“Why do you stand here idle all day?” (Matthew 20:6).
Two things matter: God’s love for us and our worship of Him. God is the fountainhead of love. Everything true, good, and beautiful is merely a glimpse into that love. Creation exists for the single purpose of responding to that love. We were born to learn to worship. So it is no wonder that God comes to us and asks: ‘Why are you idle’?
God does not call us out of chaos. He calls to us from within the chaos.
A raging tempest, howling demoniacs, stampeding pigs, and indignant mobs — our gospel reading is anything but calm and balmy. One storm follows another, and right there in the storm, who do we find — Jesus Christ. Christianity does not offer a life without storms. It offers us a focus in the storm.
“Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof: but speak the word only, and my soul shall be healed.”
Do we believe genuinely that we need Jesus’ healing? You lie down at the dentist office, shut your eyes, and there it is…muzak…brainless, sentimental, background music. It follows you nowadays in retail stores, elevators, and just about everywhere. If we are honest, sometimes the Church sermons and prayers become like religious muzak — a soundtrack consoling to us religious people, but too often never making a deep change within. Jesus marvelled at the centurion’s faith, an authentic faith, the faith that brought healing. What is that faith?
“His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you’” (John 2:5).
It really is this simple. Do what God wants. I have read the story of the wedding of Cana hundreds of times over, but I have never noticed this little passage. So much is happening: the wedding guests, the water jars, the miraculous wine. In all the stir, we lose this simple message. Behind Jesus Christ’s first miracle is a mother’s quiet advice: “Do whatever he tells you.”
“Arise, shine, O Jerusalem: for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee. For, behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people: but the Lord shall arise upon thee” (Isaiah 60:1-3).
Darkness will spread; the Lord will arise. Few verses portray so strikingly the paradox of our Lord’s coming. Epiphany is saturated in paradox. Darkness, death, and sorrow occur at every instance. Yet, in that darkness, God’s redemption is piercing. Our losses are imbued with joy, because God has come.
“The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous man runs into it and is safe” (Proverbs 18:10).
Looming high above the shores, the monasteries at Mount Athos are built as impenetrable fortresses. Faced with the threat of marauders and pirates for centuries, the monks found safety behind massive stone walls. Today, we are also assailed by constant threats, though of a more subtle kind: turn on the news, you have fear and anger; do an internet search, you have consumerism and pornography; step out of your front door, you have stress and anxiety. We need an asylum to flee to, and that asylum will only be found in the Name of the Lord: our Savior Jesus Christ.
Today is the Feast of the Holy Name, and we read the shortest scripture of the year:
“After eight days had passed, it was time to circumcise the child; and he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb” (Luke 2:21).
The passage is so short that it is easily passed over. Yet, this event is so significant, it rivals nearly everything in history. Moses spent forty days on Mt. Sinai and descended with the Ten Commandments. That moment was trivial compared to the day Christ was named. King Solomon built the temple, forever hallowing the Jewish faith. That historical event has nothing to our Lord’s circumcision. Even God Himself marveled after fashioning the universe, but what did that compare to this moment in Jerusalem? The Son of God, born in the flesh, was named Jesus.
The Jews always wanted a name for God. When Moses first spoke with God in the burning bush, he asked him, “What can we call you?” God did not reveal his name. Instead, he gave Moses a description: “I am that I am” (Exodus 3:14). God simply described Himself as Being itself, or rather, as He who is beyond being. He might as well have said, “I am He who cannot be named.” To have a name is to have a claim over someone. It is a kind of intimacy. How could we possibly call God by a name?
In the same way, God forbade graven images. How could you paint a picture of God? He is bigger and more beautiful than anything the mind can fathom. Yet, God changed all this on Christmas Day. He was born in the flesh. He has a face now, hands, a human body. We have seen God.
Today, He has a name. His name is Jesus Christ. Not only can we paint a picture of the Creator of the Universe. We can claim Him as on our own, through his Name, Jesus.
We do not take seriously enough the power of the Name of Jesus. I once met an old woman. She was part of the Gospel community, one of the pentecostals you meet down south. I heard her pray, and when she prayed she said the name of Jesus, several times, with such conviction. It struck me then, this woman knows the power of the Name. Our own heart should be equally convicted.
