If you have faith there is no doubt it will be tested. . .sometimes over and over again. Guaranteed.

This weekend’s First Reading and Gospel show two giants of the faith, Elijah and Peter at that moment when you get that sinking feeling, that moment in life when faith gives way to despair.

Elijah is on the run for his life from Ahab and Jezebel, having deeply angered the queen for publicly embarrassing her, Baal (her god) and killing hundreds of Baal’s prophets (I Kings 18:20 – 46). Concerning the killing of the prophets, the furious Jezebel sends words to Elijah: “May the gods do thus and so to me if by this time tomorrow I have not done with your life what was done to each of them.” It’s threats like that which give the faithful that sinking feeling. . . .

Afraid, alone, and on the verge of despair, Elijah flees southward to Judah, where he begs God to take his life. Instead, an angel appears to make sure he eats something and informs him that he will be going on a journey. Walking 40 days, he arrives at Horeb, the mountain where Moses received the law.

On the mountain, a voice asks Elijah, “Why are you here, Elijah?” He replies, “I have been most zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts, but the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to the sword. I alone am left, and they seek to take my life (In Kings 19:9-10).

The voice does not console Elijah, nor gives any hint that its owner has even heard him. It simply directs him to go stand on the mountain, for “the Lord will be passing by.” But unlike in the days of Israel’s wandering, God is not present in smoke, fire, and quaking earth. Although Elijah witnesses wind, earthquake and fire, the scripture clearly says that the Lord is not “in” any of these things.

At last, Elijah hears “a tiny whispering sound.”

When despairing, we often lose sight that God is near. Like our Lord, tested in the wilderness, we often feel utterly alone and abandoned.

But the angel comes and visits Elijah. The Lord offers his hand and reassurance to the sinking Peter. God speaks, now in a whisper.

We modern folk spend far too much time speaking when we pray and too little time listening. Prayer is not just talk. It’s not just for our requests and intentions. Prayer is for listening to what God is saying to us. Prayer is hearing that soft rustle of angelic wings passing by our ear. If we will but listen, we will hear the rustle of wings, hear the whisper of God speaking to us in our despair and in our times of testing.

The Lord will pass by today. Guaranteed. May we have ears to hear. . . .

Steven D. Olson

Embedded in the Gospel reading this weekend is the Feeding of the Five Thousand, a miracle story which appears in all four gospels.

The Gospel reading begins, however, with an interesting detail, which few preachers, I imagine, will choose to focus on—the death of John the Baptist.

The reading, from the 14th chapter of Matthew begins:

When Jesus heard of the death of John the Baptist,
he withdrew in a boat to a deserted place by himself (verse 13).

How like Jesus to “withdraw by himself.” Often on the cusp of important events, or, in response to them, Jesus instinctively goes off by himself to pray. In this instance, one would think that Jesus is withdrawing to grieve the death of his cherished cousin, his forerunner, the one who had baptized him. Like the good parent who has few private moments alone (I once knew a mother of five who would sneak up in the attic to read) Jesus withdraws to a deserted place to commune with the Father, to remember and mourn his cousin John.

One recalls the wondrous moment, recorded in Luke, when Mary visits Elizabeth. The two women stand belly to belly, pregnant with unexpected new life. What a poignant scene when the unborn John leaps in Elizabeth’s womb as if in celebration. But that was years ago. His cousin is now dead.

What thoughts pass through our Lord’s mind and heart as he hops into a boat, longing for time and space to grieve and to pray? But that is a luxury which would have to be postponed as the next verse informs us:

The crowds heard of this and followed him on foot from their towns. When he disembarked and saw the vast crowd,
his heart was moved with pity for them, and he cured their sick.

Our Lord’s moment of private grief was not going to be. His heart sensed the need of the crowd and His gaze shifted from that rare private moment to the needs of the people who followed him, many in desperate need. And He was moved with pity. And he cured their sick.

All of this is a prelude to the feeding of the multitudes in the desert.

Regardless of what is happening in our Lord’s life whether it is the death of his cousin or his own dying on the cross, His compassion never wavers. He forgoes grief to heal the sick. With his last breath, he offers the promise of Paradise to a dying thief.

