Honesty is surely Job’s first lesson. Often we hide our bleakest thoughts, possibly thinking that we should cope with life and its many reverses. Job made no such attempt. With excruciating honesty he spoke of life as pressed service and drudgery. He named his delusion as the very foundations of faith seemed to totter. He spoke of restless and endless nights, of days that vanished without a shred of hope.

Job’s outpouring was indeed bleak, but it was honest. His words articulated the universal condition of sinful humanity as it seeks to come to terms with its pain and suffering, its lost hopes and temptation to despair. The same honesty demands that we ourselves, when darkness inevitably comes our way, should acknowledge our wretchedness. Often, like Job, we long for explanations that will make sense of our pain. Job received no such explanation in the normal sense. He never ceased to pray, even though his prayer was frequently in the form of complaint. “Remember that my life is but a breath, and that my eyes will never again see joy.”

Ultimately the answer to Job’s suffering was not an explanation, but the assurance that God was with him. Our greatest fear is not so much that we might suffer, but that we might suffer alone. Job represented that desolate cry at the heart of sinful humanity, a cry that longs for healing, that aches to be rescued from its isolation.

The same longing greeted Jesus at the beginning of his ministry. At the beginning of Mark’s Gospel Jesus healed first the man possessed of an unclean spirit and then Simon’s mother-in-law. The description of the latter, though brief, has a touching intimacy. “He went to her, took her by the hand, and helped her up. And the fever left her and she began to wait on them.”

Each and every healing speaks of the God, who, in Jesus, reaches out to a broken world. Job had longed to break through the isolation of his pain. Christ, as the healing of the Father, embraced that pain throughout his ministry. The response of the crowd, reflecting our own brokenness, was immediate. “That evening, after sunset, they brought to him all who were sick and those who were possessed of devils. The whole town came crowding round the door.”

At the beginning of his ministry Jesus reached out to the multitude attracted to Simon’s house. Here, at last, was the Messiah who would bind up the broken hearted. By his life, death and resurrection, Jesus would bring that healing to the whole world.

Job had been assured that the Lord would be with him in his suffering. Whatever darkness we experience in our lives, the Risen Lord is the assurance that God is not only with us: through his death he embraces that pain and, in his resurrection, brings the promise of healing.

Ancient superstitious practices, laughable to a scientific age, cannot be entirely dismissed. Each and every age longs for a voice, a revelation that will speak to the heart, thereby guaranteeing the future.

Through Moses the God of Israel gave such voice to his people, a voice that named them as his very own, that it gathered them together in a covenant of love. Moses took the promise further. He promised that the Lord would raise up for Israel a prophet like himself, a prophet that would speak to God face to face, as to a friend. That promise was unfulfilled at the death of Moses. The Book of Deuteronomy is concluded with unfulfilled expectation. “Since then, never has there been a prophet in Israel like Moses, the man the Lord knew face to face.”

The gospels reveal Jesus as the fulfilment of this expectation for a prophet like unto Moses. They had longed for a prophet raised up from among their brothers. Through the incarnation the Son of God became their brother, like unto them in all things but sin. They had longed for a prophet, who, like Moses, spoke to God as to a friend, face to face. As Son of God, Jesus shared with his people the intimacy of the Father.

The early chapters of the gospels spell out in action a dawning awareness of Christ’s significance. Like many before him, he taught in their synagogues, but here was teaching with a difference. “His teaching made a deep impression on them because, unlike the scribes, he taught them with authority.”

The authority for which they longed was not the authority of power, but an authority that comes from the heart. They longed for words that instinctively acknowledged the truth of their broken lives, and yet, at the same time, promised hope and redemption.

