Homily for 19 Nov 2015

19 Nov 2015

It was a beautiful place.  A city, where children played in the streets, were music and art were revered crafts, and there weren’t any locks on the doors—anywhere.  Everywhere you could hear people encouraging one another; the young learned from the old; and the old cherished the young.  If someone trespassed against a neighbor, the mistake was admitted and forgiveness was given without a second thought.

It was a beautiful; a huge city, with a wall around it.  But you didn’t even see the wall unless you were living on the edges of the city.  It was a secure place, a place where you knew who you were and what you believed.  And at the center of the city was the Light of the World, the Tree of Life—and all life was grounded in that.

But then one day, the wall was breached.  And through the breach came Death—Death disguised as wisdom, as personal security, as beauty, as light.  And the minds and hearts of many were covered over by a heavy pall of pride and arrogance, ignorance and sloth.  The Light at the center of the city became dull to them, and they chopped down the Tree of Life—and erected a monument to themselves.

Locks began to appear on the doors; not only to keep neighbors out and possessions safe, but to keep the doors of people’s hearts from being opened too readily.  Forgiveness became scarce.  The young rejected the ways of their elders; and the elders looked down on the young.  There was no longer any music; just the screeches of voices in endless argument.  There was no longer any art, for the heart of humanity didn’t care anymore about the good, the true, and the beautiful.

The walls of the city were overrun by Death, and the people allowed Death into their homes, into their families, into their hearts.  And Jesus saw all this happening, and wept.  He wept for his beloved Jerusalem; he wept for his brothers and sisters.  And he still weeps . . . for us.

Advent is fast approaching, and with it, the stark reminder that the city walls are still overrun.  We’re still fighting and waiting for the beautiful city to be restored.  We’re still waiting for the Tree of Life to take new root in our hearts and in the hearts of our friends and families.  We’re still waiting for the Light of the World to be the One and Only Light of the World.  Death still has a hold in God’s beautiful city, in people’s hearts.  And Jesus weeps.  And we with him.

But there, in the midst of Death and confusion, is the beauty of tears, the beauty of a tender heart; a heart that is not clouded over by Death and Fear, but which still has faith, hope, and love in it.  It’s the Heart of Jesus, and it’s the heart of all his faithful people.  From the beauty of his tears and ours, the New Jerusalem will be born.  We weep for what has been, what is, and especially, what can be—when we hold fast to our God and see him as the Light of our world.