His loving gaze is forever with us.

Steven D. Olson

I read the story the other day of a local alcoholic, covered with tattoos, who had a less-than-holy reputation in town. Goes into the quick-mart to buy a six-pack, takes the change in lottery tickets and wins $6,000,000.00. Reading the story, I mumbled to myself, “This guy didn’t deserve to win all that money. He’ll just waste it anyway. Somebody deserving should have won the prize-a single mom struggling on minimum wage, a nice retired couple trying to make ends meet, or…me! Yeah, that’s who should have gotten the prize, someone like me.” But Jesus gives us not even a hint that this fellow deserved to find the treasure in the field. In fact, the Lord seems to go out of his way to distance this finder from any of us. All we are given is that a person finds a treasure in a field. Period. No qualifications, no recital of a deserving moral character. This person simply finds the treasure.

Of course, part of the lure of the story is that most all of us do harbor a deep-down fantasy about striking it rich, especially now with gas prices as they are and foreclosures making mahem for the middle class. “Things would really change,” we whisper to ourselves, “if I became a millionaire.” That wistful longing for a big change in our lives is what keeps most states in the lottery business. It keeps all those casino boats afloat, the buses heading for Atlantic City. And we are invited vicariously to come into riches on all those TV shows like Deal or No Deal where somebody is going to strike it rich. “Things would be different if I won that big prize,” we think. “I would leave all my problems behind, become a benefactor helping out the less fortunate. Maybe even endow a chair in ethics at the local seminary.” In other words, we would write the new ending of Jesus’ parable. After finding the treasure, the lucky person (”us”) would be transformed into a happy, successful, and kind person.

But as Jesus tells the story, look at what the finder does. His behavior is both odd and then revealing. First, he hides the treasure. He is filled with joy-who wouldn’t be-but he has to hide the joy along with the treasure. The field doesn’t belong to him. It really is the property of whoever does own that piece of ground. So now we understand that his hiding of the loot is to keep the owner from knowing what lies out there in his field. Then, this fellow goes off, sells everything he possesses and buys the field, buys it so he can come into possession of the treasure he has hid out there. Of course, if the treasure really belonged to him legally in the first place, he wouldn’t have needed to do all that selling and buying-you know, the realtors and the title company, and signing all those documents. Interesting, that while he works to hide the treasure, he uncovers his character. In his efforts to possess the field, he loses whatever reputation we attached to him in the first place. Now we know for sure that this person didn’t deserve to find the treasure after all. He is just as bad as the worthless guy who hits it big in the lottery. Neither one of the bums should have gotten what they didn’t deserve.

There is some payback for the scheming fellow in the parable though. He may have found the treasure. He may have bought the field. But according to Jewish law, if his actions ever come out, the treasure will immediately revert back to the rightful owner. He can have joy about finding and hiding and selling and buying, all to possess the treasure. But look, the payback is that he can never openly possess the treasure and never openly share his joy. So there is a moral to the story after all, we think. The fellow has outsmarted himself. He has sold all that he owns and cannot openly come into possession of that treasure lying hidden out there in the field. Penniless, he might sit at the window of the house on the property, clipping coupons from the paper for specials on generic macaroni and cheese, looking out the window now and then at the field and the place where the treasure remains hidden. At least we can feel good about this outcome. He didn’t deserve it,…and he really didn’t get it. Thank God, there really is a moral law out there that rewards the good and punishes the wicked. Maybe we will get rewarded after all. And just maybe, we can really possess what treasure finally comes our way.

Now just about here, the parable sneaks up behind us and whacks us in the head. “Oh no,” we realize, “we really don’t deserve any reward any more that the fellow in the story.” It is simply found by us rather undeserving types called sinners. We don’t have to earn God’s grace-that’s why it’s called grace. It is not our own moral achievements and piety that earns us the reward of God’s favor. After all, those moral “achievements” are always compromised by our less than worthy behavior. And if we are good just to get a payoff from God, then that offering tarnishes in our hands. What if in Christ, all of the abundance of God’s grace-forgiving, healing, caring, guiding, sacramental grace-is really a gift? A gift to us undeserving folks who always want to turn the Good News back into a law.

