The Best Place to Begin Is at the Beginning
2nd Sunday of Advent
Beginnings are often hard to get right. Whether the first line to write in a novel, the first chord to score in a symphony, the first brushstroke to make on a canvas, the first cut to make in the wood, the first image to use at the start of a homily, finding the right beginning takes a lot of time because, as Thomas Aquinas once said, “a little error in the beginning leads to a great one in the end.”
The Second Sunday of Advent brings us to the beginning of the Gospel of Mark, in the year — known as Year B — during which the Sunday Gospels will mostly be taken from Mark, with a brief interlude in the summer from John. In comparison with the other three Gospels, which all have very elaborate introductions, Mark seems to start writing without giving the beginning much thought at all. He opens: “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God.” Then, in the very next line, we meet John the Baptist, and we are underway. But is there more in this opening verse of Mark’s Gospel than meets the eye? I think so; and it lies with the word ‘beginning’.
Both Mark and John use ‘beginning’ intentionally, because that word to Jewish ears harkens back immediately to the beginning of the beginning, to the first word of the book of Genesis: Mark writes, “The beginning of the gospel…” and John follows, “In the beginning was the Word.” Matthew, in a similar way, begins his Gospel with a genealogy, which is an account of a person’s beginnings. So, three of the four Gospel writers begin at the beginning and with the beginning in their telling of the story of Jesus Christ. The reason is that the Gospel is a new beginning, the beginning of a new creation, a new chapter in the history of salvation, a new phase of God’s plan to save the world. Before the beginning of Genesis, there was nothing — the world was formless and void. But then the light was made. Before the beginning of the Gospel, the world walked in darkness, but the Gospel announces the arrival of the light of the world. It was John who put it best: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (1:5).
Mark’s Gospel at the beginning of Advent invites us to see the Advent of our lives as a constantly new beginning. Christ has already come once, two thousand years ago; and he will come again. But each and every day, he comes to us, above all in the Eucharist, but also in our daily life of prayer. Whenever Christ comes to us, he does something new. He brings light where there was darkness, order where there was chaos, peace where there was anxiety, love where there was fear, joy where there was sorrow, hope where there was despair, and every other grace too many to mention. This continues every day and at every moment, never finishing and never waning. But whether Christ creates new life in us or not depends not on him, but on us and our receptivity toward him.
There are two moments in the life of the Church’s daily prayer with which you may or may not be familiar. In The Liturgy of the Hours, the Canticle of Zechariah is prayed every day at Morning Prayer, and the Canticle of Mary is prayed at Evening Prayer. In the first, the Church sings with Zechariah of his son, John the Baptist, who “will go before the Lord to prepare his way, to give his people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins.” Mark’s Gospel begins with John the Baptist because he is always the beginning of what Christ is about to do. John prepares the way, levels mountains, raises valleys, and makes straight the road on which Christ comes to us. So, the Church begins the day preparing to receive the graces Christ is ready to give by hearing once again the Baptist’s cry; and at the end of the day, the Church gives thanks for all the graces she has received by taking Mary’s words as her own: “He has come to the help of his servant Israel, for he has remembered his promise of mercy.” Whether we pray The Liturgy of the Hours or not, these two moments should be the pillars of our prayer: starting the day preparing to receive the new beginning God has in store and ending the day giving thanks for what he has done.
If we begin and end each day in that way, then we will not need to fear as St. Peter writes “the day of the Lord com[ing] life a thief”, for we will be ready for the new beginning that Christ has promised to bring. We will be found watchful and prepared, awake and alert, eager and joyful for the coming of his kingdom. For if we begin to see God bringing about a new beginning each and every day, then the day on which he brings a new heaven and a new earth will seem, not as a replacement to God’s creation, but its fulfillment. We will not wonder whether such a world belongs to us, for we will recognize how that world has already begun to live within us.
The best way to begin anything is at the beginning, not mistaking the middle or the end for the beginning but starting at the very start. We may convince ourselves that we are no longer at the beginning, thinking we are instead much further along. But if we do not recognize that we are ever at the beginning and, thus, completely in need of God, then he will not be able to make a new beginning in us. Our pride instead will have closed ourselves off to him and rejected his offer of grace. The first words of Mark’s Gospel should ring in our ears every day, from the first moment we get out of bed: “The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God.” The beginning of the proclamation of the arrival of Jesus Christ the Son of God to you and to me, to begin something new within us.
Every day is an advent, as Christ knocks on the door of our hearts once again. If we invite him in, he will begin something new within us and transform us into his new creation. As we approach to receive the Eucharist, may we hear our Lord asking to come inside; and may we make him a most welcome guest.
Homily preached December 9-10, 2023 at the Cathedral of Mary Our Queen and St. Thomas Aquinas, Hampden.