A homily for the First Sunday of Advent, Nov. 29, 2020
Is 63:16B-17, 19B; 64:2-7, 1 Cor 1:3-9, Mk 13:33-37
When Andrea and I were newlyweds in North Jersey, a priest at our parish up there preached a homily that has stuck with us all these years.
I’ve adapted it and updated it a bit, but it’s still Father Frank’s, and I’m thankful for it.
I hope you will be, too.
Here goes:
The other day I had a bag full of coins to turn in, but when I got to my bank, the branch was closed for a one-day something or other, and I had to turn around and head to the other side of town. When I got to the other branch, they were only letting in one person at a time, so I stood outside and waited.
I mean, it was bad enough that I had to come across town because of some silly staff meeting or something, but now I had to wait outside when I could see the place was almost empty.
I was polite to the people inside when it was my turn, but only just.
Waiting. Ugh.
Since I was on that side of town, I ran over to the supermarket to get a couple of things ahead of the Thanksgiving shopping frenzy. But I shopped hungry, and I wound up with seven items — one more than the six-item super-express, and I didn’t want to get into any sort of scuffle in the crowded store.
So I looked for a short 12-item line, got in it socially distanced, and it turned out that the person in the front of my line didn’t want a couple of things he picked out after all. So the cashier-in-training had to get the supervisor to help remove the items from the ticket.
And I started thinking this had to be a bad joke — first the bank, and now this.
I never pick the fastest line.
So I waited.
On my way home I noticed I should fill up the car’s gas tank, so I pulled into my regular station. I could see the attendant at the other pumps, but he wasn’t coming over to me. I mean, he had to have seen me. What was up with that?
Then I saw that the driver over there had a couple of big red gas cans to fill up besides his car.
So I waited. And I got grumpy.
Just then, I remembered this homily from all those years ago, and its message hit home again.
What was I doing with my time when I was waiting for the bank or the store or the gas station?
Did I choose to fret and fume, or did I think of ways I could bring myself closer to God and the children of God?
Did I push myself off the path that leads to God’s embrace, or did I use this time of waiting to lift myself and everyone I met into the glow of God’s grace, justice and peace?
Advent is the season of waiting.