Of course, the saints of the church knew the truth of this grace in Christ. Their good works and piety sprang from the gratitude of receiving the Gift of Christ Jesus. T ake St. Martha, for example. Her feast day is Tuesday. Here is a woman of faith remembered by the church over the generations for her good works and life of service. But her life of sainthood is in response to receiving the loving presence of her Lord. The gift of the Treasure was at the beginning of her devotion and her serving. So what if it is all grace? For all of us, with Martha and all the saints. We find a treasure in the field. Don’t deserve it, didn’t labor for it or earn it. That Treasure is Christ. Gift of God.

But still, we have this problem of the treasure, don’t we? And we also ponder how we can rejoice in a treasure never completely under our control. That solitary, never-fulfilled joy of the man in the parable seems a terrible model for the life of faith. And it is. Our joy is precisely in receiving a treasure we cannot come to possess for ourselves and for our own benefit. We cannot come to own and control the Gospel of God. It comes as a great and wondrous Treasure. And the joy comes in our sharing with each other that which we can never in private keep from each other. Do you notice how many times in Mass today we will say and hear the words “gift” and “gifts”? Again and again, the liturgy reminds us that we are once again gathered in this field of our heavenly Father. And there is the treasure of this Gift. In the Episcopal Church, there is a prayer before Communion that used to be called The Prayer of Humble Access. “We do not presume to come to this your Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own goodness, but in your manifold mercy.” That is the way the faithful are always invited to this field of great treasure. We didn’t have to buy the field. Christ bought it on the Cross. And we can never hide such a Gift; we gratefully proclaim it to the world. And in receiving the Gift of Jesus Christ, there is abundant and everlasting joy.

Steven D. Olson

It was a defining moment in our marriage. My wife was a person who loved to tend her garden. She knew the names of flowers I had never even heard of. She loved planting and watering–the joy of waiting, oh, so patiently for her plants to grow. Knowing little about gardening, but determined to keep things neat and tidy, I thought I would be helpful on that weekend when she was out of town at a convention by getting on my hands and knees “weeding” her precious bit of heaven. I weeded her garden with reckless abandon, believing in my heart I was doing her a favor.

I will never forget the look on her face when she returned home to behold the devastation as she realized that I had uprooted, along with the weeds, precious perennials and soon-to-be-flowers with names known only to God…and to her.

My zeal and failure to tell the difference between the weed and the nascent flower landed me in the dog house for a long time after (or, shall I say, the Green House!).

I was absolutely certain I was doing a good deed. . . .

I live in a small town on the Jersey Shore. During the summer, particularly on the weekends, our town is overrun by hordes of out-of-towners who have come to enjoy the sun, the surf (and the local bars). Many of the “locals” resent the visitors from the North (places like Staten Island and Jersey City). They drive like maniacs, litter our beaches and streets and pollute our little slice of Heaven with noise until the wee hours. Driving the speed limit down my street in a residential neighborhood, one of these “foreigners” had the nerve to pass me, endangering the lives of the many children who live nearby. I felt my anger rising and the desire to race him down the street. Luckily, I checked that irrational impulse and let the would be Nascar driver pass me in his convertible. “Where are the police when you need them?” I muttered under my breath. But there were no police to be found! He speeded on his merry way, caring nothing for the little child who might bolt in front of his car running after her whiffleball. . . . .You can’t imagine my delight the next day when I saw the same driver pulled over by the police for speeding. Out riding my bike for fun, I took a slow victory lap around his corvette, while the officer wrote out his speeding ticket. . . .There was instant justice!

Embedded in the Gospel this weekend, is the parable of the Wheat and the Weeds. Growing up close to the land among Nazareth’s poor, our Lord had a feel for things agricultural. The images He uses to teach us the things of God are often images of planting, sowing, harvesting, of things which bear fruit and the consequences of not bearing fruit.

