Homily for 3rd Sunday of Advent
Today’s reading features John the Baptist, from the beautiful prologue in the Gospel of John:
A man named John was sent from God.
He came for testimony, to testify to the light. JN 1:6-8, 16-28
On some level, aren’t we all ‘sent from God’ to ‘testify to the light?’ With this in mind, let me share an experience I had a few years back. Instead of “A man named John was sent from God…” this is a story about “A man named Scott, sent from God to testify to the light…” And did so in the most unlikely places.
I was volunteering as a Lunch Buddy, a program which matches qualified mentors with at-risk middle school students to meet for lunch once a week. The Lunch Buddy would be a mentor, as time and receptivity of the at-risk adolescent allowed. After a few non-productive lunches with my new Lunch Buddy, I decided to bring a handful of photos as conversation starters. I also brought some holy cards with beautiful iconography.
During lunch, my Lunch Buddy revealed to me that he was thinking about being baptized in a Baptist church he started attending. His mom said he should talk to me about it. We talked about baptism, and at the end of the discussion, I told him it is a serious commitment. He should think about it for a while. “In the meantime,” I said, “why don’t you pick out one of these cards.” He picked out one with a picture of St. Patrick. He also picked out an icon of Jesus, with Psalm 23 printed on the back.
We were eating in a conference room with another Lunch Buddy pair. She was interested in our conversation, but more interested in the cards I was giving away. She asked, “Aren’t Catholics, Christians and Jews the same?” I responded simply, “Catholics are Christians, Jews are not.” She then replied, “That’s right. Jews follow Hitler.” In a thirty-minute lunch with a person that wasn’t even my lunch buddy, there wasn’t much I could say. So I flatly replied, “No, Jews do not follow Hitler. Hitler was one of the cruelest dictators to ever live on the planet.”
Then she showed me a picture she had drawn with crayons and a pencil. It was a big heart that had been ripped apart. The ragged edges had been crudely sewed back together. She mentioned a boy who had done both the ripping and the stitching. It was a tough picture to see drawn by a 13-year-old girl. I said, “That picture says a lot about how you are feeling.” She agreed with a deep sigh. I looked down, and saw on the top of my stack of holy cards was an icon of Madonna and Child. I gave the card to her. On the back, was a prayer to Our Lady of Perpetual Help. I said, “Here, whenever you get sad, read the prayer on the back.”
At the time, my wife worked in the EC department at the same school. She knew these students well. When I got home, she confronted me, “What were you doing during your lunch?!?” The tone of the question gave me this sinking feeling. She continued, “I was talking in the hall with a couple of other teachers, and your Lunch Buddy runs up and says, ‘Miss G, your husband talked to me about being baptized. Look what he gave me, cards with a picture of St. Patrick and of Jesus.'” Imagine in today’s public school system how that sounds. The teachers who were with her raised an eyebrow in suspicion. Shortly after the boy leaves, the girl runs up. ‘Miss G, look what your husband gave me. A card with a picture of Mary. On the back is a prayer to Our Lady of Perpetual Help. I think he picked this one out just for me.’” The teachers by now had both eyebrows raised, wondering what exactly Mister G was doing in that conference room.
My wife finished with a wry smile, “Don’t be surprised if they ask you not to be a Lunch Buddy any more.”
The experience says a lot about the world today. I didn’t think I was proselytizing or forcing my faith upon another, I was just sharing a little bit about who I am and what I know. Should I be worried? A parent could make a phone call. A teacher could whisper something to the administration. Suspicion could fall upon the nature of the Lunch Buddy program. Something as harmless as a little holy card or answering a question about baptism might just get me called into the principal’s office for the first time in 45 years!
Our world might not be too different from the world of John the Baptist. He emerged from the desert and shared with the crowds who he was and what he knew. He too was met with some resistance and suspicion of being too ‘religious’.
With this as a backdrop, I rewrote the scripture featured in today’s gospel:
A man named Scott was sent from God.
He came for testimony, to testify to the light,
so that all might believe through him.
He was not the light,
but came to testify to the light.
When the principal sent an some administrators to ask him, “Who are you?”
He admitted and did not deny it,
but admitted, “I am not the Christ.”
So they asked him,
“What are you then? Are you a holy roller?
And he said, “I am not.”
“Are you a proselytizer?”
He answered, “No.”
So they said to him,
“Who are you, so we can give an answer to those who sent us?
What do you have to say for yourself?”
He said: “I am a voice of one crying out in the desert, just trying to might make a difference.”
As an exercise, replace “A man named John…” with your name. “A man/woman named _____ came to testify to the light…” How would the rest of the story read?