Epiphany: "The Gold We Bring"

Note: This homily will appear on the Mt. St. Mary Seminary Web Site on Monday (www.mtsm.org). If this homily sounds familiar to readers of the Blue Collar Preacher blog, it's because it is a re-make of the one I preached at St. Al's last year. I invite you to read the new and improved version. Another Epiphany homily for the current year will appear here by the end of this week.

Hanneken Jewelers is located just down the street
in a small shopping plaza on Harrison Avenue.
Regina Bakery is on one side, a butcher shop on the other.

Now, for us folks here on the West Side of Cincinnati,
it’s perfectly normal
to come upon a fine jewelry store
tucked between a bakery and a butcher shop

And, if you think about it from God’s point of view,
that’s a perfect location for a jewelry store.
It’s location speaks a theological message.
It’s telling us that the treasure of life
is found right alongside everyday things
like day-old bread and Cincinnati goetta.

We tend to be practical, down-to-earth people
on this side of town.
Diamond rings and golden necklaces are wonderful and nice…but,
ask any Westsider, he or she will tell you
that their true value is found
in the love and the sacrifice they represent.

So, on this Feast of the Epiphany,
as you and I listen to a gospel passage
that tells of the wonderful and expensive gifts
placed at the feet of Mary,
most of us here are apt to judge the value of those gifts
not by their beauty alone
but by the love they represent.

So, what sort of gold
do you and I bring to honor the King?

I’m not referring to the offering in your offering envelope.
I’m referring to the offering of your life.
Is it a gold-quality life that you bring…to honor the King?

Isn’t that why we’re here?
We’re here to make an offering of our life to God.
And, being the Westsiders,
we want to offer something
that means something.

In the words of “We Three Kings,”
its “gold we bring to honor the King.”

But how do we do that?
Jut how do we go about choosing the right ring?
The flawless diamond?
The perfect gem?

How cab we expect offer a suitable gift
to the Lord our God here at Mass today?

Hold that thought a moment
and let’s go back to Hanneken Jewelry store for minute.

I stopped in at Hanneken’s a couple of days ago.
I got to talking with a sales clerk named Judy.
She’s only worked at Hanneken’s since August
but she already had lots of stories to tell.

A few months ago a young man came into the store.
He asked to see their selection of engagement rings.

Well, he ended up staying in the store for quite some time.
He studied the every ring in the store.
He weighed each one in his hand,
held each ring to the light.
He spent hours in that store
just looking at the rings.

As the clerk related this story,
I noticed the price tag on some of those rings
and I said,
“I hope the guy had good credit.”

The clerk smiled and said,
“Actually, he paid with a check.”

“A personal check, eh?”

She nodded.
“I remember it well,” she said.
“His hand shook as he signed the check.”

What a lucky guy!
To know a love so deep that it makes your hands shake!

On this Feast of the Epiphany,
when we reach out to receive the Body of Christ,
will our palms be sweating with anticipation?
Might our hands be shaking a bit at the thought of the Love we’ve been given?

If so, what a gift it would be.
The gift of love to honor the King.

Feast of the Holy Family: "Watching You"

There’s a new song on the country stations.
It’s sung by Rodney Atkins and is called “Watching You.”

It opens with a father driving down the road
with his four-year-old boy strapped in a car seat next to him.
The boy is eating a Happy Meal.
A light changes to red,
the father slams on the brakes.
French fries go flying through the air
and orange drink covers the boy’s lap.
And the boy says a bad word.
The dad looks at the boy and says,
“Son, where did you learn to talk to like that?”

And the boy says,
“I’ve been watching you, Dad.
Ain’t that cool?
I’m your buckaroo, I’m going to be just like you
And eat all my food and grow as tall you are.
We got cowboy boots and camo pants.
Hey, we’re just alike, ain’t we, Dad?
I’m going to be just like you,
so I’ve watching you.”

I love this song!
And it think it’s good song to help us appreciate
the message in today’s readings on this Feast of the Holy Family
because, as the song unfolds,
you find that when the father and boy get home,
the dad goes out to the barn.
He’s concerned..
He’s not providing his son a good example,
he’s not being the kind of father he knows he should be.