Was it working the soil in Nazareth that our Lord Jesus learned the lessons of the need to be patient? To plant, to till, to watch with care and with even greater…..patience?? To judge, yes, but sometimes to defer judgment?? Or, not to judge at all, since it is true that only God sees into the heart and is the only one capable of certain judgments??

One need look no further than the current Presidential race in the United States to see the damage done by judgments based on race and other stereotypes. Some pundits are suggesting that the race for the presidency this November will all come down to. . . .Race!

The key to this weekend’s readings, I suggest, is the First Reading from the Book of Wisdom. The author of the Book of Wisdom calls the Canaanites “an accursed race from the beginning,” referring to Noah’s curse on Ham (Wisdom 21:11; Genesis 9: 18-27). These words should, at the very least, raise our eyebrows and invite our skepticism. But the author also knows that despite God’s steadfast love for Israel, God also loves Israel’s ancient enemies: “For you love all things that are and loathe nothing that you have made; for what you hated, you would not have fashioned” (Wisdom 11:24). The love of the Creator for all of creation is a fact greater than ordinary human rivalries and prejudices.

In today’s reading, the author writes that when God repeatedly showed the Canaanites mercy, Israel was provided an example of merciful behavior to imitate: “And you taught your people, by these deeds, that those who are just must be kind; And you gave your sons good ground for hope that you would permit repentance for their sins” (Wisdom 12:19).

As I examine my conscience, remembering all of my faulty judgments, I am reminded of a lovely watercolor entitled, The Contented Gardener, painted by a friend of mine, Joan Wallace. Slowly, patiently, she works her garden with care. The scene is wondrously un-neurotic and blessedly unrushed. This lovely watercolor stands as a reminder to live our days with care, kindness, patience, leaving judgment to God.

Steven D. Olson

As a diptych to the story of the temptation of Jesus, the Transfiguration is always proclaimed on the Second Sunday of Lent. The title masks its deeper meaning, since the earliest English use of “transfiguration” is for the feast, and the word rarely appears in secular discourse. A better translation of the Greek would be “transformation” of Jesus, which evokes the words of the hymn in Philippians: that Jesus “took on the form of a slave, coming in human likeness.”
The manifestation of Jesus’ glory is also a promise of the ultimate transformation (and resurrection) of his followers.

The Transfiguration comes at the beginning of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem, which he has just predicted will end in a horrible death by crucifixion. Here a voice from heaven pronounces, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased,” echoing that same proclamation at Jesus’ baptism (Mt. 3:17). Jesus is the beloved Son not only when he announces God’s mercy and love in the Sermon on the Mount and enacts God’s victory over evil through his healing ministry, but also when he enters into the mystery of suffering.

In preaching on this feast, Karl Rahner reflected on what the event meant for Jesus himself: “This then is the meaning of the transfiguration for Jesus himself: in the dark night of hopelessness the light of God shines, a human heart finds in God the power which turns a dying into victory and into redemption of the world” (The Great Church Year).

At the beginning of Lent, the feast is also about the journey of Jesus’ followers. Shortly before the ascent to the mountain, Simon Peter confesses Jesus as “Messiah, Son of the living God,” and Jesus promises that he will be Peter as the rock on which his church will be built and that God’s power will safeguard his mission. Yet when Jesus talks about his coming death, Peter takes him aside and says: “God forbid, Lord! No such thing shall ever happen to you.” But afterward, gazing upon the glory of Jesus flanked by Moses and Elijah, Peter wants to build three dwellings and rest there—no more talk of crucifixion. Peter’s request is answered by a voice from a cloud-enshrouded mountaintop proclaiming Jesus, as at his baptism, beloved Son and charging Peter, “Listen to him.” Peter’s “peak experience” is not an assurance of divine consolation, but a mandate to follow the very path of suffering discipleship that he earlier resisted. Yet that will be his ultimate destiny.

