When someone says to you “that happened fifty years ago” your (or at least my) initial thought is “that’s a long time in the past.” Fifty years before I was born the US was fighting the Spanish-American War. Ancient history. However, when you remember that Dr. King was assassinated fifty-three years ago, Neil Armstrong stepped onto the moon, fifty-two years ago, the Watergate break-in happened fifty years ago your perspective changes – at least it does if you of my generation. Fifty years is not that long ago after all. Fifty years is current events. The movie, The Godfather, was in the theaters fifty years ago, Man of La Mancha was on Broadway, Archie Bunker was on TV and Bill Withers told us to “Lean on Me.” Another popular song fifty years ago was entitled “Anticipation,” by Carly Simon. The song observes that too often we are living in anticipation about what is next which causes us to miss what is. It has as its refrain: “These are the good, old days.” As we hear in the gospel today, first century Galilee was a land alive with anticipation. Since the people didn’t like how things were going, they were anticipating, looking for something better. “The people were filled with expectation,” St. Luke reports, so they sought someone to turn things around. Maybe it could be this John the Baptist character, they thought. He seems like the kind of person that promised a new and improved version of what is — Galilee 2.0. But, as the song warned, by looking for what might be in the future they missed what was right in front of them that day. They missed Jesus as the beloved son of God who was bringing divine grace and healing right in their here and now, not in some distant time. These are the good old days.
We face a similar situation today. I don’t need to tell you that we as a people are filled with expectation. We anticipate that someday the virus will be brought under control and we will be able to resume some sort of normal life. We anticipate that the deep societal, racial, and political divisions which are wracking our country will be overcome to create a more just and peaceful world. We anticipate that the nations will wake up and deal with climate change. We anticipate that the anxiety produced by Renew My Church will produce a more vibrant Catholic presence in Chicago. These are all wonderful things to expect to happen in the future and we need to be people who act in ways that make them happen. The challenge is to live in the meantime, to live today and not wait for whatever change is coming. Jesus is just as much with us as he was in first century Galilee if we have the eyes to see. These are the good, old days. What are some of the ways God is already presence in our here and now?
First, prayer. Prayer is, in fact, an exchange, a dialogue, a conversation. In prayer, the pray-er address God as You. We know enough about how difficult it is to have a genuine communication with those immediately around us that it is no surprise that our communication with God challenges us. But when we are willing to enter into the darkness of prayer with hope and trust again and again, when we open this conversation not with arrogant demands but an eager desire to speak and to listen, when we accept that sometimes the communication comes in listening to the silence as much as to the words, then we are in the presence of God in prayer. I remember that there used to be a banner on the seminary wall, “Prayer changes things.” It is not so much that prayer changes things but that prayer changes the pray-er. In prayer we hear God say to us just as God said to Jesus, “You are my beloved. I am well pleased with you.”
After prayer, community becomes the presence of God for us. When I was growing up Church was the place of silent devotion. You slipped in silently and slipped out the same way. Talking in church was a big No-no. Whether other people were there are not did not make much of a difference since it was about me and Jesus. God was more like the Wizard of Oz, the great and powerful, demanding my complete attention than a Good Shepherd leading a flock together. Since Vatican II the liturgy of the Church has reflected the fact that God does not save us as a bunch of John Waynes riding alone in the sunset but together, as members of the Body of Christ. It is in community that we learn to accept others as they are and feel their acceptance of us. It is in community that we learn to forgive and to be forgiven. It is in community that we discover that I have gifts and talents that contribute to the coming of the kingdom of God on earth. God shows no partiality, St. Peter says in the Acts of the Apostles. All are welcomed in this place. Prayer is learning to address God as “you.” Community is about becoming part of a “we.”
Finally, we are in the presence of God whenever we serve. Jesus said “whatsoever you do to the least, that you do unto me.” God lives in our here and now when we aren’t concentrating on what’s in it for me and instead reaching out to the other. Parents are in the presence of God when they do for their children instead of themselves. Neighbors are in the presence of God when they give of their time in order to help that person down the block. Parishioners are in the presence of God when they volunteer to make a difference in the lives of others. In the play, Les Miz, there is a line “to love another person is to see the face of God.” That’s why we serve, to see the face of God. In service we find there is no “them,” only “us.” Prayer, community, service: that’s why these are the good, old days.