Homily - First Sunday of Advent – November
28, 2004
Carol Amen tells this story:
I sat at the sewing machine staring
at that pile of work.
The cut-out pieces of three
bathrobes, a jumper and a blouse waited for me to transform them into
gifts. I would never get them done by
Christmas with everything else I had to do.
I stared out the window which
supplied a scant, gray winter’s light to my sewing area, then back at the pile
of work, trying to decide which garment to start on.
Actually, I felt like chucking the
while thing. I had wanted to sew in
order to give my family exactly what they needed without spending too much
money.
It seemed ironic to be making things
for those I loved and hating every minute of it. What was the matter with me? I had been sitting there 15 minutes without
sewing a single stitch.
I looked away from the sewing machine
and peered out into the cold deserted street.
Not even the usual hardy preschoolers were anywhere to be seen. And then, to my left, like a slow human snail
appeared Mr. Andrews bundled under coat, muffler and hat, and proceeded by his
cane.
Mr. Andrews was as new to the
neighborhood as the rest of us – residents of about three months. He had told my son (size 14 bathrobe) that a
stroke two years ago had left him helpless in bed for a long time. In recent months he had relearned to
walk. “Just like a baby does,” he had
told my son. He had to practice every
day or he’d regress. We met him often
and always waved, but he could only nod slightly. It took every bit of concentration h e could
muster to command his legs and arms to coordinate his slow trek to the end of
the street and back.
Now, curiously drawn by his jerky tap-tap, I watched him, letting the
robe pieces fall neglected into my lap.
His progress was slow. Each step
carried him about six inches forward.
How far it must seem to him to his goal – the end of the
street, turn and shuffle slowly home, I thought. Then I gasped as I saw an obstacle. Because it was garbage collection day,
neighbors had set their cans out by the street.
But at the house directly across from us, they blocked the whole
sidewalk. In order to get by, Mr. Andrews would have to step off the curb or
balance himself on the slight incline of the driveway.
I watched him pause and study his
problem. Half rising from my chair, I decided to run downstairs and outside to
help, but he had started his detour alone.
I stayed at the window hypnotized.
Slowing from the already short, careful steps, Mr. Andrews began a
series of even smaller inchings down the slope of the driveway. Once he tottered and almost fell, but instead
of wasting breath calling out, he precariously steadied himself and
proceeded. One foot and then the other-
not always strong and sure but always determined, he moved on past the
cans. Ever so slowly he edged back up
the slope and onto the flat and ever so patiently on and on down the sidewalk.
I examined the pile of unattached
bathrobe parts through a hot flush of shame. If I had not been stymied into inactivity
by the overwhelming ness of my task, I could have had the first set of pockets
on already. It embarrassed me to draw
the comparison out fully. Here I sat with all my faculties intact except one –
the will to begin, to take the first step.
And there was Mr. Andrews.
He seemed to be speaking to me across
the distance which separated us. You can’t get anywhere if you don’t start,
floated one message on the gray winter day, and another was, you can only go anywhere one step at a time. I realized that my sewing machine, the same
as Mr. Andrews’ faltering legs, contained no magic. Work was required.
By the time his can tap-tapped back
in the other direction, I had the fronts and back attached with neat
seams. I worked steadily the rest of
that day and had size 14 finished and hidden away just as the school bus
arrived.
I enjoyed the days that remained
before Christmas. With a stack of carols
on the record player, I hummed while stitching, and completed one gift each
day. At exactly
We enter Advent – we listen to the voices of this Advent
time: Isaiah the prophet – Paul the
apostle and Jesus, the one we await.
The prophet Isaiah talks about the days to come – the days
when God’s people will know how to walk in God’s way – when they will truly
hear God’s word – when they will destroy that which destroys, separates and
kills and create and nurture and heal.
And Paul tells his people to wake up – to live in light – to
conduct themselves as people who live in light. He tells them very simply to
put on Jesus Christ.
And finally Jesus tells us in the Gospel that the time is
upon us – we don’t have time to procrastinate and wonder and wait. The time to
live the prophet’s message and the apostles advice is not tomorrow or Christmas
morning or the year 2005 or when we have time or when things settle down. The
Time is now.
We begin our Advent days – the time is short to the feast of
Jesus’ Birth. And so we have to put off the excuses we always use and create
the environment for the Lord Jesus to be present in. We have to work in our
every moment to be signs of that presence.
It’s not an easy task – we can be so distracted – and
discouraged by the happening around us.
But we are – we say – people of the light – Baptized into
Him.
Let’s be awake in these Advent days to the possibilities we
are given to bring light to the world about us.