He prays real hard,
“God, help me help my stupid self.”

Later that night,
he gets his boy ready for bed.
And he watches as his son
kneels at the side of the bed
and closes his eyes and folds his hand
and the father says,
“Son, where did you learn to pray like that.”

And the boy says,
“I’ve been watching you.”

The message of that song rings true
and we all know how true it is.

It’s echoed in the constant reminder
that every Catholic parent hears
when they seek to have a child baptized.

From the day of that baptism
and all through the formative years of that child,
the parents hold the important position
of being the primary teachers of the faith.

How does it happen?

As in kindergarten,
it all starts with Show and Tell:

The statue of Mary on the bedroom dresser.
The nativity scene beneath the Christmas tree.
The grace before meals.
The kneeling at the side of the bed
and learning the Our Father, the Hail Mary, the Glory Be, and the Act of Contrition.

It starts with show and tell
then moves on to Praise and Thanksgiving.

The child begins to explore the world
and learns that God made the sun and the moon and the stars.

And God gives us friends and we learn to be nice to them
and they, in turn, are nice to use.
And some friends are black and some are white and some speak Spanish.
And we are all God’s children.

And when families go on vacation to Lake Michigan
or the Smokey Mountains
the children learn that all the world is big and beautiful
and comes from the hand of God.
And so our children learn to end each day
with thankful hearts because God made the world beautiful and good
and life is a wonderful, wonderful gift from God.

And soon it’s time for First Communion
and our children learn that God is as close to them
as the Bread and Wine on the Altar.
But they understand the mystery only insofar
as they understand that God is also as close as the bread and butter
on the table at home in the kitchen.

This is how it starts.
This is how faith is first placed in tender hearts.

And this faith can’t help but grow and mature
within the safety of the home
where children first taste the reality
of a love that knows no limit.

This is why we celebrate this feast of the Holy Family.

Because life is sacred…
when families are holy.

“Son, where’d you learn to pray like that?”

“I’ve been watching you, Dad.
Ain’t that cool?”

Christmas Homily: St. Joseph's Map

Dear Friends,

A blessed holiday season to all of you! Below are preliminary drafts of my the Fourth Sunday of Advent and Christmas homilies. Any suggestions you care to offer would be greatly appreciated. E-mail your comments to jms48@fuse.net.

Also, I'd greatly appreciate you going to Amazon.com and checking out my latest book from 23rd Publications, Stable Faith: Portraits of Grace from the Heartland.

Thanks for the assistance you've rendered to my preaching this past year.

Fr. Jim Schmitmeyer

Christmas Homily – St. Joseph's Map

A lot of people travel a lot of miles on Christmas
to be with their families and their loved ones.

Hopefully, no one in your family
had to travel to Ohio to year
by way of the Denver airport.

On this feast of Christmas,
I’d like to talk a bit about traveling,
but mainly, I’d like to focus on maps.

Maps help us get through life.

Sometimes we don’t study them close enough.
Sometimes we ignore them all together.

Let’s take the Christmas story as an example.

Did Joseph ask directions
on the way to Bethlehem?

Was there a AAA roadmap
in the pack of the donkey?

Would Mapquest have helped Joseph and Mary
reach the outskirts of the City of David
in time to acquire better accommodations?

When he hear the word “map,”
we generally think in terms of
getting from one place to another.

But there are other kinds of maps.

A new book hit the stores this holiday season
call the Historical Atlas of the United States.

It’s not a best-seller
but if you happen to come across this book
you discover that the maps people employ
are as much about destiny as they are about destination.

Coasts and mountains,
rivers and lakes,
peaks and plains
are described by the explorers who encountered them for the first time
and, as these explorers drew their maps,
they had no idea what lay beyond
those mountains, those lakes, those plains of endless grass.

If you’re an explorer, having a map in your hand,
keeps you pushing ahead until the map is complete.

For others, maps are geological tools
whose contours of the land tantalize the investor
with suggestions of deposits
glutted with oil and diamonds and gold.

In this Historical Atlas of the United States,
maps chart the pattern of settlement
and reveal the geographical reasons
why battles were lost and others one.

A Soviet map of the eastern seaboard
was drawn to help nuclear missiles
hit the intended spots.

