Month: December 2019

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She always knew the answer before she asked the question. Who tracked the mud in the kitchen? Who ate the last cookie and didn’t get rid of the wrapping? Who left their bookbag in the entry-way?

My mother had an uncanny way of knowing what I was up to even before I was up to anything. Don’t even think of doing that, she’d say, and the action never formed. She knew perfectly well who’d tracked the mud, who hadn’t tossed the package, who’d dropped the bookbag lazily in the front hall. She didn’t accuse; she didn’t have to. She wanted to hear the admission from me.

If I lied about anything, then she really had me. My lies were never fluent or well-thought-through; they were always spur-of-the-moment affairs meant to get me out of the immediate sticky situation. And when I lied, my mother would pounce. She knew where she had me then.

There’s a certain power in that, in putting someone in a corner and forcing them to tell you what you want to hear. It was fairly benign in my mother’s case—she was, after all, trying to raise me to be a thoughtful and tidy person—but it can very quickly get out of hand.

In today’s Gospel, the chief priests and elders are trying—yet again—to box Jesus into that corner. Who said you could do these things? Who told you that you could teach here? They’re not asking because they already know (although one or two of them must have had at least a glimmer of the truth by now) but because they want to trick him, to force him to say something they can use against him. There’s always a kind of Morton’s Fork at work when the authorities deal with Jesus, and they go into it thinking they’ve got him no matter how he answers… and then he delivers something they never saw coming.

He answers their question with a question, and bases his answer on their answer. For a man with minimal education—he was, after all, a carpenter, someone who worked with his hands—Jesus was thinking (to the minds of the elders, anyway) way above his pay-grade. And he had them in precisely the corner they’d tried to put him into. “Where was John’s baptism from?” he asks them. “Was it of heavenly or human origin?”

The authority figures go into a huddle. He’s got us, they admit. If we say John had heavenly authority, then Jesus has us, because we didn’t give John due respect. If we say John had earthly authority, we’ll be going against popular opinion and none of us wants that—who knows what could happen if the crowd gets riled up! Damn!

Remember, this encounter didn’t come out of the blue. Jesus was no stranger to controversy and conflict with the religious establishment. The priests and elders held a fixed view of how the Messiah should come, and when he doesn’t conform to their expectations, they demand to know the source of his authority… and he leaves them grappling emptily in their stubbornness of heart.

It’s worth noting that this exchange between Jesus indirectly emphasizes and elevates the stature of John the Baptist–and, in consequence, his prophecy about the One Who Is To Come. In today’s first reading, there’s a hint of the prophecy that would blossom with John: “I see him, though not now; I behold him, though not near. A star shall advance from Jacob, and a staff shall rise from Israel.”

But where does that leave us? How often do we split hairs about religion, asking the questions we think will box others into a corner and show how “right” we are? Do we ask questions, not to get answers, but to show ourselves in a good light? If we put ourselves into this scene from Matthew’s Gospel, how do we respond? Do we try to ask questions that limit our faith and that of others, or do we leave ourselves open to divine possibility?

I’m hoping I can answer with the latter. I hope I can ask questions without knowing the answer in advance. I hope I try to accept the mystery without second-guessing it.

My mother was right, most of the time, when she pointed out my shortcomings. But we cannot treat the world as we would a recalcitrant child, and we cannot assume we always know better than others. At the heart of both of today’s readings swirls the incense of mystery, of tentative faith, of possibility.

It’s not a bad image with which to start the new liturgical year.

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Jeannette de Beauvoir is a writer and editor with the digital department of Pauline Books & Media, working on projects as disparate as newsletters, book clubs, ebooks, and retreats that support the apostolate of the Daughters of St. Paul at http://www.pauline.org.

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Our liturgies for this Sunday take on a different tone than the first two Sundays of Advent. The vestments for Mass are rose instead of violet, and we light a pink candle to represent joyfulness in the middle of our waiting. We are reminded repeatedly to REJOICE! The Entrance Antiphon bids us to “Rejoice in the Lord always… Indeed, the Lord is near,” and the opening prayer continues the theme by asking God to “enable us… to attain the joys of so great a salvation and to celebrate them always with solemn worship and glad rejoicing.” The First Reading tells us, “the steppe will rejoice and bloom. They will bloom with abundant flowers and rejoice with joyful song” (Isaiah 35:2). We have reached “half-time” in our Advent preparation, and we are called to rejoice that the Lord is coming.

The Gospel for today focuses on John the Baptist, with Jesus answering the question about whether he is the “one who is to come” and then telling the crowd that “among those born of women there has been none greater than John the Baptist.” John is the one sent to prepare the way of the Lord, the one who hoped in the Lord, who rejoiced in the Bridegroom and ultimately gave his life for the Truth. He is indeed a great prophet and more than a prophet.

But Jesus gives a surprising comment at the end: he says that “the least in the kingdom of heaven is even greater than” John! The least is greater. Jesus wants us to understand that his Kingdom is essentially unlike any other kingdom: of those who enter, the humblest will be most exalted in it! Our way of judging and rewarding is not God’s way of judging and rewarding. Jesus came to turn the world’s understanding upside down, to bring God’s Light so that we can learn to see as He sees and to teach us to walk with him in our baptismal grace toward holiness and joy only God can give.

It is only because Jesus became one of us – a man like us in all things but sin – that we are enabled to become adopted sons and daughters of the Father, who is Love, and be lifted up into the eternal Kingdom of Christ.

This is why, even as we await the fullness of this Kingdom, the Church rejoices today, singing “Gaudete!”

He is near!

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Kathryn Mulderink, MA, is married to Robert, Station Manager for Holy Family Radio. Together they have seven children (including newly ordained Father Rob and seminarian Luke ;-), and two grandchildren. She is a Secular Discalced Carmelite and has published five books and many articles. Over the last 25 years, she has worked as a teacher, headmistress, catechist, Pastoral Associate, and DRE. Currently, she serves the Church as a writer and voice talent for Catholic Radio, by publishing and speaking, and by collaborating with the diocesan Office of Catechesis, various parishes, and other ministries to lead others to encounter Christ and engage their faith. Her website is https://www.kathryntherese.com/.

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In the First Reading today, we hear of the wondrous deeds of Elijah, re-establishing the tribes of Jacob. In today’s Gospel we hear about prophets telling the coming of Elijah and John the Baptist, but none of these are as important as the telling of Jesus. We are reminded in the Gospel acclamation to “Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths: All flesh shall see the salvation of God.” 

With hearts of longing this advent, let us cling to our Responsorial Psalm of today, “Lord, make us turn to you; let us see your face and we shall be saved.” How has your advent been so far? Have you asked yourself if you’re ready for Christ to come again? 

The Catechism of the Catholic Church states, “When the Church celebrates the liturgy of Advent each year… the faithful renew their ardent desire for his second coming” (CCC 524). How strong is your desire for His second coming? The prayer of the Responsorial Psalm is a perfect way to ready our hearts this Advent, asking God to help us turn to him. Pleading for Him to show his face to us. May we all encounter Christ in a new way this Advent, keeping our eyes open to see Him in our daily lives as we continue to wait for Christmas and for Him to come again.

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Briana is the Pastoral Minister at St. Mark Church in Cleveland, OH. She is also a district manager at Arbonne. She received her Bachelor of Arts in Theology and Catechetics from the Franciscan University of Steubenville, OH and is excited to use these skills to serve the Church. “My soul has been refined and I can raise my head like a flower after a storm.” -St. Therese