February is Black History month in the U.S. Thinking about the mountaintop, I read again Dr. Martin Luther King’s last speech given the night before he died (April 4, 1968), a day that has seared my memory like the other horrors of the 1960’s. Martin Luther King spoke with still unparalleled eloquence of the need for justice through nonviolence for the African-American people, and especially for the exploited sanitation workers of Memphis. He spoke of the hopes of his people, not only for “long white robes over yonder,” but for “suits and dresses and shoes to wear down here.” At the end of the speech, he said that he had been “to the mountaintop” and, prophetically, “I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you,” but even so “mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.” Now 34 years after his death, our nation must again “listen to him,” and heed his message to follow the nonviolent quest for racial and social justice. His life, like that of Jesus, ended in a brutal and violent death.

During this Lent, when violence and injustice are so much part of the air we breathe, we are challenged again to listen to both of these prophetic voices. For, as I write these words, the news is saturated with reports are of another school shooting, this time at Northern Illinois University. At the campus today, as the blood stains are still evident on snow, students mourn the six dead and countless wounded. At these times especially—the valley times, the wilderness times—we hold to the Transfiguration Faith—that in the dark night of hopelessness, the light of Christ shines.

Steven D. Olson

As a student of the Bible, I have long pondered what is known as the Servant Songs in the Old Testament book of Isaiah. Some of these “songs” are a bit mysterious, as the identity of the “servant” is not clear.

However, in today’s reading from Isaiah, the servant is clearly identified as Israel (49:3).

If we view this passage against recent historical events to which Isaiah chapters 40 – 66 in part responds, then we see a brief, nutshell interpretation of the history and destiny of the people of Israel.

From the time of its infancy, Israel has been God’s chosen servant, selected as a means for God to be glorified before all people (Isaiah 49: 1-3). While the servant confesses his own past doubts about his success (49:4), he explains how God puts those doubts to rest by making him “a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth” (Isaiah 49: 5-7).

There are times in our lives when we feel utterly destroyed. These times are most difficult if you can look at your situation squarely and see that you actually contributed to things being the way they are. In the pit of these times, it is often impossible to imagine future happiness, passion for work or family, or that there is any value at all to be found in life.

Isaiah (49:4) recalls such a time, when the servant believed the mission he was born to complete had failed completely.

The song’s final verses inform us of what is now clear to the servant, but back then was impossible to understand—that even in the midst of all that failure, misery, and even despair, God was quietly at work for good.

Later, in the New Testament, we see how these songs about a suffering servant now are seen as fulfilled in our Lord Jesus. One of the most beautiful readings of the church year, read on Good Friday, is the Servant Song from the 52nd and 53rd chapters of Isaiah:

“13See, my servant shall prosper; he shall be exalted and lifted up, and shall be very high. 14Just as there were many who were astonished at him—so marred was his appearance, beyond human semblance, and his form beyond that of mortals— 15so he shall startle many nations; kings shall shut their mouths because of him; for that which had not been told them they shall see, and that which they had not heard they shall contemplate.

Who has believed what we have heard? And to whom has the arm of the LORD been revealed? 2For he grew up before him like a young plant, and like a root out of dry ground; he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. 3He was despised and rejected by others; a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity; and as one from whom others hide their faces he was despised, and we held him of no account.

4Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases; yet we accounted him stricken, struck down by God, and afflicted. 5But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed. 6All we like sheep have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way, and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all. 7He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.

By a perversion of justice he was taken away. Who could have imagined his future? For he was cut off from the land of the living, stricken for the transgression of my people. 9They made his grave with the wicked and his tomb with the rich, although he had done no violence, and there was no deceit in his mouth.

10Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him with pain. When you make his life an offering for sin, he shall see his offspring, and shall prolong his days; through him the will of the LORD shall prosper. 11Out of his anguish he shall see light; he shall find satisfaction through his knowledge. The righteous one, my servant, shall make many righteous, and he shall bear their iniquities. 12Therefore I will allot him a portion with the great, and he shall divide the spoil with the strong; because he poured out himself to death, and was numbered with the transgressors; yet he bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors. “

As we approach Lent, with Christmas trees still lying on our streets awaiting pickup, we hear the song of the one who suffered and died for us all. In our suffering, he stands in solidarity with us. giving us hope for each new day, and energy to accomplish his mission.