They witnessed, as in today’s Gospel, the deliverance of those possessed by unclean spirits. The more they witnessed such wonders, the more they began to acknowledge the saving Presence that had come into their lives. “Here is a teaching that is new and with authority behind it: he gives orders even to unclean spirits and they obey him.” The crowd’s reaction to Jesus leads us to reflect on our own lives. Like them, we are searching for meaning and purpose. Today, as in the day of Moses, there are many false prophets. They promise salvation through health and beauty, prosperity and celebrity. The list is endless and disappointing, and yet we continue to give ourselves to false hopes and dreams. Let us acknowledge Jesus, embracing in him the promise made through Moses.

Here is a prophet raised up from among ourselves, who leads us to the Father, the source of all knowledge and life. He speaks with authority, the power to change broken lives. He alone heals broken lives. Every other hope is sorcery by a different name.

The Prophet Jonah’s mission to Nineveh, the great city, underlines repentance as the first step in discipleship.

Nineveh represented to Israel everything that was incompatible with a life dedicated to the service of God. The vast city was synonymous with sin and self-indulgent arrogance. Jonah’s mission was to proclaim the repentance that alone could prevent the judgment that was to come.

It would be foolish to deny that there are parallels between Nineveh and the more materialistic aspects of a modern life-style. If we are serious about a faith that is not only proclaimed, but also lived as a disciples of Jesus Christ, we, like the citizens of Nineveh, must take the first step. That first step is repentance. “And the people of Nineveh believed in God: they proclaimed a fast and put on sackcloth, from the greatest to the least.”

Repentance, a willingness to change sinful attitudes, leads to what we could never achieve of ourselves. Throughout the gospels Jesus called his disciples first to repentance and then to the faith that had the power to transform their lives. “The time has come and the kingdom of God is close at hand. Repent and believe the Good News.”

That our response to God’s call can never be a purely intellectual exercise is demonstrated in the call of the first disciples. Walking by the Sea of Galilee Jesus encountered Simon and Andrew, James and John. It was a moment of grace that demanded commitment. The time had come. “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”

It is amazing that such a seemingly casual encounter was the prelude to life-changing decisions. “At once they left their nets and followed him.”

This moment of grace, seized by these first disciples, opened their lives to the grace of God, a grace that would make them apostles and foundations of the faith.

Let us pray for the humility to recognise those moments in life when the Lord is calling. Rather than let such moments pass us by, letting us respond to them in prayer. It is in such moments, with those first disciples, that we encounter the God who can bring about in us, and within his Church, infinitely more than we could ask or imagine.

Paul’s first Letter to the Corinthians, while at first challenging, describes an important aspect of discipleship. He counsels that those who have wives should live as though they had none, those who mourn should live as if there was nothing to mourn, and so the list goes on.

Fundamentally, Paul was stating that the disciple can never become so engrossed in his own world that there is no space for the life that is Christ and his kingdom. He asks the disciple: what is the fundamental preoccupation of your life? Do you see in each moment only what concerns yourself?

Is there any space for the will of God?

The narrative of Samuel’s call is a perfect expression of these qualities. As Samuel passed the night in the sanctuary he was disturbed three times by the calling of his name. Presuming that the call came from his master Eli, his response was to present himself to Eli. On each occasion he was dismissed. “I did not call you, my son, go back and lie down.”

Only with persistence, and prompted by Eli, was Samuel enabled to understand the meaning of his experience. The Lord enabled him both to hear and respond to his calling. “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.”

Throughout life our hearts prompt us in various directions. Such thoughts are frequently dismissed as the reverie of the moment. Sometimes, like the calling of Samuel’s name, these promptings are repeated. They should not be dismissed. With the kind of prayer that offers an open ear, we should, like Samuel, seek to discern God’s purpose in this constant prompting. Is God calling us to adopt a particular way of life or, equally important, to withdraw from certain aspects of our present lifestyle?

Only with the psalmist’s surrender to God can we understand the purpose of such promptings. “You do not ask for holocaust or victim. Instead, here am I.”

The first encounter between Jesus and the disciples of John the Baptist illustrates further the dynamic of discernment in the life of the believer. The narrative begins with John the Baptist identifying Jesus to his disciples as the promised saviour. “Look, there is the Lamb of God.”

