Third Sunday of Advent, C

            It says in today’s gospel that the “people were filled with expectation....”  They were not waiting as one does in the dentist’s office waiting room or the emergency room of a hospital fearing the worst.  They were not in dread of the future, thinking that some terrible calamity was about to befall them and the whole world.  I remember hearing the story that at the turn of the last millennium, the year 999 to the year 1,000, there was a sense among many people that the end had come.  The times were dark.  There was insecurity everywhere in Europe at that time with collapse of order, with the Viking invasions, disease, and so on.  And many people gathered in Rome on that New Year’s Eve about a thousand years ago to await the end, the doom that was coming when the clock would strike midnight.  They waited.  They dreaded.  They prayed for mercy.  And the clock struck midnight.  And time continued on.  Silence in the great churches.  Then someone sighed, someone else smiled and another laughed softly out of relief.  Before long everyone began to laugh, hug one another, and rejoice that God had been merciful.  Sure, the insecurities, the plagues and the Vikings did not disappear then and there.  But hope dawned afresh.  A new and lovely insight into God’s ever-abundant mercy shown in Christian hearts. 

            Not like all that did the people of John the Baptist’s time wait.  They, rather, were on the edge of their seats, like children on Christmas Eve, filled with joy and hope that God was about to do a new thing.  God was about to do something special.  The Lord God of Israel was going to come to His people again with healing in His wings.  As the prophet Zephaniah expressed it:  “Be glad and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!  The Lord has removed the judgment against you, he has turned away your enemies; the King of Israel, the Lord, is in your midst, you have no further misfortune to fear....The Lord, your God, is in your midst, a mighty savior; he will rejoice over you with gladness, and renew you in his love.” 

            And in our own waiting, we have reached a turning point; we have reached a turning point this very Sunday, as we begin to move our attention, as we begin to focus on Christmas instead of the end of time.  We may have felt, as we contemplated our Lord’s return in judgment, a bit like the people of Rome at the turn of the last millennium.  And that’s all good and proper.  There certainly is something fearful about that day that is coming, when we will all of us have to give an account of how we lived in this world.  But now we begin again to concentrate on that event of all events that makes even the judgment day bearable -- the birth of our Lord at Christmas.  We await, not like those fearful people of 1000 years ago, but like the people who came to John the Baptist, “filled with expectation, with wonder in their hearts.”  We await on the brink of the greatest joy.  For God has come as our Savior.  And so we wait in joy that Christ might be born anew in our hearts.

            Now motivated less by reverent fear -- though that is still present -- and more by the joy of anticipation, we, like the people confronting John the Baptist, ask:  “What ought we to do?”  What ought we to do?  Like someone who knows that a dear friend is soon arriving, or close members of the family; like someone who in tremendous excitement looks forward to the arrival of his or her future spouse, like that, we too look around us and ask ourselves, What do I need to do in order to prepare for that advent of friend or lover?  What ought I to do? 

            And so we busy ourselves about cleaning up the house, buying gifts and special foods, preparing a special room and so on.  All in anticipation.  Joyful anticipation.  And just so we do decorate the halls, bake the cakes, buy the children gifts, put up the tree.  For it really is time to celebrate.  Even an unbelieving world is not immune to the spirit of Christmas.  Something happens, something almost magical -- and it is that for so many children -- something of wonder, every year:  because we mark the birth of a little baby in Bethlehem, whose coming is the source of all our hope and our ultimate joy. 

            How do we adequately prepare?  How do we, like the people of John the Baptist’s time, make things ready?  Besides all the exterior things that take so much of our time and energy -- and they are good things too -- there is also that place and time in this part of Advent for each us to come aside, find some peace and quiet, and listen to our hearts and ask ourselves, What ought I to do?  What do I need to do in order to welcome the Savior into my heart this Christmas?  Has my heart become like the inn in Bethlehem, too full for Him who is my life and joy? 

            How easy it is for the heart to wander.  How easy it is in the busyness of life to loose sight of the most important thing there is -- God and His love for me, for you, so magnificently expressed at every Christmas.  What ought I to do to prepare my heart for Him?  What ought I to stop doing so that my heart will be ready? 

            We have less than two weeks to make things ready.  It’s time to really get started, not with a cowed spirit and dread of judgment, but in the joy of anticipation, the refreshing joy that comes with the truth that we all -- everyone of us -- are being offered a new beginning, a new lease on hope, because Jesus Christ is coming, and He wants to be born in hearts anew.  There is no sadness here.  No dread.  All God wants is for us to make room for Him, whose presence in our heart of hearts means joy, peace, and life eternal.  What ought we to do?  Whatever is necessary is the answer.  So that we don’t miss the real meaning of Christmas.