In his homily on the Feast of the Holy Name, the Abbot Prosper Gueranger said this about the Name of Jesus:
“When the fulness of time had come – when the mystery of love was about to be revealed – then did heaven send down the Name of ‘Jesus’ to our earth, as a pledge of the speedy coming of him who was to bear it. The archangel Gabriel said to Mary: Thou shalt call his Name JESUS. ‘Jesus’ means Saviour. How sweet will this Name not be to poor lost man! It seems to link earth to heaven! No name is so amiable, none is so powerful. Every knee in heaven, on earth, and in hell, bows in adoration at hearing this Name! and yet, who can pronounce it, and not feel love spring up within his heart?”
Bernadine of Siena shook up the world in the 14th century with the Name of Jesus Christ. It was a time of political rivalry and warring factions. He travelled across the land to bring peace, and he created peace by one means. He carried before him always the letters ‘IHS’ — the first three letters of the Greek, ‘IHΣΟΥΣ’, Jesus Christ. Before the Name of God, painted boldly, with rays like the sun, on a wooden tablet, the sick were cured and the strife ended. The Name of Christ was sufficient.
The Church Fathers urge us to remember the Name of Jesus with every breathe. St. John Chrysostom insisted we call constantly: “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me!” We should make the habit of calling on Jesus with every action through the day. This name, Jesus Christ, “descending into the depths of the heart, will subdue the serpent holding sway over the pastures of the heart, and will save our soul and bring it life.”
St. Paisius insists that the man who calls on the name of Jesus incessantly, “like breath from his nostrils,” and, “with desire,” in him, God will abide and make his home. “The prayer will devour the heart, and the heart the prayer, and he will say this prayer day and night, and he will be liberated from all the enemies’ webs.”
The Book of Proverbs says it all.
“The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous man runs into it and is safe” (Proverbs 18:10).
We make life complicated. We get upset and angry day after day. We are desperate all the time to find solutions to our problems, as though there was anything really good that we could do. We are constantly scrambling for happiness and we wonder why we fall on our faces. There is only one refuge: the Name of Jesus Christ.
Every New Year, the Church starts us off with this one verse:
“After eight days had passed, it was time to circumcise the child; and he was called Jesus” (Luke 2:21).
This is the only worthwhile New Year’s resolution: to aspire to live a life that takes seriously the invocation: “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.”
Everything is turned upside down on Christmas day. Everything the world loves is rejected. Everything heaven loves is cherished. Yesterday, we celebrated the birth of our Savior. Today, we celebrate the martyrdom of his soldier. The Church honors the death of St. Stephen on the second day of Christmas. It is an effort to shake us up. Christ is born. Our heart must be fixed on paradise.
“Advent creates people, new people.” ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer
December of 1943, this young pastor experienced Advent in a unique way. He wrote these words in a letter, written in the weeks preceding Christmas, in his Nazi prison cell. He discovered there what Advent truly is, a time of waiting in the dark, waiting for freedom, for new life, for the birth of hope. These words struck me when I read them. How does Advent create new people? In what manner should I be a new man on Christmas day? Advent comes to prepare ourselves for the wonder and joy of the birth of Jesus Christ.
First buy your Calvins, then pay the rent. It was the 1980s — new fashions, new hairstyles, and new rock. In her Calvin Klein commercial, Brooke Shield’s best summed up the spirit of the times: “Whenever I get some money, I buy Calvins. And if there’s any left, I pay the rent.” Luxuries come first, obligation comes second. For decades now, the priorities in our culture have become scrambled up and backwards. Today, the healing so needed in our souls will only happen if we realign those priorities.
“When the man of pure heart looks at the World of Nature…at the sky, the earth, and the sea…[the] multitudes of birds…every kind of animal…the variety of plants on it, the abundance of fish in the sea…he is immediately amazed and exclaims with the Prophet David: ‘How great are Thy works, O Lord! In wisdom Thou made them all’” (St. Nektarios of Aegina).