Signs of Healing

Homily for December 11, 2016 (3rd Sunday of Advent)
Isaiah 35:1-6a, 10; Psalm 146; James 5:7-10; Matthew 11:2-11

I was shaving in front of the bathroom mirror one recent morning and found myself staring at a scar that runs from just below my neck to near the bottom of my ribcage. Part of it is almost invisible while another promises to be looking at back at me for many years. 

That scar is a daily reminder of the open heart surgery I had one year ago to replace my aortic valve. When it’s really quiet I get another reminder: the clicking of the artificial valveas it opens and closes.

On the day after the first anniversary of the operation (December 1), I took some time to write a few notes of thanksgiving to the doctors and nurses at Mercy Hospital who looked after me at the time of the surgery and in the months that followed, especially as I struggled through a persistent infection. 

As I wrote the notes I thought about all the things that I took for granted before the surgery: walking up a couple flights of stairs, reaching over my head to get something out of the cupboard, taking a shower, running, wearing a seatbelt, and so on. 

Not anymore! I now find myself pausing at least a couple times a day to say a prayer of thanksgiving.

Some would say that sickness will do that for you. But I have found that healing does it even more! The word of God we receive on this Gaudate (L., “Rejoice!”) Sunday asks us to pay attention to the grace and goodness that are already in our midst. Both the prophet Isaiah and Jesus see the powerful hand of God in physical healing: the blind can see, the deaf can hear, and the lame can walk.

The author of Psalm 146 sees that same hand in what we might call social or moral healing: the oppressed receive justice, the hungry are fed, captives are set free, those bowed down are lifted up, and strangers, widows and the fatherless are kept safe from harm.

But God’s hand isn’t always that visible. In fact, it sometimes seems that God is absent. In the early days of the Church, many people expected that Christ’s return and the end of time were imminent. They waited…and waited…and waited.

After a while, many grew frustrated, despondent or even cynical. Some who had put a lot of effort into changing their lives and their behavior in anticipation of the Lord’s return asked, “What’s the point?” and went back to their old ways. 

In today’s second reading, James urges the people to be alert and patient with God and  each other, like a farmer waiting the ripening of his crops. As Christians, we believe that the reign of God is already here; but it can be hard to see. 

On a morning run I pass under a highway bridge or viaduct and see blankets, shopping carts, plastic bags,and people sleeping in beds made of cardboard boxes. A couple of hours later I open the morning newspaper and read that 700 people have already been murdered in Chicago this year. I turn the pages and see the ravages of war in Syria and an economic crisis that is forcing people in Venezuela to cross the border into Colombia just to buy bread.

But then I remember the ARCH program here in Chicago that provides housing and supportive services to chronically homeless people, including those with mental illnesses; the many people who are fighting the violence in our communities with love, education, job opportunities and greater accountability; those who are overcoming fear and stereotypes to welcome Syrian refugee families into their towns; and those resisting government oppression to work for economic and political reforms in Venezuela.

We all have scars of some kind. Some are visible. Others are harder to see but impossible to ignore. When we look at them we are reminded of suffering. Advent asks us to remember that they are also signs of healing if only we are able to notice them with the eyes of faith, hope and love.  +