Transparent

Our Advent reflections this year have focused on how our experience of God is reflected, affirmed, and promoted by the liturgy acting as our formator.  The experience of a God who is on the move, coming and going, to draw us gradually into deeper and more authentic relationship.  The experience of being known by God, of seeing ourselves reflected in his eyes, which makes possible our own self-discovery, the struggle for self-possession, and ever more complete self-gift.

Today, the liturgy once again puts before us the figure of John the Baptist, but this time not so much in the mode of provocation, to raise questions in our minds about our purpose and authenticity, but as a pointer to someone else, the one who is to come, the one who is actually present.  He says:

“there is one among you whom you do not recognize,
the one who is coming after me,
whose sandal strap I am not worthy to untie.” (Jn 1:26-7)

John’s gospel opens with a breathtaking view from eternity, of the Word who was God, and who was with God in the beginning.  This same reading will be heard on Christmas day, with the option of a shorter version that omits the part about John to focus on the Word become flesh.  Today, we hear the temporal side of the equation, about John the witness, with the Eternal Word coming into the world as life, as light not expressed explicitly, and yet still very much present.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” (Jn 1:5)

John stands as witness to the light, to the Word who gives him life.  He stands for what is not seen but what is believed.  And his role is to point out our Savior standing among us, unrecognized.  John’s mission to become ever more transparent to the greater one becomes clearer in the final words we hear from him in the gospel:

“No one can receive anything except what has been given him from heaven.  You yourselves can testify that I said [that] I am not the Messiah, but that I was sent before him.  The one who has the bride is the bridegroom; the best man, who stands and listens to him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice.  So this joy of mine has been made complete.  He must increase; I must decrease.” (Jn 3:27-30)

John is a prophet of hope and of joy on this Gaudete Sunday.  Not a hope or a joy based on his own gifts, projects, or sense of identity, but based on total reliance on God, on total confidence in his presence with us, here and now.  This is the only hope and joy that makes sense.  We are overwhelmed by the violence and terror and misery in our world.  We are lacking confidence and a sense of direction, we feel helpless.  In his Christmas Letter, Dom Mauro-Giuseppe, OCist states:

“Christian hope has a single foundation: faith in God, trust in the Father, communion with Christ who is present and walks with us. This hope, which is stronger than every human hope founded only on unstable reasons, is a grace, a gift of the Spirit. This makes us live not from what the world gives us or what we can be or do ourselves, but from God who gives himself to us, who accompanies us like a good Shepherd and who lives in us. Christ himself is our hope, the only hope that does not disappoint.”

No matter how thick the darkness, how many challenges lie before us, how much discouragement we feel about the state of our world, the light shines and will not be overcome, because the Lord is near.  As Guerric of Igny puts it, “each time you see him in a completely new way and as a much greater figure than you have met before” (Fifth Sermon for Advent).  With John we cry out in wonder: “this joy of mine has been made complete.  He must increase; I must decrease” (Jn 3:27-30).  We do not need to rely on ourselves: this is the good news.  Our call is to become transparent, lowly instruments of his power and goodness.

The last words belong to Paul:
“Rejoice always.  Pray without ceasing.  In all circumstances give thanks. … The one who calls you is faithful, and he will also accomplish it.” (1 Thes 5:16, 24)