A map based on a satellite photo
shows a ravaged New Orleans
after Hurricane Katrina.

So, you see, maps record more than roads and rest stops.
They’re contain hints of history, hope and hysteria
for peoples, cities and nations.

With that in mind,
how would you draw the map of your life?

Would your map be based on the mountains you’ve climbed,
or the battles you’ve won,
or the wealth you’ve sought
or the storms you’ve endured?

Would the document include notations
from the treasure map your son once scribbled
on the back of notebook?

Would it include the Tom-tom voice in the mini-van
guiding your family on the way to Gatlinburg
for a summer vacation?


Most importantly,
would your map resemble in any
the map of St. Joseph?

Not the one he stuffed into the donkey pack
before hoisting Mary up into the saddle,
rather the map he drew based on directions given by God.

The landscape on the face of this map
isn’t coastlines or mountains
or minerals or wealth
or battles or blizzards.

It’s a map based on the voice that steadies you
in the darkness of the night
in the ER room with your kid,
the hospital room with your husband
and your mother’s room at Hillebrand.

There is a voice that turns us toward the proper direction;
urges us to take the right road and the righteous road
when questions arise or confusion sets in:
Do I marry this person?
Do I take this job?
Do I pursue this degree?

Some call this an inner voice
but, in its true form, it is an outer voice,
a voice that comes from outside us.

For Joseph it was the voice of an angel he heard in his dreams,
it was voice of Mary
and the shrill cry of an infant
and the soft knocking of a hammer in a carpenter shop.

Through these vistas that echoed with love
God charted a road for Joseph to travel.

And God does the same for each one us here tonight.

So, look close to the map God has placed in your hand.
Study well the roads, the highways, the bridges.
Take the ones that Joseph walked…
the paths that lead from Bethlehem.

Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Advent

You won’t see him pictured on any Christmas cards.
You won’t find him standing among the shepherds at a nativity scene.

I’m talking about Zechariah,
a priest in Jerusalem
and the father of John the Baptist.

His wife, Elizabeth, appears in today’s gospel,
but Zechariah’s nowhere to be found.
(Which, by the way, might be a blessing in disguise
since, in all likelihood, old man Zechariah could be nursing a grudge
from that incident in the Temple three months ago
when he doubted the good word of God
and an angel struck him dumb as a result.)

Since Zechariah is absent from today’s gospel passage,
there’s no need to spend a lot time talking about him.
I thought I’d give him a brief mention
for the same reason that the Bible gives him a brief mention:

Zechariah, you see, appears at the beginning of the Christmas story
for one reason and one reason only:

to highlight the contrast between
despair and hope;

his sorry example bring to light
the difference between a life lived in doubt
and a life lived with faith;

his dragging his feet
when it comes to responding to God’s plan
illustrates the sharp distinction between
trust in God and wariness of God.

If you compare God’s Word to a burst of light,
Zechariah’s nothing more than a sunspot.

If he’s the dark sunspot,
where’s the sun?

It’s shining down on his porch
and that’s where today’s gospel opens,
on the doorstep of Zechariah’s house
where his wife, Elizabeth, is overcome with joy
and Mary sings a song praise of the Lord.

What a contrast!

An old man who can’t talk
and beautiful young woman who can’t stop sining.

Compare Zechariah’s old covenant ritual and incense in the stately Temple…
compare that to the exuberance of pregnant women,
laughing on a front porch on a summer day!

Mary, on tip-toe, reaching up to embrace Elizabeth!
The young Mary, on the tip-toe edge of God’s shiny new plan…

a plan to fix up this broken old world;
a plan to coax the fearful into the light of day,to lure the Zechariah in each one of us
out of the cellar and basements of confusion and fear
into the sunlight streaming down on that porch
where Elizabeth and Mary are celebrating
something never happened before
and would never happen again:

God, taking on the flesh of a human being.
in the womb of Mary,
a young girl from a backwater town.

What a day that was!
No wonder Elizabeth was dancing.
Her callused feet suddenly as nimble as a ballerina’s,
her arthritic toes
boot-scootin’ across the wooden planks of that wrap-around porch.

