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I have the weekend off, homily-wise, but I read this reflection over at Rocco’s and just had to link.
It’s part of a new weekly series he’s beginning, devoted to particularly good homilies. This one comes from Msgr. James P. Moroney, of St. Paul’s Cathedral in Worcester, Mass. I read this over and had one of those blissfully envious moments where I thought, “Wow. I wish I’d written that.”
Here’s a snip, on the subject of Advent, and waiting:
We all ache for God, and we wait…
The addict in the alley behind the Cathedral waits:
for a God who will come and remove all that enslaves him..
The single mother waits:
for the day when she longer has to work 54 hours,
when she can sleep eight,
and when she’ll finally know the kids will be ok.
The soldier in a ditch in Iraq waits:
for a morning when there are no more explosions of IEDs,
and every look is not feared as the precursor to an assault,
and you don’t have to bury your new best friends.
The old man in the nursing home waits:
for the day he will no longer be alone,
when pain will no longer be his most constant companion,
and when he can once again rest in the embrace of her whom he loved.
The prisoner on death row waits:
for a place where he will no longer be seen as evil,
for a life that makes sense,
for a time when love can be given and received,
for the coming of a God who will love him.
The investment banker waits:
for the day when he’s not gripped by the fear
that he’s about to lose everything,
for the day when he can count his value
in the quality of his love rather than the size of his profit.
The little child waits
within her mother’s womb:
for a world that will welcome her.
and parents that will love her,
and a country who will protect her.
We all wait in joyful hope, with baited breath, as we gaze toward the Eastern skies in expectation of the one who rises with healing in his wings…
Exiled in a Babylon of our own selfishness, we cry out: “rend the heavens, O Lord, and come down to us!” Yet he waits for us in that confessional, ready to embrace us pick us up on his shoulders and carry us home to himself.
Gorgeous. Read the rest. And wait in joyful hope.