Got Hope?

Homily for the Second Sunday of Advent

December 6, 2020

 

I found a paragraph that really spoke to me about the situation we find ourselves in:

 

We’ve just completed a difficult year. Twelve months ago, as we approached the familiar stories and scriptures of Advent and Christmas, life was “normal.” We moved about as we wished; we prepared for Christmas; we went to movies; we attended concerts; kids went to school; we bought what we wanted; we went out to restaurants; we visited friends and friends visited us; we assembled in groups larger than 10; we went shopping; we went to church; we went to work and received paychecks; we did all these things and a thousand more ... all without a second thought. 

A few months later, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, our lives were turned upside down. You know what happened next because it happened to all of us. The entire world was suddenly different than any of us had ever experienced. Everything about life was affected: families, school, work, shopping, health care, eating, travel for work and travel for fun, finances, exercise ... every aspect of our lives was affected in one way or another.

So today, when we hear the ancient words, “Comfort, give comfort to my people, says your God,” our ears might strain to hear more. We wonder, is there comfort for us? These words of Isaiah were spoken during a particularly difficult time, when Babylonia had conquered the Jewish people and forced them into exile away from their homeland and out into other parts of the Babylonian empire. We’ve endured our pandemic for eight to nine months, but the Israelites were forced to live in exile for seventy years. So, you can imagine how they felt when the prophet Isaiah says, “Comfort, give comfort to my people, says your God….Like a shepherd he feeds his flock; in his arms he gathers the lambs, carrying them in his bosom and leading the ewes with care”—leading them safely home after the time of national suffering and upheaval.

In our time of global sickness, economic hardship, and social unrest, we are in dire need of comfort. In addition to our physical and social problems, many are also having psychological problems. The rate of suicide has gone up. There is more domestic violence. Many are living recklessly, without any sense of responsibility, endangering themselves and others by not listening to the scientists and medical authorities. Many feel like they’re at the end of their rope.

Let me share a story…. It’s a story about an oilman who started to drill a new well on his land. In oil jargon, the drilling pipe is called a “rope.” After drilling a deep hole, there was no oil to be found. The owner decided that it was a dead hole, and told the crew boss to cap the well. He would write it off as a complete loss. Meanwhile, the foreman called to the driller and asked how much “rope” was left on the rig. “About six to eight feet,” replied the driller. “Then keep on drilling deeper,” shouted the foreman. After drilling only two feet more, the well struck oil, and was one of the most productive wells in the entire oil field.

We can learn a lot about life from the drilling of an oil well; while there is still rope, there is still room for hope. In our case, there is a vaccine on the horizon. Masks, sanitizing products, and soap and water are available. We know what “six feet apart” looks like.

For many years now, I have believed that we here at Our Lady of Peace have a unique mission of dispensing hope. We do what we can to feed the hungry. We respond with incredible generosity to those who are struggling to make Christmas special and meaningful for their families (over $3,000 contributed to Adopt a Family, and counting!). And when people feel that no one cares and no one listens, somehow they instinctively know that they can come to Our Lady of Peace, ring our doorbell, and receive the help they need to keep going. “Comfort, give comfort to my people, says your God.”  That’s not just God’s job. That’s our job, our mission—now more than ever.

It’s our job to check on each other, to call each other, to offer a listening ear and a helping hand, so that no one feels that he or she is in this all alone. It’s our job to dig deeper within ourselves, believing that we’re not at the end of our rope, because with God there is always more rope—and more hope. And then we can reach out to others and remind them of this truth that we have discovered. With God, there is always reason to hope:

                   “Like a shepherd he feeds his flock

                   and gathers the lambs in his arms,

                   holding them carefully close to his heart,

                   leading them home.”

© 1976 Bob Dufford, SJ

Comfort, give comfort to my people, says your God. 

 

You might also like

Father's Homilies

Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter April 26, 2026

By Charlene Currie • May 7, 2026
Building Bridges, Not Walls. Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter April 26, 2026

Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter April 19, 2026

By Charlene Currie • April 25, 2026
Born to Look … Learning to See Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter April 19, 2026 The scoutmaster used to take his troops on hikes along wilderness nature trails. After each hike he would challenge the scouts to describe what they had observed on their excursion. The boys invariably hadn’t seen a fraction of what the scoutmaster had seen. He would wave his arms in great circles and shout, “Creation is all around you, but you are blocking it out. Stop wearing your raincoat in the shower. You were born to look, but you have to learn to see.” You were born to look, but you have to learn to see. One of the questions that always arises about today’s gospel passage is: Why didn’t the two disciples recognize Jesus? Let’s spend some time reflecting on the possibilities. One obvious answer is that they were disheartened. Their lives are at their lowest point. They are sad and confused. The one they had pinned their hopes on had been humiliated and crucified in a horrible way. How could such a disaster be anything but a total defeat? How could a Messiah, or Savior, allow himself to be beaten and put to death? In addition, the two disciples are probably terrorized, full of fear. The leaders of the people, both religious and political, had made their point. Anyone who rocks the boat and challenges authority will be dealt with swiftly and brutally. If the two were recognized as followers of Jesus, his fate could also be theirs. Let me share another story with you, a story which shows how expectations can color what we see and experience. ---------------------------------- A young man from a wealthy family was about to graduate from high school. It was the custom in his affluent neighborhood for the parents to give the graduate a car as a graduation present. Bill and his father spent months looking at cars, and the week before graduation they found the perfect one. Bill was certain that the car would be his on graduation night. Imagine Bill’s disappointment when, on the eve of the big day, his father handed him a gift-wrapped Bible! Bill was so angry, he hurled the Bible across the room and stormed out of the house, vowing never to return again. Bill and his father never saw each other again. Yet it was the news of his father’s death that brought Bill back home again. One night, as he sat going through his father’s possessions that he was to inherit, Bill came across the Bible that his father had given him. He brushed away the dust and opened it to find a cashier’s check, dated the day of his graduation—for the exact amount of the car they had chosen together. ------------------------------- As the scoutmaster said, “You are born to look, but you have to learn to see.” What does today’s gospel passage want us to learn to see? One obvious answer is that the privileged place to encounter Jesus is in the celebration of the Eucharist, or Mass. In the gospel Jesus does two things: he interprets the Scriptures and how they apply to him; and he “breaks bread” with the two disciples. We thus have the two halves of the Mass: the liturgy of the word and the liturgy of the Eucharist. The Bible is telling us where to look, and it is teaching us to learn to see. Like the cashier’s check in the Bible, Jesus’ presence is not always obvious or straightforward. So, where and how should we look? The first place is the Bible. We need to take time to read God’s word slowly, savor it, and allow it to speak to us. If you are having difficulty, a commentary will help. Turning to those who know the Bible better that we do, and asking for clarifications and advice, will also help. The second place of encounter with Jesus is the Eucharist. The mystery of Emmaus is that the disciples recognize Jesus in the “breaking of bread,” which was one of the phrases used for the celebration of the Eucharist. Try to enter the Mystery more and more by giving yourself totally, without distractions, to each part of the Mass. Savor what it means to gather with open minds and hearts; to listen to the message of Scripture, the inspired word of God; to take the message of the homily home with you and reflect on it; to ask for forgiveness and to pray for peace; to intercede for our needs and the needs of the whole world; to receive our Lord mindfully, and not just hurry through the motions. Finally, in the Emmaus story, Jesus approaches his people who are depressed, disappointed and broken-hearted. At first, they do not recognize him. But as they listen more and more, their hearts start to burn within them. So, another way to experience the presence of Jesus Christ is to do as he did, to find value in what he taught and how he acted. He clearly said that he could be found in the poor and vulnerable: I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was naked, and you clothed me; I was ill, or in prison, or lonely, and you visited me. Today’s gospel gives us a blueprint for encountering Jesus and feeling his presence. But we have to give ourselves to it wholeheartedly. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see. The Bible has a treasure in it, and it’s not a cashier’s check. The Eucharist has a presence in it, and it’s something more than bread. The people around us are children of God. They have a spark of the divine within them. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see.

Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter April 12, 2026

By Charlene Currie • April 25, 2026
Will You Still Need Me? Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter April 12, 2026 One hot summer afternoon a woman was working strenuously, weeding her flower beds and pruning the plants. The flowers were especially magnificent. A passerby asked, “I really like those flowers—do you?” As she wiped perspiration from her face with a dirty hand, the woman’s weary response was, “Only when they bloom.” The passerby thought how many folks have a similar attitude toward church, family, work, or life in general—“I only like it when it is in full bloom and beautiful.” The passerby thought of those necessary times of hard work—mulching, weeding, cultivating, pruning and transplanting—as well as seasonal dormancy, which are all necessary to bring about the blooms which precede the bearing of seeds and fruit. --------------------------------- I mentioned during one of my homilies during Holy Week that I was always bothered that the risen Jesus, with his risen body, still had the wounds. I compared it to buying a shiny, brand-new car, and insisting that there be dents on the fenders and leaks in the engine. As I thought about it more and more, however, I came to understand that the wounds were there for a purpose. In the case of Thomas, the wounds were the evidence he needed. But, beyond that, the wounds serve as a reminder that Jesus’ love for us is total, down to the last drop of blood. The wounds help preserve the memory of how painful true love can be. It’s easy to love that which is perfect and beautiful, is it not? But Jesus chose to show us a love of that which is less than perfect, and clearly not beautiful. Perhaps the clearest example of that is that he was there for the lepers of his day, those who had a contagious disease that rotted their flesh and forced them to live in isolation. But it was true of others, as well. Jesus went out of his way to embrace public sinners, foreigners, enemies, even those who were involved in putting him to death. From the cross he prayed, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” The risen body of Jesus, still bearing the wounds, means that our Lord is present in a special way to those who are wounded: those with cancer or another life-threatening disease, those who have lost a loved one, those who have been bullied, those carrying the wounds of a failed relationship, those who feel they cannot be forgiven, those who know they are less than perfect. Jesus is there for those living with the daily threat of war, terrorism, violence, domestic abuse, betrayal. In short, the less than perfect resurrected body of Jesus means that now, as then, he is present in a special way to those who are less than perfect. ------------------------------------------------ I was reminded of an early hit by the Beatles. Do you remember a song entitled When I’m Sixty-Four, released in June 1967? Here are some of the lyrics: When I get older, losing my hair Many years from now, Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine? If I'd been out till quarter to three, Would you lock the door? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? Ooh … I could be handy mending a fuse When your lights have gone. You can knit a sweater by the fireside, Sunday mornings, go for a ride. Doing the garden, digging the weeds, Who could ask for more? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? -------------------------------------------------- In a similar way, Jesus’ wounds remind us that he’s not a fair-weather friend, only there for the good times. He’s there, always, and especially when we’re wounded. So, if you’re struggling, if you’re dealing with something painful, don’t run away. Don’t make the mistake of thinking the Lord doesn’t understand, or care. Instead, go to the wounds. Allow yourself to feel what true love is like when you need it the most.