Let old man Zechariah
mutter and stumble his way to salvation…
(let’s you and me fall in line behind Mary and Elizabeth!)

How?
It’s easy!

Sing along with the kids in the car
on the way home from church,

Let your eyes tear up
as the people you love
open the gifts
you’ve given with love…
your love…
the love that God has placed in your heart
and wants you to feel deep inside your heart.

Leave the darkness behind…

And, come Christmas morning,
take a step outside.
Go out onto you porch and offer a prayer of praise to God

The God who comes to the world in human skin
The God who makes old women dance
and young women sing.

No matter the weather,
go out on the porch
feel the sun,
feel the rain,
feel the frost,
open your heart in welcome to him
who opened his arms on the cross for you.

Open you mouth and say the word that Mary said.

Yes.

Say yes!

“Yes, Lord.
Be it done unto me according to your Word.”

Let me sing with Mary.
Make my spirit dance.

This Christmas, Lord,
make my soul to tremble.

Fourth Sunday of Advent: On the Porch with Lizzie

Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Advent - First Draft


(Please e-mail your reactions, suggestions, etc. to jms48@fuse.net. Your feedback is most helpful! Thanks, Fr. Jim)

You won’t see him pictured on any Christmas cards.
You won’t find him standing among the shepherds at a nativity scene.

I’m talking about Zechariah,
a priest in Jerusalem
and the father of John the Baptist.

His wife, Elizabeth, appears in today’s gospel,
but Zechariah’s nowhere to be found.
(Which, by the way, might be a blessing in disguise
since, in all likelihood, old man Zechariah could be nursing a grudge
from that incident in the Temple three months ago
when he doubted the good word of God
and an angel struck him dumb as a result.)

Since Zechariah is absent from today’s gospel passage,
there’s no need to spend a lot time talking about him.
I thought I’d give him a brief mention
for the same reason that the Bible gives him a brief mention:

Zechariah, you see, appears at the beginning of the Christmas story
for one reason and one reason only:

to highlight the contrast between
despair and hope;

his sorry example bring to light
the difference between a life lived in doubt
and a life lived with faith;

his dragging his feet
when it comes to responding to God’s plan
illustrates the sharp distinction between
trust in God and wariness of God.

If you compare God’s Word to a burst of light,
Zechariah’s nothing more than a sunspot.

If he’s the dark sunspot,
where’s the sun?

It’s shining down on his porch
and that’s where today’s gospel opens,
on the doorstep of Zechariah’s house
where his wife, Elizabeth, is overcome with joy
and Mary sings a song praise of the Lord.

What a contrast!

An old man who can’t talk
and beautiful young woman who can’t stop sining.

Compare Zechariah’s old covenant ritual and incense in the stately Temple…
compare that to the exuberance of pregnant women,
laughing on a front porch on a summer day!

Mary, on tip-toe, reaching up to embrace Elizabeth!
The young Mary, on the tip-toe edge of God’s shiny new plan…

a plan to fix up this broken old world;
a plan to coax the fearful into the light of day,to lure the Zechariah in each one of us
out of the cellar and basements of confusion and fear
into the sunlight streaming down on that porch
where Elizabeth and Mary are celebrating
something never happened before
and would never happen again:

God, taking on the flesh of a human being.
in the womb of Mary,
a young girl from a backwater town.

What a day that was!
No wonder Elizabeth was dancing.
Her callused feet suddenly as nimble as a ballerina’s,
her arthritic toes
boot-scootin’ across the wooden planks of that wrap-around porch.

Let old man Zechariah
mutter and stumble his way to salvation…
(let’s you and me fall in line behind Mary and Elizabeth!)

How?
It’s easy!

Sing along with the kids in the car
on the way home from church,

Let your eyes tear up
as the people you love
open the gifts
you’ve given with love…
your love…
the love that God has placed in your heart
and wants you to feel deep inside your heart.

Leave the darkness behind…

And, come Christmas morning,
take a step outside.
Go out onto you porch and offer a prayer of praise to God

The God who comes to the world in human skin
The God who makes old women dance
and young women sing.

No matter the weather,
go out on the porch
feel the sun,
feel the rain,
feel the frost,
open your heart in welcome to him
who opened his arms on the cross for you.

