2nd Sunday of Advent (Preparing a Gift for the Newborn King)

Some time ago, I read about a Christmas-themed opera called Amahl and the Night Visitors, the story of a poor, crippled shepherd boy, Amahl, who lived with his single mother. Late into the evening they heard a knock at the door. Suddenly before them were three men, dressed in splendor. They said they were magi, on a long journey, following a miraculous star, seeking a child-king, for whom they had gifts. They needed a place to stay for the night, and hospitality was given.

Later, when all were asleep, Amahl’s mother, out of great worry for her son’s condition and his future, attempted to steal the gold that one of the magi intended to give the newborn king. She was caught in the act. “Woman, you may keep the gold. The child we seek doesn’t need it. On love, love alone, he will build his kingdom. His pierced hand will hold no scepter. His haloed head will wear no crown….He will bring us new life and receive our death, and the keys to his city belong to the poor”.

          The mother was moved and replied, “Take back your gold. It’s for such a king that I’ve waited all my life”. [i]

          But it makes me wonder, what would you or I bring the newborn king? Ourselves? More to the point, our hearts? And what a lovely thought: to bring your heart—all that you are at your core—to the infant Jesus. Is your heart, like too many of us, filled with anxiety and fear, worn out with exhaustion over all the things that life and this season demand. Do I want to give the newborn king and angst-filled heart?

          Or is your heart suffering from the spirit of the culture, as it can so often be, shaped by bitterness, anger, impatience. There’s so much of that looming over us. I’ve heard it described as something like getting onto an elevator filled with people you know to be sick with colds and flu, and trying and hoping not to get sick. It’s so hard to protect our hearts from absorbing all the negativity. Is that the heart you would want to give to the newborn king?

          But maybe it’s not just the stuff outside of us, impacting our hearts. Maybe it’s our own doing. I often describe that God gave us beautiful hearts when we were born. And with time, as we began to understand what moves us towards God, versus what hides us from Him, we find our proclivity toward sin, meaning that we find ourselves choosing to speak, act or think in such a way, knowing it will obscure us from God’s love and light. It becomes easier and easier, gradually and eventually taking these beautiful hearts and making them cold, hard, grey, and depleted of God’s presence within; not the hearts we would want to offer our newborn king.

          Advent exists to prepare us for our encounter with our newborn king, so we remind ourselves of the message of John the Baptist, calling us to repent of our sins, to seek forgiveness, that we might be prepared for Jesus’ coming. Like you, perhaps, I struggle to keep my heart the way that God gave it to me: pure, beautiful. In these days of Advent, we would do well to make an honest evaluation of our hearts, as we prepare for what lies beyond this life, but also to present them to our newborn king.

And after this honest look, that they might be a worthy gift, we take them to the Sacrament of Reconciliation, to scrub them up, to get the shine back on them. So, when was the last time you made a sacramental confession? For some of you, it’s likely been years. You might say it’s because you had a traumatic experience with a crabby priest. But more likely it’s one of the following reasons:

1) you’re too busy and distracted to even think about it;

2) it’s been so long that the thought of making your confession it causes anxiety;

3) you don’t adequately understand the spiritual harm that comes with sin, maybe even rationalizing it: “I’m not that bad compared to lots of other people”;

4) you’re naively hoping that if you wait long enough the problem will just go away;

5) you’re taking for granted that God is merciful;

6) you’ve never sufficiently grasped sacramental confession and its spiritual benefit.

When you get down to it, beneath all these reasons are two primary things: fear and pride. As for fear, we’re told again and again, “Don’t be afraid”. Trust in the God whose love, whose mercy, whose healing awaits you. It matters not what you’ve done, nor how long ago you’ve been carrying it. As Psalm 136 declares no less than 26 times, “His mercy endures forever”. But you have to seek it.

And as for pride—it is the deadliest of the seven deadly sins, the sin from which all others arise. St. Augustine once said, “It was pride that changed angels into devils; it is humility that makes men as angels”. In humility, let us put aside our fear, our pride, our excuses, and let us regain what was lost. Let us find the beauty of our hearts restored, that we might offer something beautiful to our newborn king.

[i] Description of Amahl and the Three Visitors from The Priest Magazine (November 2017 issue, p.48)