Reflection for Sunday, December 18, 2016

Fourth Sunday of Advent

GN 49:2, 8-10

PS 72:1-2, 3-4AB, 7-8, 17

MT 1:1-17

There are many leading “characters” in the Advent season — Mary, John the Baptist, even the Angel Gabriel. But today’s Gospel reading focuses on one who sometimes gets a little less of the spotlight, one whose quiet and extremely steadfast faith isn’t splashy, but sets the most profound example for all of us: Joseph.

I’ve always admired Joseph, perhaps because he’s a bit more relatable than the others. He is not a miracle, or a prophet or a heavenly being. He’s like us. He’s kind. He’s skeptical. He wants to do the right thing, but he struggles.

He is human to the core. Not human and God. Not human without sin. But human, through and through, with all the flaws and doubts and hopes that we all have.

Imagine, here is this humble carpenter who thinks he has his whole future worked out. Yet he is thrust into a situation that is confusing and challenging, and he is asked to trust. Joseph hears a story via a dream that is almost impossible to believe, and he doesn’t run. He goes all in. He accepts. He adapts. He moves forward. And, in the end, he helps change the world.

It’s hard to fathom how incredibly strong his faith was. How deep his love was.

Oh, to be like Joseph. To believe when reason and common sense might tell you otherwise. To have faith when the world challenges and obstructs you. To love when it would be easier to leave.

The lessons of Joseph resonate all the more because he is not a being of extraordinary powers; he is human – like us. Thus, thanks to his relatively ordinary life we know that exceptional faith is possible.

Laura Geiser is a SLU alumna and the Assistant Vice President for Marketing and Communications.

Reflection for Saturday, December 17, 2016

Third Saturday of Advent

GN 49:2, 8-10

PS 72:1-2, 3-4AB, 7-8, 17

MT 1:1-17

I am the oldest member of my family.  I have one younger sister and together we said goodbye to our parents eleven and almost eight years ago: both right around Christmas time.  The Advent season is emotionally very difficult for me.  I am stuck between two worlds.  I care for my own children while mourning the loss of those who helped form me.  I carry on the traditions taught to me by grandparents and parents.  We pray the same Advent prayers at dinner. The very same crèche, complete with angels and shepherds, sits in my living room as it did in my childhood home.  I am happily sharing with my own children the traditions established before me to await the birth of Christ.  I miss my parents, grandmother, and the great aunt I adored. I miss sharing all of these Advent traditions with them, but passing them on to my own brood of children brings me great comfort.

My oldest son, a junior in high school, was recently in a stage production of Children of Eden.  He is named after my father, and he inherited from his grandfather not just his name and his generous heart, but his love of musical theater. No one loved a good musical more than my dad, until, perhaps, when his namesake began listening to them on his own just a few years ago. 

The second act of Children of Eden begins with a song called Generations.  It is based on a passage in Hebrew Scriptures, a precursor to today’s Gospel.  It begins with Adam and Eve and, as each name is called out, the generations shift, moving across the stage to stand with others from their generation.  While not the preeminent number in the show, it is powerful.  The actors move and shift alone and then in groups to and from one another.  As characters die, others are born.  None are forgotten, and all are united.

I stand proudly on the shoulders of those who came before me while leading the ones with me now to Christmas, the birth of Christ.  We sit together remembering those before us and look to the future we hope to create.  We wait patiently to be reunited with our loved ones as we await the birth of Christ.   

And as the responsorial psalm reminds us, “Justice shall flourish in his time, the fullness of peace forever.”  Peace of mind, the peace in my heart this Advent season.  There are many who have come before me and many will come after me.  Advent is a time of preparation and waiting and, while I am not very patient, I wait and hope to be reunited in the fullness of peace forever with all those I love.

Generation after generation that is what we wait for during the season of Advent.  It is what I wait for.

Cristina Fleener McGroarty teaches traditional and accelerated undergraduate students in the School of Nursing and I teach in the clinical setting. Her background is in pediatric hematologic-oncological nursing.

