Advent is the season during which the theological virtue of hope comes into full relief. Longing is almost a one-word description of human experience. As human beings, we long for what we desire. When you think about it, desire expressed as longing, that which drives us, is what constitutes our humanity.
Longing often remains ambiguous because the object of one’s desire is often not clear. There is a tendency to think if I acquire this or accomplish that I will be fulfilled. Within a short time, one is left asking questions like, “Is this all?” or “What’s next?” It takes us time to learn that all accomplishment and all acquisitions are fleeting.
For those who are attentive to experience, the fleeting nature of things reveals over time that human desire is infinite. Infinite desire can never be satisfied by finite things. Infinite desire requires an infinite object.
Our reading from Isaiah paints a picture of something worth desiring: God’s kingdom as place of peace and tranquility. In this passage we hear the words “ways,” “paths,” and “walk.” These all refer to God: God’s ways, God’s path, walking in God’s light. We don’t need to wait until eschaton to walk in God’s paths, to follow God’s ways, to walk in the light of the LORD. In reality, these describe how to live between already and not-yet of God’s kingdom.
Saint Bernard of Clairvaux preached about the Lord coming three times. His first coming is as man, His Incarnation. In the end, He will come again in glory. But in between, this span between the already and not-yet, there is a hidden advent that happens in the one with true faith.
“In case someone should think that what we say about this middle coming is sheer invention,” says Saint Bernard, “listen to what our Lord himself says: ‘If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him’ [Jn. 14:23].” He then exhorts his listeners: “Keep God’s word… Let it enter into your very being, let it take possession of your desires and your whole way of life.”1 This is how one brings desire into focus.
Christmas is not only about celebrating the Lord’s birth in Bethlehem, which often becomes very sentimental. It is much more about the present, about Him being born anew in you. Advent, then, is a gestation period. It is Jesus present in the Eucharist who bridges the span between the already and the not-yet.
If the Lord is truly present in the consecrated bread and wine and you receive Him under these signs, it stands to reason that He is in you. He comes to be present in you not merely for your own sake, but for you to make Him present to others.
Making the Lord present to others, thus living in and for Him is how you begin to fulfill your longing, to satisfy your desire. The title of a lovely hymn composed by Bach summarizes this well: Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.
Rightly, the issue of worthiness comes up. As a wise mentor said to me years ago, “You’re not worthy. Get over it.” Try as you might, you will never make yourself worthy. Only One is worthy: Jesus Christ.
The words of the Roman centurion from our Gospel today should sound very familiar to you. At each Mass, we say aloud, or should say aloud, a variation of what this man says to the Lord in today’s Gospel: “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”
To be fully healed is something we all desire because it is something we all badly need. Wholeness and holiness are integrally related. To become holy is to be made whole. We’ve all been wounded and all of us have wounded others. To be healed, therefore, is to become, in the words Father Henri Nouwen, a wounded healer.
Attend to the fact that the centurion did not reject what Jesus did because he was unworthy. His honest profession of unworthiness is a sign of genuine faith. It is what hope looks like. On the one hand, this pagan recognized who Jesus is and understood he had no right, no standing, to ask the Lord for anything. On the other hand, he recognized that this is what the Lord came into the world to do and so humbly implored Him, confident in the Lord's mercy.
If we follow the story beyond the bounds of our reading from the lectionary, after lauding this Roman soldier to his fellow Jews by way of rebuke, Jesus tells this pious pagan, “You may go; as you have believed, let it be done for you.” The inspired author ends this pericope with these words: “And at that very hour [his] servant was healed.”2
1 St. Bernard of Clairvaux (Sermo 5, "In Adventu Domini," 1-3: Opera Omnia, Edit. Cisterc. 4 {1966}, 188-190..↩
2 Matthew 8:13.↩
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