Open you mouth and say the word that Mary said.

Yes.

Say yes!

“Yes, Lord.
Be it done unto me according to your Word.”

Let me sing with Mary.
Make my spirit dance.

This Christmas, Lord,
make my soul to tremble.

Sandal Straps: The Third Sunday of Advent

Homily for the Third Sunday of Advent

Second Draft and Comments on Revisions:

If you compare this draft to the preliminary one (posted directly below the revised homily), you'll find an improved introduction, one which gets to the heart of the matter with the use of dramatic voice. The second improvement lies in the conclusion. I eliminated an bifocation by excising the reference to axes and trees (not included in the actual passage), and focused instead on Peter, Jesus and sandal straps.

I hope this brief analysis is of some help to you. The audio version of this homily will posted on the Parish Page of St. Al's web site on Thursday, 12/21/06.

Fr. Jim

Homily for the Third Sunday of Advent

“I’m not worthy,” cries John the Baptist,
that desert prophet dressed in camel skin.
“I’m not worthy to touch his sandal straps!”

Let’s think about that line a minute.
Unworthiness is not a notion that plays well in our heads
at this time of year.
In the midst of Christmas shopping and gift wrapping
and all the parties we go to,
the closest anybody gets to feeling unworthy
might be a five-year-old who refuses to eat his or her vegetables
and gets threatened with the words, “Santa’s watching.”

Yet, in hundreds of thousands of churches today,
the great prophet John the Baptist,
later described by Jesus as “the greatest man ever born of woman,”
considers himself unworthy…
unworthy to even touch the dust-covered sandals on Jesus’ feet.

In other words,
when it comes to being in the awesome presence
of the powerful Savior,
John the Prophet’s not good enough.
Not deserving.
Not worth the trouble to be noticed.

Now, as I said, most Americans won’t relate to this.
That line “I’m not worthy” flies in the face
of what most of us consider good mental health
and a positive self-esteem.

Spiritually speaking, it even goes against the grain
of much of what Jesus himself conveyed
by his words and actions…
reaching out to sinners
and referring to his disciples as his friends.

So, is there any value in what John the Baptist says?
Is there anything we can learn from him
when it comes to our attitude and our approach to God?

“I am not worthy to touch the strap of his sandal.”

What’s that mean for us here today?

I’m not sure but,
if you’ve been reading the Advent readings,
it does have a familiar ring.

John’s line echoes the words of the pregnant Elizabeth
as she greets the pregnant Mary
on the doorstep of her house:
“Who am I,” exclaims Elizabeth, “that the mother of my Lord
should come to me?”

John’s statement resonates with the words that Peter mumbled
as he fell to his knees in his boat at the feet of Jesus
after an incredible catch of fish.
Remember that scene?
Suddenly aware that Jesus was no ordinary man,
Peter hits the deck and says,
“Leave me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.”

And, finally, John’s cry of unworthiness
is almost identical to the words of the Roman centurion
who sought out Jesus the day his child grew sick,
“Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under the roof of my house….”

Now, if you put all these phrases together,
the issue of unworthiness takes on a different color.

In other words,
it’s no longer a mental health issue.

It’s not longer an issue of self-esteem
or positive self-regard.

Rather, it’s about God.
And it’s about God coming into your life!

“Who am I that I should have such a privilege?”

“Who are I that I dare shake your hand, Lord, much less
look you in the eye and
hear you speak my name?”

This, you see, is the experience that John the Baptist
is referring to.

It that bounce of joy that Elizabeth felt in her womb
when Mary’s voice reached her ears…

It’s the hope that the centurion dared not hope for!

It’s the forgiveness Peter felt fall like rain upon his shoulders
that day he hunched down in the boat in front of Jesus and said,
“Leave me, Lord, get out of here.
It’s too much! Your strength, your power!
It’s too much to take in!”

Now, just picture that scene for a minute.
Even though John proclaimed himself unworthy to touch the strap of Jesus’ sandal,
I can’t help but picture Peter’s hands clamped around Jesus’ ankles
that day he told him to step off his boat.

Yes, Peter told the Lord to leave
but there was something deep inside him that wanted him to stay
and needed him to stay.

