Are we there yet?
How many times I asked that question when I was growing up!
Two or three times a year, we’d pile into my parents’ station wagon – me, my sister, my Mom and Dad – and head somewhere for a trip, for a vacation, or to visit relatives, someplace a few hours away. But 10 minutes after we’d left the driveway, I had to ask:
“Are we there yet?”
I’m surprised my parents didn’t tell me to get out and walk.
Well, this 4th Sunday of Advent, that question hangs in the air. And finally, we’re almost there. We can see Christmas in the distance. We hear the music. We imagine angels singing. Maybe at home, the tree is up, the lights are plugged in. The nativity scene is waiting.
Everything is ready. The journey is almost over.
And yet …
This Sunday, the first words of the Gospel tell us about an extraordinary trip that is just beginning:
“Mary set out…”
In these last hours of Advent, we are taken back to The Visitation, near the start of this story.
For one thing, it underscores how much of Mary’s life was a journey – one of humbling faith and trust, wonder and mystery, heartbreak and hope. She is very much a woman on the move – from Nazareth to Bethlehem to Egypt to Jerusalem and finally, to Calvary.
The historian Joseph Campbell once said that a hero’s story doesn’t really begin until he leaves home. “Mary set out.” With those three words, Mary’s heroic story begins. We could spend all morning reflecting on the adventure that is the life of Our Lady.
But this morning, I want to offer some thoughts about what happens in this passage and what this means for us this weekend, just three days before Christmas. There are lessons here from two great teachers, Elizabeth and Mary. We need to take them to heart.
First, in Elizabeth we encounter transcendent joy. Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting and was overwhelmed. Luke writes: “The infant leaped in her womb” and she cried out, “And how does this happen to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?”
Looked at another way: Elizabeth is Christmas morning.
She is receiving an unprecedented gift, the gift that is God coming into the world, the gift that is a miracle beyond imagining.
For Elizabeth, the waiting is over. Advent has ended. Christ has arrived. Merry Christmas! Emmanuel has come.
I think of that great anthem of Advent that sang at the beginning of this Mass, “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” Most of us don’t realize that it is actually a long hymn, with eight verses. We rarely sing more than one or two. But one verse that we don’t sing very often proclaims:
O come, O Bright and Morning Star,
and bring us comfort from afar!
Dispel the shadows of the night
and turn our darkness into light.
THAT is what Elizabeth experienced in that breathtaking moment when Mary arrived at her front door, bearing Christ within her. The Morning Star had come.
If Elizabeth shows us a glimpse of Christmas and how to joyfully welcome Christ on Christmas morning, Mary reminds us of something even greater: she shows us what comes next.
Her lesson is this: once Jesus has entered your life, you need to share him with others. Bring him into the world. Go in haste. There is work to do. The world is waiting.
As I’ve said before: after we receive the Eucharist here at Mass, we go out those doors and bring Jesus into the world, “glorifying the Lord by your life.” Mary shows us how it’s done – with trust, with courage, with gratitude, with hope.
This Gospel does nothing less than point the way for the days ahead, to Christmas and beyond.
This week…take a cue from Elizabeth. Welcome Jesus with open arms and an open heart, with a sense of astonishment and joy. In just three days, we commemorate the Incarnation, God becoming one of us, dwelling with us, Emmanuel. Rejoice!
And in a special way, take to heart the example of Mary – the one who first carried Jesus into the world.
I spoke about this during the mission last week, about seeking Jesus in those we meet. He often comes to us through people and places we don’t expect.
Sometimes, that unexpected person is us. How can we bring Jesus to others?
Maybe it will be at the airport. At the gas station. In line at Walmart.
It might even be closer than we think. It could be around the dinner table Christmas night. It is anyplace people may hunger for the Good News, where they feel anxious or alone, wounded or forgotten, where the struggle to make sense of a senseless world goes on. For a lot of people, this season is painful. We need to take time just to be present. To be patient. To see those around us, whoever they are and wherever they are, as children of God and to let them know they matter.
Sometimes, that can be the greatest gift, and one that will last.
Some of those we meet may not get to church. They may not want to.
This week, be their church. Be their music, their prayers, be the bell that heralds joy and tenderness and hope. Be their sign of peace.
“Are we there yet?”
Almost. The next stop is Christmas. As we draw near, remember the lessons of these two great women.
May we prepare to greet the Lord like Elizabeth; and may we strive to make him known, like Mary, through how we live and how we love.
Listen to the last verse of that ancient hymn we sang at the start of Mass. This week, let this be our prayer:
O come, O King of nations, bind
in one the hearts of all mankind.
Bid all our sad divisions cease
and be yourself our King of Peace.