Reflection for Friday, December 16, 2016

Third Friday of Advent

IS 56:1-3A, 6-8

PS 67: 2-3, 5, 7-8

JN 5: 33-36

Living in a tropical climate, this year the Advent season is not met with the snow flurries or fireplaces I have known before, but the same Christmas joy lingers in the air. In fact, the Christmas season in the Philippines begins on September 1. The Christmas carolers and characters remain celebrative, but more than anything they remind me of a similar message from today’s readings: God wants everyone to see the fullness of justice, if only we are ready and willing to celebrate what has been given to us. The hurried lives we lead around final exams, holiday festivities, and family gatherings often seem scattered or stressful. They only become fruitful once we pause and express our gratitude: for what we have learned in a class (or in celebrating its end), or for gathering together the dispersed in our families or friend groups.

The readings for today remind us the rushed life we live is not worth anything if we forget our true purpose. In the Church I attend right now, you can find Christmas lights hanging everywhere in the space and all the way leading up to it. The priest explained those lights are there to signify Christmas as the time when Heaven draws near. Heaven was in its most tangible form when Jesus walked in the world, alive and showing us how to live.

This year, I find myself living in Manila, the capital of the Philippines, working with the Casa Bayanihan study abroad program. So in a special way, I heard the psalmist proclaim that all the nations ought to praise God. And truly, I have seen that in this country. In a world that is hurting and where differences have the power to tear us apart or build up our walls, I find the Spirit of God moving in the world is a universal truth shared by Filipinos as well as in the United States. And, in a lot of ways, living abroad is not at all as glorious or exotic as one might think. I still have emails to send, tasks to complete, and I get annoyed in traffic. But at the heart of my work here is being with those who are suffering. When I pray with this suffering, when I understand how much I can transform when accompanying these communities of vulnerable populations, my work changes and the tasks and traffic seem much smaller. Working out of a space in which I know God is present in this place, I find myself with an inner peace that implores me to ignore the trivialities, because something bigger is happening.

As important as I think myself or my work to be, I know there is a far greater Force moving in the world and leading us to what is good and just. This what we should celebrate this Advent season; that Heaven is drawing nearer to us so that we might be drawn closer to Heaven. Being present to those who are suffering in our society and in our communities humbles us to recognize the work we are truly called to do. The “work” Jesus spoke of needing to accomplish in the gospel today is the real work and life each one of us is called to- to be with the sick, the homeless, the economically vulnerable. Then, and only then, might we feel the peace of the gospel acclamation to “bring us your peace, that we may rejoice before you with a perfect heart.”

Liz Vestal is a 2016 SLU graduate and a former Campus Ministry intern. 

Reflection for Thursday, December 15, 2016

Third Thursday of Advent

IS 54:1-10

PS 30:2 AND 4, 5-6, 11-12A AND 13B
LK 7:24-30

Ironically, the two plants I’ve managed to kill during my four years here at SLU were cacti. I simply overestimated how long the cactus could go without water. However, cacti are interesting plants with their threatening, sharp spikes and ability to live in excruciating, overwhelmingly hot temperatures in the desert. Yet in this place of desolation and dryness where nothing flourishes, cacti bring forth beautiful flowers of radiant reds and pinks. The life-giving water stored up in the green walls of a cactus help it to produce blossoming flowers in the sweltering sun. In the most unlikely of plants, a cactus, generally perceived as thorny and unwelcoming, blooms a gorgeous symbol of life in the beauty of its flowers.

John the Baptist spent most of his time in the desert proclaiming the goodness of God and instructing others to turn from their evil ways as our “voice crying in the desert.” Jesus describes John as more than a prophet, as God’s messenger, and with the words “among those born of women, no one is greater than John.” John embraces the traditionalist views of a dramatic destruction of sin and rebuilding of God’s Kingdom, but he also opens up the door for Jesus to come into the lives of the Jewish people, but more importantly, into our lives. John the Baptist, the man who lived in the desert eating locusts and wearing camel hair, brought forth the flower of love and life that is Jesus Christ. However, Jesus also said that even the “least in the Kingdom of God is greater than he.” That being said, you are Christ’s precious flower in the desert of this world filled with hopelessness and despair.

Therefore, today I ask you to look inside the walls of yourself and discover that life-giving water of the Holy Spirit within you. When you truly believe and feel God living within you, the good works that you do through Jesus Christ are your own unique and beautiful desert flowers of love and life.

Jennifer Mathews is a senior at SLU studying biomedical engineering with minors in Mathematics and Health Care Ethics.