For my money, the words, “Lord, I am not worthy”
is another way of saying:
“Am I dreaming?
Someone wake me up!
This is too good to be true!”

_______

That’s what today’s gospel means to me.
What does it mean to you?

When was the last time you experience a power-surge of grace in your life?
When was the last time—outside of church—that you were brought to your knees?
When was the last time your eyes teared up?

Did it happen when the pretty girl in the class
said she’s go to the prom with you?

Was at the baptism of a grandchild,
when the water fell across that smooth skin
and you felt God’s love fall like rain upon that child
and upon your family, your own family?

Did it happen at your daughter’s wedding
as you danced with her
and felt the rhythm of grace
move in your feet?

Or maybe it was simple the sight
of a winter sunset.

Just when was the last time you felt unworthy
to touch the strap of his sandal?

“Leave me, Lord, I don’t deserve this.”

We’ve all said that at one time or another.
But keep this in mind:
The man Peter told to step off his boat
turned out to be the Savior who washed his feet.

That same Savior who has come into your life
and, as did for Peter,
he kneels before you with a basin of water.

What’s that mean?
It means you don’t worry about the sandals he’s wearing…
it’s time to unstrap your own.

First Draft:

Unworthiness is not a popular topic at this time of year.
In the midst of Christmas shopping and gift wrapping,
the closest anybody gets to feeling unworthy
might be a five-year-old who refuses to eat his or her vegetables
and gets threatened with the words, “Santa’s watching.”

Yet, in hundreds of thousands of churches today,
the great prophet John the Baptist,
later described by Jesus as “the greatest man ever born of woman,”
considers himself unworthy…
unworthy to even touch the dust-covered sandals on Jesus’ feet.

Not good enough.
Not deserving.
Not worth the trouble to be noticed.

This flies in the face of what most of us consider good mental health
and a positive self-esteem.

It goes against the grain of much of what Jesus himself conveyed
by his words and actions…
reaching out to sinners
and referring to his disciples as his friends.

So, is there any value in what John the Baptist says?
Is there anything we can learn from him
when it comes to our attitude and our approach to God?

“I am not worthy to touch the strap of his sandal.”

What’s that mean for us here today?

I’m not sure,
but it has a familiar ring.

It echoes the words of the pregnant Elizabeth
as she greets the pregnant Mary
on the doorstep of her house:
“Who am I,” exclaims Elizabeth, “that the mother of my Lord
should come to me?”

It resonates with the words that Peter mumbled
as he fell to his knees at the feet of Jesus
after an unbelievable, incredible catch of fish:
Suddenly aware that Jesus was no ordinary man,
Peter hits the deck and says,
“Leave me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.”

And, finally, it’s almost identical to the words of the Roman centurion
whose child was sick,
“Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under the roof of my house….”

You put all these phrases together and I’m not so sure
that the question of worthiness no longer seems very important.

In other words,
this is not a mental health issue.

This is not about self-esteem
or positive self-regard.

Rather, it’s about God.
And it’s about God coming into your life.

“Who am I that I should have such a privilege?”
“Who am I that I should have such an honor?”

“Who are I that I dare shake your hand, Lord, much less
look you in the eye and
hear you speak my name?”

Yet, this is the encounter that John the Baptist claims is about to happen…

This is the bounce of joy that Elizabeth felt in her womb
when Mary’s voice reached her ears…

This is the hope that the centurion dared not hope for
and the forgiveness Peter could not imagine would ever wash across his shoulders
as he hunched down in the boat in front of Jesus:
“Leave me, Lord, get out of here.
It’s too much, your strength, your power, your love, your compassion
it’s too much, it too much to take in!”

Now, just picture that scene for a minute.
I know John proclaimed that he was unworthy to touch the strap of Jesus’ sandal,
but when Peter is hunched down in the boat that day
telling Jesus to get away,
I can’t help but picture Peter’s hands clamped around Jesus’ ankles.

For my money, the words, “Lord, I am not worthy”
is another way of saying:
“Am I dreaming?
Someone wake me up!
This is too good to be true!”

That’s what today’s gospel really means.
But what does it mean, really mean, to you?