This identification of Jesus became a dialogue. Jesus, seeing the Baptist’s disciples, asked an open question: “What do you want?”
Our own discernment of the Lord’s purpose must begin with the same question. Life presents us with bewildering and conflicting possibilities. The first step in discernment must be, in the presence of God, to ask ourselves what we really want.

The disciples’ response to the question of Jesus was equally significant. They asked: “Rabbi, where do you live?” The unfolding of John’s Gospel reveals Jesus as the one who has come from the Father, who lives and acts in the presence of the Father, who prepares a place for us in his Father’s house.

Jesus invited John’s disciples “to come and see”, to understand and share the depths of a love shared with the Father. This, ultimately, is the vocation of every Christian, to come and see, to make our dwelling with the Father and the Son. Discernment demands choices on our part. We can live in the world of self and sin, or, following the invitation of Jesus, we can choose another dwelling place.

“I am going now to prepare a place for you, and after I have gone and prepared you a place, I shall return to take you with me, so that where I am you may be too.”

“Above you the Lord now rises, and above you his glory appears. At this sight you will grow radiant, your heart throbbing and full.” Isaiah’s vision of future salvation was not for Israel alone. This dawning light, the presence of God with his people, would reach out to all the nations. The darkness that had confused the nations, setting them against each other, would be banished. All would be attracted to this Light.

“The nations come to your light and kings to your dawning brightness. Lift up your eyes and look round: all are assembling and coming toward you, your sons from far away and daughters being tenderly carried.” Every generation experiences its own particular darkness. At the present time we live under the shadow of uncertain times and declining prospects for the future. The gloom of the financial crisis is already eroding the trust that safeguards the well-being of our society. Many are losing confidence in themselves and a world that once seemed so secure. They fear what this darkness might bring.

St Paul, the Apostle to the nations, experienced Christ as a mystery once hidden but now revealed in the flesh and blood of Christ, in his living and dying, his rising to new life. Here was the Light so vividly foretold in the vision of Isaiah, a light that drives out the darkness of sin. Like the prophet Isaiah, Paul understood the Mystery of Christ as a Light that would unite the longings of a divided society. In Christ all would come to understand that they share the same inheritance, that they are parts of the same body, united in the promise that is Christ himself.

Paul could scarcely express the wonder of Christ’s coming, this Light he longed to share with all peoples. St Matthew expressed the same truth through the pilgrimage of
the Wise Men from the East. “Where is the infant king of the Jews? We saw his star as it rose and have come to do him homage.”

The Wise Men represent the longing and searching of every heart, especially those who feel that their lives are far removed from any meaning and purpose. The magi followed a dawning star until its light brought them to Bethlehem. “The sight of the star filled them with delight, and going into the house they saw the child with his mother Mary, and falling to their knees, they did him homage.”

Our lives, like those of the Wise Men, are a search for meaning and purpose. Christ is that Light, which however dim and distant at its dawning longs to fill our lives with its joy. This Light seeks to guide our lives in good times and bad. At times it may well seem scarcely discernible, a distant point on a far horizon. If we are faithful to this light it will grow in our hearts, bringing us to the very presence of God himself.

The darkness of present uncertainties can never overwhelm the Light that is Christ himself. Let us become to each other the light that leads to Christ.

The Prophet Isaiah summons us as a people that walked in darkness. His words bring hope to the darkness that must, at some time, afflict every generation and each individual. We cannot escape the shadows of our own sinfulness, nor can we always overcome the insecurities that darken our hopes for the future. It was to our hidden selves, to our every fear and uncertainty, that Isaiah addressed his words of hope: “On those who live in a land of deep shadow a light has shone. You have made their gladness greater, you have made their joy increase.”

These words reach beyond the tinsel of Christmas and address the uncertainties of a generation whose confidence has been severely undermined. Prosperity and social stability, the quality of family life and peace of mind, have been undermined over the last year. However we express our hopes for healing, we long for Isaiah’s promised Prince of Peace. We long for a peace that will have no end, for a world rooted in justice and integrity.

