t Christmas precisely about God’s “transparency”—when he showed us what it means to vanish as an end and to remain purely as a means—a means, that is, to our salvation?
And so, on second thought, maybe John the Baptist is a great Christmas figure, after all. As he did in his life, today his life and his person both point to the life and person of Christ. Indeed he paves the way of the Lord, which is the way of humility and self-sacrifice.
Dear Jesus, before I rush to the stable to gaze at your face, grant me the grace to linger in the desert to first learn from the Baptist. Please allow his spirit to touch my heart, for his spirit is a reflection of your own spirit of humility and self-sacrifice. Amen.
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 Today's Readings
Dearest Lord,
Today I recall the John the Baptist's in my life, people whom you sent to me to show me the way to you. They have been many--too many to name here: family members, religion teachers, college professors, retreat masters, Jesuits and other religious... Today I'd like to mention three.
As you know, my first teacher in faith was my sister, Rosita, who held her catechism classes every day as we rode the car to school. Rumors have it that she was a frustrated nun--that she wanted to get herself to a nunnery, but didn't obtain our parents' permission. Each morning, as we tried to keep awake in the car, she held up her Illustrated Bible and told stories about Moses, David, and you (I suspect now that for catechetical reasons, she was secretly delighted when the traffic was bad). Worse, she quizzed us on the Ten Commandments and all the other things Catholics were expected to know by heart. Years later when I was in high school, I won the top prize in a Catechetical Knowledge Contest, and of course I knew I had my sister to thank for that.
After my sister, I met my first real religion teacher in Grade 3, when I was moved from a Chinese school to a Catholic school. I still remember the first day she walked into class. She stood in front of us, closed her eyes, and knitted her eyebrows and totally without shame, prayed in the sincerest of tones: "Jesus, I love you! I ask you to be with us today!" I remember looking around the class bewildered, wondering who she was talking to! My grade 3 teacher Lulu taught me and showed me that you were real.
Fast forward to many years later, my spiritual director, Father Benny. He was a quiet man, whose eyes looked at you in a way that made you feel that he could read your heart and mind. Many legends surrounded Father Benny--the way he could help you make sense of your complicated self. True enough, I remember one of our first sessions, when after listening to me go on and on about myself, my life, and my difficulties, he asked me one simple question that made me see and understand. It was an A-ha moment: I recognized you in my life.
Lord, I want to thank you for these three persons--and the many other John the Baptists in my life. They pointed to you, and in different ways they told me: "Behold, the Lamb of God!" Without them, without their wisdom and their love, I would never have found you--and I would never have found myself.
Today, you invite me in my own way to be a John the Baptist too. Help me to talk about you in a way that will show your truth to others. Help me to do my work so that others may appreciate your beauty. And finally, help me to live my life so that I will let your goodness shine through.
Amen.
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Today's Readings
Dearest Mary,
How do you say "Yes"? Teach me, my Mother. Praying yet again over the Annunciation story, I can't help but wonder again if you were able to say "Yes" because you were just generous or because you didn't completely understand what you were getting into. I suspect that it was both.
I mean, how can anyone agree to let God turn one's life upside down? Isn't that' what your "Yes" to the angel meant? To agree to be the mother of the "Son of the Most High" isn't a simple thing. First of all, you didn't have to stretch your imagination to know what agreeing to the proposed pregnancy would do to your engagement to Joseph. I'm sure you knew it would ruin and end any prospect of marriage to him. When you said "Yes," you certainly had no idea that this same angel would visit Joseph in his dream. And even if you knew that Joseph was a righteous man and someone who loved you, there was no telling how he would react to the whole situation.
Secondly, you must have guessed that by saying "Yes," you would endanger not only your relationship with Joseph, but also your own life. You knew of the law of Moses that prescribed stoning for those caught in adultery--and certainly you must have known that it wouldn't be easy to convince people to believe any talk of angels--not even those closest to you.
And if you did manage to survive, saying "Yes" to the angel would most certainly be saying "Yes" to a life of ruined reputation. As is the case today, the villagers and neighbors would flock around your life and feast on your story. In fact, even as an adult, Jesus was still referred to as your son--and not Joseph's--a clue, we're told by biblical scholars, that the rumor about the illegitimacy of his birth had not exactly died down.
But finally, what does the "Son of the Most High" mean anyway, and what does being his mother entail? Did you know that he wouldn't be your usual king, but would, in fact, be almost the complete opposite--someone who would make himself servant and would even be executed among criminals?
It's hard to imagine that you said "Yes" understanding fully well what you were getting into. I mean, it just wasn't possible to understand everything about that decision and commitment of yours--as it is impossible today to understand every consequence and implication of our decisions and commitments. As I reflect more about the Annunciation, more and more I can't help but suspect that you must have accepted the angel's invitation without complete understanding! But that, more than anything else, reveals the generosity of your "Yes."
It's easy to say "Yes" when we know exactly what we're getting into, and when we've been able to do the math as far as the costs and benefits are concerned. It's much tougher to be generous when we can see some of the costs but don't see the benefits too clearly. But just the same, you paused and thought for a while, took a deep breath, summoning all your faith, and said "Yes."
Teach me how you say "Yes." Too often I count the coins and perform what has become the prerequisite number-crunching before I agree to get into anything. There are two problems with this type of accounting: First, in this life, it's simply impossible to foresee all the benefits and costs of one's decisions and actions. Often we need to make the decision first before we can understand and experience its consequences. Secondly, we're simply not supposed to play the accountant with God. When we think about it, God doesn't play accountant with us because we deserve none of the gifts that he has given us. If God opts to count the coins with us, we will be left with nothing because we deserve nothing.
God invites us to faith and to generosity--even to extravagance--because he puts his faith in us and pours out everything for us.
Dearest Mary, help me learn how to say "Yes" the way you did that first moment with the angel and every single day that followed that. Amen.
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