When was the last time you experience a power-surge of grace in your life?
When was the last time—outside of church—that you were brought to your knees?
When was the last time your eyes teared up?
When was the last time your mind entertained the thought
of touching the hem of Jesus’ garment
or the strap of his sandal?
When was the last time you prayed with enough courage to look him in the eye?

Might it be that you’re having trouble drawing close to him these days?
Too many trees in your forest?
Too many things on your plate?

It’s time to put to the axe to those trees
and grub out the roots.

The man Peter told to get off his boat
turned out to be the Savior who washed his feet.

The Savior who has come into your life.
He kneels before you with a basin of water.
Don’t worry about the sandals he’s wearing.
It’s time to unstrap your own.

Advent Town: The Second Sunday of Advent

Homily for the Second Sunday of Advent
(Revised Draft - Audio version available on the St. Al's web site)

We all know the symbols of Christmas:
stars, Christmas trees, poinsettias, candy canes, etc.

But the season of Advent has symbols of its own:

Deserts abloomin’.
Mountains made low.
And highways made straight.

Today, St. John the Baptist shouts out a mightycommand:
“Make straight the way of the Lord.”

Let’s focus on St. John’s commandment a minute.
and think about a road that he’s talking about.

Let’s imagine that road.
And let’s give that road a name.
Let’s call that road “US Route 22.”

Picture a road named Route 22
as it curves through the blue hills of Kentucky
on down to a county seat called Advent Town.

And let’s you and me go for a Sunday drive on Route 22

You know, some of those roads in Kentucky are mighty old.
Some of them fit snug as a on the trampled ground of buffalo paths.
Some of those roads were Indian trails.
Some were cut through the mountains by the Army Corps of Engineers.

Roads are interesting things.
Roads carry lots of memories:
Buffalo hooves and moccasins.
Work boots and bare-foot boys.
White-bellied snakes.
Goodyear Radials and bicycle tires smeared with tar.

Route 22 carries lots of memories and lots of secrets.
And today it carries you to a community called Advent Town.

Now, the secrets you discover in Advent Town won’t surprise you.
They’re the same dreams, regrets and fears
that all people carry in their hearts and in their pasts.

The citizens of Advent Town won’t surprise you, either.
They’re ordinary people,
their lives a mix of routine work,
small-town talk
and the near occasion of sin.
The only thing that may surprise you
is how much Route 22,
with its pot-holes and sharp turns,
transforms into a highway for our God upon its approach to Advent Town.

Advent Town, you see, is an unusual place.
You won’t find prophets preaching on Courthouse Square,
but you might encounter a woman named Clara Foster
whose Rising Sun Rooming House
puts the words of such prophets into practice
as she rents her rooms to social outcasts and misfits.

You won’t find Santa stocking his sleigh for nighttime flight,
but you will meet seven-year-old Carmen Gomez
whose father lives in fear of deportation.

Ordinary people
with ordinary lives
and Christmas on the way.

That’s what you find in Advent Town.

If you need help cutting down a Christmas tree,
contact Ted Goubeaux.
He makes custom furniture
and is sure to have an extra saw in his shop.
Ted’s come a long way in his struggle for sobriety.

Ted’s dad, Hank, lives in the nursing home on the edge of town.
In Hank’s opinion, Ted’s a hard guy to talk to, a hard son to reach.

Jim Feldkamp works at the grain elevator.
Now, Jim’s a man of faith
but, in the dead of night with his wife lying beside him
exhausted from chemo, he’s a man of fear.

Then there’s seventeen-year-old Shelby Brannon
who writes letters to the editor
and wants to join the Sisters of St. Francis.

Yes, Route 22 takes you to Advent Town
and straight into the lives of these citizens.

Their stories carry a familiar ring.
Like the story of the grandmother
who lives in a condo here in Cincinnati on Bridgetown Road,
like the story of the teller at National City Bank down the street,
like the story of a high school kid in the St. Al’s Youth Group…

these lives, like our own,
are full pot-holes and sharp turns.

I’m speaking here of the lives of the people you encounter on the street,
the people who work next to you in the office,
and the people you hold in your arms
and the people you love your heart…

all these people are tramping the road alongside us.
And it takes a brave heart
and a strong soul
to walk this road that winds through this life of ours.