Steven D. Olson

As I reflect on the mystery and wonder of Christmas, I marvel at the choice God made to become human—to become one of us. The story of Christmas is so familiar, we often fail to take in the true significance of this event for us. Preoccupied with the trappings of the season, we fail to appreciate The Gift.

In choosing to become human, God took a risk. And one risk begat another. He risked becoming a particular person, in a particular place at a particular time. These choices made God the most vulnerable. For God could have chosen to become incarnate in the form of some kind of Superman—perfect, all knowing, strong, invulnerable and above the fray of human strife. He could have taken the form of a being who would know no suffering. . . .

Instead, God chose to become one of us by being made flesh as the step-son of a day laborer, born of peasant stock, in a poor town, among poor people, in a country oppressed by Imperial Rome. He chose to become one of us at a particular time in history.

Why not be born of an executive or royal stock? Why not be born wealthy in a lavish environment with servants at his beck and call? (Had He made this choice, how then would he have related to the poor?)

And what of his human mother? In choosing to have his son swim in the womb for nine months in a time before prenatal care and ultrasounds—what if Mary had had a problem with her pregnancy?. . . .what if she had miscarried? Yes, our Lord was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit. Yes, His blessed mother was conceived without the stain of original sin. But, like the rest of us, he swam in the comfort and the vulnerability of the womb for nine months. Anything could have happened. . . .

And why does God choose the Jews? The chosen people,Yes! But despised, too, throughout history. Why not be born into an imperial Egyptian family in a great palace with servants to care for his every need?

Supporters and followers He had as He walked this earth. He had enemies, too. And in the end, the enemies won out. And what of His choice to be enthroned on the Cross?

When you look at the choices God made in becoming human, the choices He made carried the greatest risk. In becoming a particular person, God was brought close to us—as close as He can be. Close enough to become our Emmanu-El—God with us.

In light of this mysterious and wonderful Gift of the God-made-human, how shall we humans respond? What will be give back?

Perhaps we can ask our Emmanu-El to give us the grace to risk becoming more fully human:

To contact the person who has deeply hurt us and seek reconciliation. . . .

To risk giving more of our selves and resources to the poor at our gates…

To give more love and less stuff…

To make ourselves just a bit more vulnerable, a bit more humble, as we relate to one another and to the world. . . .

Lord Jesus—You who became human for our sakes—Help us to become more fully human ourselves. Amen!

Steven D. Olson

It was a few days before Christmas. A woman woke up one morning and told her husband, “I just dreamed that you gave me a pearl necklace for Christmas. What do you think this dream means?” “Oh,” her husband replied, “you’ll know the day after tomorrow.”

The next morning, she turned to her husband again and said the same thing, “I just dreamed that you gave me a pearl necklace for Christmas. What do you think this dream means?” And her husband said, “You’ll know tomorrow.”

On the third morning, the woman woke up and smiled at her husband, “I just dreamed again that you gave me a pearl necklace for Christmas. What do you think this dream means?” And he smiled back, “You’ll know tonight.”

That evening, the man came home with a small package and presented it to his wife. She was delighted. She opened it gently. And when she did, she found-a book! And the book’s title was The Meaning of Dreams.

What have you been dreaming about lately?

Some of us are dreaming about wonderful possibilities. We’re dreaming of pearl necklaces and ipods and new bicycles. I hope all those dreams come true!

But as I consider my own dreams, I realize that I dream in two major categories. I have two kinds of dreams. Sometimes, my dreams are dreadful. I imagine painful relationships. I live out meetings and deadlines that I have missed. I am standing in front of an audience, having lost my notes with nothing to say. These are nights that I spend wrestling like my ancestor, the patriarch Jacob.

But on other occasions, my dreams are beautiful. I wake from them and want to go right back to sleep so that I can re-enter the dream!

I have also dreamed about reconciliation. I have dreamed that enemies are at my table, and we are living in peace. I have dreamed of flying high in the air. I have dreamed of new life and hope. I have dreamed of lean years followed by wonderful years. These are nights that I dream like my ancestor, the patriarch Joseph.

