Homily for the Second Sunday of Advent, Year A

St John the Baptist – he’s quite a radical figure. Living like a monk or a hermit

out in a place far from human habitation, and living quite a simple life, with a

garment made of camel’s hair (it might have been a bit itchy), a leather belt,

and eating locusts and wild honey. We can assume that, like monks, he was

also celibate, giving his whole life over to God. He didn’t do things by half

measures, and he doesn’t expect the people to either.

I’m not saying that he expected everyone to follow the life he led, of celibacy,

living out in the wilderness, and wearing simple clothes and eating simple

food. But when it comes to following God and how we treat our fellow human

beings, he was uncompromising. In some ways, he was like Padre Pio. Padre

Pio, known also known as St Pius of Pietrelcina, was a twentieth century

Franciscan friar and priest who had many gifts, including having visions of

Jesus and Mary from an early age, the stigmata, and being able to read people’s

souls when they came to him for confession. So sometimes, he turned people

away if he knew they weren’t really sorry; or if they had failed to confess

something important, he would remind them of it. St John the Baptist also

heard people’s sins. For some reason we remember him baptising in the river

Jordan, but the Gospel says today, “they were baptised by him in the river

Jordan, confessing their sins”.

But confessing their sins and receiving baptism were not enough. There had to

be change of life as well. Look at how he treats the Pharisees and Sadducees.

They think they are fine as they are, but he warns them that just being part of

the Jewish faith is not enough – you have to live like a follower of God as

well. For us, being a Catholic and coming to Mass is not enough either – we

have to bear the appropriate fruits. As someone once said: “If you were

arrested for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?”

So, if we are going to repent, there needs to be amendment of life as well. It’s

like the story of Zacchaeus, the chief tax collector. He didn’t just ask Our Lord

for forgiveness; he said that if he had cheated anyone he would pay him back

four times the amount. That was quite a penance, but it showed he was

serious. He knew he’d done a lot of damage and that if he was to change he

had to put things right and show there was no going back.

It’s one of the reasons why, when you go to confession, the priest gives a

penance to be done afterwards. Usually it’s something quite simple, just saying

a prayer or two, but it might be that you also realise the need to put things right

yourself afterwards, making up with someone you’ve insulted or fallen out

with, or returning an item to your neighbour that you borrowed and then forgot

to return. Sometimes it might not be possible to do that sort of thing: for

example, if you stole something from work and that company has now gone

bust, or if the person you bullied has now died. In those sorts of cases, it might

be possible to do some other form of penance, such as giving to charity, or

praying for the deceased. What priests aren’t allowed to do is to use the

confessional to benefit the parish. So, if someone confesses to stealing eight

thousand pounds over the course of twenty years from work, and the company

is out of business, I can’t then say for a penance, put that money in the

collection! Or give it to me.

There were no big screens beside the river Jordan, neither were there YouTube

or mobile phones. So if John wanted to get a point across, he had to use an

image that everyone was familiar with. In those days, there were no combine

harvesters. So separating wheat grain from its useless case had to be done by

hand. You would rub the harvested grain, and the case would come off, and the

way you would separate it would be to let both fall whilst there was either a

natural wind blowing, or by use of a fan or something similar. The grain would

fall straight down to the ground, whilst the light case, or chaff, would blow

away. The chaff doesn’t just symbolise evil, but also what is useless. He’s

saying to us as well: we have to look into our hearts. Are we grain, or are we

chaff? Are we fervent in good works, or are we lazy, apathetic, half-hearted,

leaving the job half undone? We can apply to our lives what could be called

the Kipling test: have we made “exceedingly good cakes”, or have we left

them in the oven and forgotten about them?

There’s much for us to think about. One thing we mustn’t do, though, is get

downhearted. Our sins may be numerous; our good works may be in short

supply; but God’s mercy is not. The Prayer over the Offerings today says: “Be

pleased, O Lord, with our humble prayers and offerings, and, since we have no

merits to plead our cause, come, we pray, to our rescue with the protection of

your mercy. Through Christ our Lord.”

In Christ we place all our hope. And with Him, there is hope, even for us.

Curious about exploring things further?  If you would like to ask further questions about the topics raised in these homilies (or maybe think it wasn’t explained too well!), please feel free to e-mail Fr Michael at stjoseph.thame@rcaob.org.uk