The narratives of Christ’s birth undoubtedly resonate with happy memories of family and childhood. Their purpose, however,
is more than mere sentiment.

St Luke pointedly contrasts the power proclaimed by the census of Caesar Augustus with the humility of Christ’s birth. This, in itself, challenges our own expectations. Where do we seek peace in our restless lives? Do we surrender our hopes to the promises and power of a purely secular world, or do we turn to the child born at Bethlehem?

Through the birth of his Son the Father spoke, as he had never spoken before, to the heart of a broken world. His Word was spoken not to the powerful of this world, but to forgotten shepherds, to those who had no place at the courts of Herod and Caesar. Through the Holy Spirit those words had been first whispered in Mary’s gentle soul, and her humble response made our poverty God’s dwelling place.

The full wonder of this mystery was unfolded at the beginning of John’s Gospel. Here, the Apostle reached beyond time, to a beginning when the Word was with the Father, infinitely beyond any human hope or expectation.

This is the Word that called creation into being, whose glory is reflected in the wonder and beauty of our universe. This is the Word that speaks to all that we are and all that we hope to become. This is the Light that our deepest darkness could never overpower. This is the Power that enables us to proclaim what we could never speak of ourselves: that in him we are
the children of God.

The celebration of Mary as the Mother of God continues the unfolding of this mystery. Mary treasured these things in heart, devoting herself to the life entrusted to her. She never ceased to wonder that, in the birth of her Son, Moses’s ancient blessing had found its fulfilment. In Christ the Father blesses and keeps us, lets his face shine upon us, uncovers his face to us and brings us peace. Let us, with Mary, treasure this blessing in our hearts.

The narrative of the promises made to King David put into perspective our own preparations throughout Advent and leading into Christmas. King David, at the end of his successful military campaigns, laid his plans before the prophet Nathan. In gratitude for God’s assistance to his people he proposed to build a magnificent temple, a temple that would become a symbol of God’s presence with his people.

The response that King David received, while surprising, is a commentary on our own preparations to celebrate the coming of Christ at Christmas. The splendour of God’s coming, when he came among his people, would reach far beyond David’s imagination. The God of Israel could not be contained within any building proposed by the King, however magnificent. This God would find his place at the heart of his people, would make his dwelling in the flesh and blood of David’s descendants. “I will provide a place for my people Israel. The Lord will make you a House. I will preserve the offspring of your body after you. I will be a father to him and he a son to me. Your house and your sovereignty will always stand secure before me.”

The promises made to King David were fulfilled in the birth of Christ as a child of David’s line. The unfolding of the promise reminds us that we, like King David, can never adequately prepare for the coming of the Lord. King David surrendered his plans to God’s promise. As we approach Christmas our final preparation must be the surrender of our limited hopes, allowing God to work within us the wonder of his coming.

The angel Gabriel’s annunciation to Mary echoed the promises made to David. The child entrusted to her womb would be called Son of the Most High and the Lord would give him the throne of his ancestor David. Mary’s surrender to the will of God enabled a fulfilment far beyond King David’s imagining. The humanity of David’s line, not some man-made temple, would become the safe place that God would provide for his dwelling.

David’s son, the great King Solomon, eventually built the splendid temple that David had proposed. Magnificent though that temple was, it remained but a shadow of the greater splendour that was to come with the birth of Christ. In response to Mary’s question, how can this come about, the angel Gabriel spoke of the Holy Spirit that would come upon her and the power of the Most High would cover her with its shadow.

The words deliberately echoed the language used to describe the glory of God’s presence both to Moses on Mount Sinai and as the Lord entered his temple in Jerusalem. In Mary the Father chose our broken humanity as the dwelling place for his Son.
During these last days before Christmas let us, with Mary, entrust our doubts and uncertainties, our disappointments and sinfulness, to the Lord’s coming. Let us know, with her, that nothing is impossible to God.