There are some rough stretches on this road.
Some days, it might look an a alley full of trash
more than a highway or an interstate.

But the road that John the Baptist talks about today
is the road called Faith
and this road takes us to through small towns and big cities
and into the lives of God’s people.

And my point it this:
the more we engage the lives of those we meet on the road
the closer we get to the heart of God.

God is our destination.
Heaven is our one goal.

The road to God runs true.

And the truths you discover on this road of faith this Advent
will set you free…
free to worship Christ
in spirit and in truth this Christmas.


(First Draft)

A voice cries out in the desert,
"Make straight the way of the Lor,
clear him a straight path…
the windings shall be made straight,
the rough ways smooth."

The season of Advent carries lots of symbols,
it’s chock full of compelling images:

Deserts abloomin’.
Mountains made low.
Highways made straight.

Today, John the Baptist shouts out a might command:
“Make straight the way of the Lord.”

Well, let’s think about that minute.
Let’s think about a road that leads to the heart of God.
And let’s give that road a name.
Let’s call that road “US Route 2.”

Let’s you and me take a Sunday drive on Route 2
as it curves through the hills of Kentucky to a county seat called Advent Town.

And you, some of those roads in Kentucky are mighty old.
Some of them fit snug as a on the trampled ground of buffalo paths.
Some of those roads were Indian trails.
Some were cut through the mountains by the Army Corps of Engineers.

Buffalo hooves and moccasins.
Work boots and bare-foot boys.
White-bellied snakes.
Goodyear Radials and bicycle tires smeared with tar.

Route Two carries lots of secrets
and today it carries you to a county seat called Advent Town.

Now listen to this:
the secrets you discover in Advent Town won’t surprise you.
They’re the same dreams, regrets and fears
that all people carry in their hearts and in their pasts.

The citizens of Advent Town won’t surprise you, either.
They’re ordinary people,
their lives a mix of routine work,
small-town talk
and the near occasion of sin.
The only thing that may surprise you
is how much Route Two,
with its pot-holes and sharp turns,
transforms into a highway for our God upon its approach to Advent Town.

Advent Town, you see, is a lot like every town.
You won’t find prophets preaching on Courthouse Square,
but you might encounter a woman named Clara Foster
whose Rising Sun Rooming House
puts the words of such prophets into practice.

You won’t find Santa stocking his sleigh for nighttime flight,
but you will meet seven-year-old Carmen Gomez
whose father lives in fear of deportation.

Ordinary people
with ordinary lives
and Christmas on the way.

If you need help cutting down a Christmas tree,
contact Ted Goubeaux.
He makes custom furniture
and is sure to have an extra saw in his shop.
Ted’s come a long way in his struggle for sobriety.

His dad, Hank, lives in the nursing home on the edge of town.
In Hank’s opinion, Ted’s a hard guy to reach.

Jim Feldkamp works at the grain elevator.
Now, Jim’s a man of faith
but, in the dead of night with his wife lying beside him
exhausted from chemo, he’s a man of fear.

Then there’s seventeen-year-old Shelby Brannon
who writes letters to the editor
and wants to join the Sisters of St. Francis.

Route Two takes you to Advent Town
and straight into the lives of these citizens.

Their stories, like the stories of the grandmother
who lives in a condo on Bridgetown Road,
like the story of the teller at National City Bank down the street,
like the story of a high school kid in the St. Al’s Youth Group…

are full pot-holes and sharp turns
but into the lives of the people you encounter on the street
and the people you hold in your arms
and the people you love your heart…

all these people are tramping along a road
alongside us.
And it takes a brave heart
and a strong soul
to walk this road that winds through this life of ours.

There are some rough stretches on this road.
Some days, it might look an a alley full of trash
more than a highway or an interstate,
but the road that John the Baptist talks about
is the road called Faith
and this road takes us to through small towns and big cities
and into the lives of God’s people.

And the more we engage the lives of those we meet on the road
the closer we get to the heart of God.

And God is our destination.
Heaven is our one goal.

The road to God runs true.
And the truth you discover on this road
will set you free…
free to worship in truth this Christmas.