A few years ago, Time Magazine published an intriguing cover article. No, it was not another article about the birth of Jesus; I expect all sorts of articles like that this time of year. Those articles are intriguing, to be sure, but they generally cover material that has been discussed before: where was Jesus actually born, who were the wise men, and so forth.

No, the article that struck me was about sleep. For all that we know about the human body these days, scientists do not know the exact reason that we need sleep. We know why we need food, shelter, and clothing; but we do not know why we need sleep.

And what is the reason for dreams, those strange images that bounce along our brain waves? We wake suddenly, and reality itself seems like a different world.

Why do we need sleep?

Science tells us this: We need sleep because we need to dream.

Today’s gospel lesson is about a dream. The Fourth Sunday of Advent is about a dream, The dream of Joseph. Not Mary’s dream, but Joseph’s dream. In fact, the story of the angel Gabriel appearing to the Virgin Mary appears in only one gospel, the gospel of Luke.

In two other gospels, Mark and John, there is no account whatsoever of the physical birth of Jesus. We have four gospels, and they differ dramatically in how they tell the story of the birth of Jesus. In Matthew’s gospel, the angel appears not to Mary at all, but to Joseph.

And it is Matthew’s gospel that we read this year (Matthew 1:18-25). It is Joseph we hear of today. Consider his point of view.

Joseph dreamed something wonderful. It was astounding. God would enter the world. God would be born to his wife, as crazy as that was to understand. Joseph had some serious trusting in God to do! But Joseph had to trust someone else, too. Joseph had to trust Mary.

I know Mary was his wife, and surely Joseph must have loved Mary. But, still, this took a lot of trust! And this is why Joseph’s dream is so important. Joseph dreamed of the salvation of the world.

And for Joseph, the way of salvation meant trusting someone else. It may well be that true salvation comes through someone else.

That is the lesson for us, too. Like Joseph, sometimes, we are supposed to trust God and then get out of the way. Trust that God is working through our wife, and then get out of the way. Trust that God is working in our children, and then get out of the way.

I was asked a recurring question this past week. I am asked something like this all the time: Why doesn’t God speak to us directly? Wouldn’t it be great if an angel appeared again? Like the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary?

Imagine young Mary, minding her own business, suddenly being overcome with news of a great conception, a great presence of the divine. It’s something to have an angel speak to you. Even folks who are not religious might turn their heads.

Wouldn’t it be great to know that such a revelation might happen again? Here’s my reply to that kind of question: Well, you know what? It did happen again.

The angel did appear to someone besides Mary. The story is recorded right in the Bible. The angel appeared not just to Mary. The angel did appear to someone else. The angel appeared to Joseph.

We too often forget about poor Joseph. Every year, we tend to focus on the story of Mary. But this year, it’s Joseph.

Now, if the angel can appear to Mary, and then also appear to Joseph, there’s a lesson in that. That means that the angel can appear to you and me, too. In the Bible, the annunciation does not occur only once, but twice-not just to a woman, but also to a man.

The Bible, then, carries an implicit message that God does appear over and over again, to various sorts of folks. Matthew and Luke both have it right, but they are different stories. God continues to come into the world, but we have to trust other sources!

What are you giving for Christmas this year? I do not mean what are you getting. We all want something wonderful, I am sure. But what are you giving for Christmas?

The greatest gift you can give this year is to believe in someone’s dreams. The greatest gift you can give is to have faith in someone else; believe in their dreams. Believe in the dreams of the person you love. Believe in the dream of your husband. Believe in the dream of your wife. Believe in the dreams of your children. Believe in the dream of your hero, your leader, your friend. Believe in their dreams!

And sleep comfortably this season. I know some folks do not sleep well. Too much worry. Too much food and drink. Remember how the writer Rabelais joked. He said, “I never sleep comfortably except when I am listening to a sermon.” The reason we sleep is to dream. The reason we sleep is to dream. The reason we have relationships is so that we will have someone who will believe our dreams.