Mary’s Magnificat, proclaimed as the Responsorial Psalm for this third Sunday of Advent, summons the Church to joyful and expectant hope. It would be difficult to imagine a sharper contrast than that between this Advent joy and the doom-laden predictions of many economic forecasters. This stark contrast prompts us to question our hopes for the future. If our hopes are for future and continuing economic growth, then we are poor indeed. If, with Mary, we place our trust in what the Lord has promised, our hopes are surely founded.

The present economic crisis is, in the last analysis, an expression of sinful humanity’s inability to manage its own future. Mary’s joy rested on something more secure than the shifting sands of human achievement. She rejoiced not in her own hopes, but as the one whom the Lord had regarded in her nothingness, the one who had conceived within herself the promise of God’s salvation.

St Paul, writing to the Thessalonians, expressed the same unshakeable hope. To a vulnerable and newly established Church he wrote: “Be happy at all times. May the God of peace make you perfect and holy for the coming of Our Lord Jesus Christ. God has called you, and he will not fail you.”

Paul rejoiced in spite of the frailty and poverty of human hope. His confidence rested in the Lord who calls us to himself. Like those early Christians, we are surrounded by uncertainty on every side. With St Paul we bring the frailty of our hope to the certainty of God’s promise.

Long ago, at the most uncertain chapter in Israel’s long history, the Prophet Isaiah had spoken words of hope. A future Messiah, enabled by God’s own Spirit, would bring good news to poor, would bind up hearts that were broken.

Every generation is embraced by the words of this promise. When we can no longer hope for the future we are the poor to whom the servant would bring good news. When we feel trapped by the past, hemmed in by sin and disappointment, we are the captives to whom the servant would proclaim liberty. Let us open our hearts to a future of God’s making. Let us experience anew the hidden joy entrusted to us by the Father: the joy of knowing that his Spirit moves in our lives.

By the very humility of his appearance, John the Baptist demonstrated the disposition that kindles within us the joy of dawning salvation. He made no claims for himself. He was not the light, only a witness to speak for the light. He was not the Christ, nor the foundation for their hopes. Turning from himself, he pointed to one who was, unknown to them, already standing in their midst.

Prompted by the words of John the Baptist let us seek the Lord who lives among us, who stands at the door of our busy lives.
John the Baptist, claiming to be unfit to undo the sandal strap of the coming Messiah, was one with Mary who acknowledged her nothingness. Both rejoiced to play their part in his coming. Humility, forgetful of itself, discovers itself in the presence
of God.

During the days ahead let us find time away from the inevitably pressing demands of a festive season. In the stillness of prayer let us come to the lasting joy of acknowledging the Christ in our midst.

Isaiah’s unforgettable words were addressed to a generation ravaged by national oblivion and exile. Jerusalem, together with the Temple that had symbolised God’s presence, lay in ruins. At a time when there was little to hope for God had spoken to the precarious remnant of Israel’s faith. “Prepare in the wilderness a way for the Lord. Make a straight highway for our God across the desert. Let every valley be filled in, every mountain and hill laid low.”

At the beginning of Advent we should not hesitate to acknowledge the inner wilderness that can, at times, seem to take us far from God. The wilderness is sometimes of our own making. We can devote so much time and energy to the superficial that we gradually become insensitive to God’s presence. While an aching dissatisfaction calls us back to God, our barren hearts seem unable to respond.

This, surely, was the wilderness addressed by the prophet Isaiah. His promise of salvation heralded a God who comes to meet us where we feel most abandoned and alone. He makes a highway through the obstacles that we have placed in his way, raises us from the depths that threaten to engulf the struggling spirit. This is Advent’s hope. “Here is your God. Here is the Lord coming with power. He is like a shepherd feeding his flock, gathering lambs in his arms, holding them against his breast.”

