Homily for the Second Sunday of Advent, Year B
Click on the Scripture citations for a link to the readings
Isaiah 40.1-5, 9-11 Psalm 85 2 Peter 3.8-14 Mark 1.1-8
He was a man on the edge, this cousin of mine. And everyone thought that I was the wild one. I hadn’t actually seen my cousin in many years – my self-imposed exile had pretty much kept me away from all the many get-togethers of our extended family. Over the years, the desert had almost become like home for me, and after a while I didn’t even mind the diet I was forced to live on. This was where I needed to be, this was where God had called me. In the desert, the Scriptures were my daily companions, the prophets my closest friends. In the desert, I came to know Isaiah and Jeremiah and the others as well as I knew my own family. Besides, my people needed a shaking-up – we all needed to repent, we needed to remember God’s great covenant with his chosen people. After so many years in the desert, some people think I’d gone crazy. But sometimes we need the solitude to be able to listen, we need the quiet to remember who God is and who we are, and we need the isolation to figure our where we’re going. Yes, for me the desert is a good place – not because it’s dry, or hot, or rocky – but because here, there is nothing between me and God. But enough about me. It’s my cousin that you’re really interested in.
From the first time I met him, there was a connection – at least, that’s the story my mother told me. You see, I don’t remember the first time we met, because neither of us had been born yet. But my mother loved to tell the story of when his mother came to visit. She said she would never forget the feeling she had when I leapt in her womb when his mother approached. There was something special about this cousin of mine, there was a connection that was much stronger than blood. We grew up at the same time, but in different towns – he was in Nazareth, I was in the Judean hillside. We saw each other the most on the big pilgrimages to Jerusalem, when our whole family would get together for days upon days of prayer, teachings, and of course good food. And then God led me here, to the desert, and I didn’t see my cousin for a long time.
When you’re out here in the desert, and you can really talk with God, gradually everything about your life and the world becomes clearer. I know he’s going to find me one day, out here in the desert. I know he’s going to come and ask to be baptized. And when he does, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to think of him just as my cousin. You see, everything I’m doing out here is not about me – it’s about getting people ready for him. All this time out here in the desert has made me realize that one thing – nothing is about me. That might seem strange coming from a guy who’s by himself just about all the time, living out on the fringes of society. But it’s true. That’s what all the prophets have told us – there is a shepherd and Lord who will feed us and guide us away from ourselves – he’s the one we should think about. But even the desert itself has taught me – out here, the days all seem to run together; it’s easy to lose track of time. There’s only one thing that keeps me moving – there’s no way I could survive out here without God. And every time I see my cousin, there’s something about him that seems to change even time itself. Whenever I see my cousin, I remember that it’s not about me – it’s really about him. I’m just an ordinary man, perhaps living a little out-of-the-ordinary out here in the desert, but there’s nothing special about me. If you want someone who’s on the edge, who’s different – if you want to know someone who can give meaning and purpose and direction to your life, someone who can give comfort in sorrow and strength in adversity – if you want to know a forgiveness and love that is complete, then don’t look at me. Look at my cousin, our brother, and our Lord. Look at Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Because everything about me will come to an end. But everything about him will have no ending.
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