John the Baptist, appearing in the wilderness, proclaimed the fulfilment of this promise. We are told that Judea and all the peoples of Jerusalem abandoned the security of their homes and flocked to the wilderness to hear his message. They were clearly dissatisfied with their lives and longed for something more. Unnerving though it may be, let us find the time during Advent to review our lives. In prayer let us ask if we are truly satisfied with everything that fills our daily lives. Do we sometimes hide from the unresolved sinfulness that stands in God’s path? If, like those inhabitants of Jerusalem, we discover an unfulfilled longing then we, like them, must face our wilderness. We must be willing to enter that wilderness, confident that it is here that a loving God chooses to meet us.

The hope that John proclaimed went further than the repentance that sets us free from past sin. “Someone is following me, someone who is more powerful than I am. I have baptised you with water, but he will baptise you with the Holy Spirit.”

Even when we have honestly acknowledged our own sinfulness, we sometimes feel powerless to live the faith and love for which we long. Here, John the Baptist pointed the crowds to the coming Messiah, the one who would baptise them with the Holy Spirit. During Advent we pray that the same Holy Spirit, already entrusted to us in baptism and confirmation,
might be renewed in our hearts. The Spirit, at work within us, prepares the way for the Lord.

St Peter’s second letter speaks of Christ’s coming as “a new heaven and a new earth, the place where righteousness will be at home.” He invites us to prepare for that coming with unstained lives, with an inner peace that binds us to God and each other. In prayer we invite the Holy Spirit to make of us a new creation, to stir our hearts with confident expectation, to cry out “Come, Lord, Jesus, come!”

Human nature tends to overlook what it cannot know for certain. The gospels, while firmly witnessing to the Christ who would come again, gave no certain time for that coming. Instead, so as to discourage the apathy of aimless lives, they encouraged an attitude of watchfulness.

“Jesus said to his disciples: ‘Be on your guard, stay awake, because you never know when the time will come. And what I say to you I say to all: Stay awake!’ ” To watch, to be awake, is a state of mind, a sensitivity to the possibilities of grace in every moment of our lives.

Sadly, such expectation of a life lived with Christ is easily dissipated. Long ago the Prophet Isaiah had spoken of the sin that so easily hardens our hearts against the presence of God. Without recourse to God’s presence we wither and die like leaves on a branch. We are carried one way and another, as dead leaves are blown in the autumn wind. More disturbingly, we are described as those given up to the power of our sins.

Isaiah’s words, though spoken long ago, remain an almost perfect description of our own world, a world that neither seeks nor cherishes the presence of God. While we must live in this world, we must confess that its competing attractions can make of us the dried leaves blown aimlessly in the wind. The craving for instant satisfaction can indeed become an obsession, a power that blots out the presence of God.

While Isaiah lamented the indifferent faith of his own generation, he clung to the confident hope that the God of Israel would not abandon his people. “Oh, that you would tear the heavens open and come down – at your Presence the mountains would melt.”

Isaiah’s prayer summons us to hope and repentance. Now is the time to acknowledge that our sinfulness, not to mention the many legitimate concerns that fill our lives, can blunt our sensitivity to the presence of God. Now is the time to acknowledge the indifference that so easily turns hearts to stone. Let us pray for the Presence that melts mountains, that rekindles a faith grown cold. We cannot achieve this of ourselves. Only in prayer are we surrendered to God as clay is surrendered to the potter. Then we become the works of his hand.

Writing to the Corinthians, St Paul was filled with confidence that we can respond to Advent’s call. “The witness to Christ has indeed been strong among you so that you will not be without any of the gifts of the Spirit while you are waiting for our Lord Jesus Christ to be revealed.”

Let us, like Paul, begin Advent encouraged by the many signs of God’s presence in our lives. and our world. Christ is already among us. It is in his presence that we journey to his second coming.

“God will keep you steady and without blame until the last day, the day of Our Lord Jesus Christ, because God has joined you to his Son Jesus Christ; and God is faithful.”