God works through those relationships. God works through both Mary and Joseph. God needs both Luke’s story of the annunciation and Matthew’s story of Joseph’s dream. They are miracle stories.

God works through a young and wonderful woman, and her husband believes in her. That miracle can occur again and again. Believe in the dreams of the person you love. Believe in dreams this Christmas, and Jesus will be born again. Believe in dreams this Christmas, and God will appear.

Steven D. Olson

“I am definitively loved and whatever happens to me—I am awaited by this love. And so my life is good.”

Saint Josephine Bakhita

Hope is one of the great promises of Advent. But if you ask children (or even adults) at this time of year what they hope for you might get an answer like: “I am hoping for an Ipod Nano or a new cell phone for Christmas.”

But hope is so much more than a longing for material things and gifts. Hope is what gets us up in the morning. It makes the difference between meeting the day and being overwhelmed by the day. Hope convinces us that we are never alone, that we have come from God and are going to God.

Speaking of gifts—Pope Benedict recently gave a gift to the church when he published his new encyclical letter Spe Salvi on Christian Hope.

In his letter on hope, he includes a wonderful story about the African saint, Josephine Bakhita.

Josephine Bakhita was born around 1869 in Dafur. Her early life was hope-less. At the age of nine, she was kidnapped by slave-traders, beaten till she bled and sold five times in the slave markets in Sudan. She was not a person, just a commodity. Eventually she found herself working as a slave for the mother and the wife of a general, and there she was flogged every day till she bled. As a result of this she bore 144 scars throughout her life. Finally, in 1882, she was bought by an Italian merchant for the Italian consul Callisto Legnani, who returned to Italy as the Mahdists advanced. Here, after the terrifying “masters” who had owned her up to that point, Bakhita came to know a totally different kind of “master”—in Venetian dialect, which she was now learning, she used the name “paron” for the living God, the God of Jesus Christ. Up to that time she had only known “masters” who despised or maltreated her, or at best considered her a useful slave. Now, however, she had heard that there is a “paron” above all masters, the Lord of all lords and that this Lord is goodness incarnate. She came to know that this same Lord even knew her, had created her, and that he actually loved her. She, too, was loved and by none other than the supreme “Paron,” before whom all other masters are themselves no more than lowly servants. She was known and loved and she was awaited.

What is more, this master himself had accepted the destiny of being flogged. Now he was waiting for her “at the Father’s right hand.” Josephine Bakhita now had hope—no longer simply the modest hope of finding masters less cruel, but the great hope: “I am definitively loved and whatever happens to me—I am awaited by this Love. And so my life is good.”

Through the power of this hope, she was redeemed, no longer a slave but now a free child of God. She now understood what St. Paul meant when he reminded the Ephesians that previously they were without hope and without God in the world.

On the brink of being returned to the Sudan Bakhita refused to go. She did not wish to be separated again from her Paron. On January 9, 1890, she was baptized and confirmed and received her first Holy Communion. Six years later, she joined the Canossian Sisters and traveled around Italy doing mission work. She could not keep to herself the hope which had redeemed and liberated her. This hope had to reach many, to reach everybody.

Bakhita’s hope was grounded in the gift of her redemption, the experience of liberation from oppression and that sense that she was ‘definitively loved’ by God. May that experience be ours this Advent season.

Steven D. Olson

John the Baptist’s fiery call to repentance sounds harsh when we’re in the midst of preparations for the baby Jesus. The birth of a child is usually preceded by joyful expectation. But the child envisioned by John will come with an axe, with a winnowing fork and with purging flame.

Although John is most severe when he is warning the Pharisees and Sadducees, he calls all to repent, and when they are baptized in the Jordan, to confess their sins. No one, it seems, is righteous. All need to repent and be cleansed from sin. And then they must live a changed life. It is not enough to claim membership among God’s chosen people; our deeds must be in accord with our stated commitments.

For many, this time before Christmas is a stressful race to the finish line–buying gifts, decorating homes, baking, visiting, partying. It is a time of increased activity for many. Many of us end up feeling out of sorts due to the increased stress and the departure from our routine.

Spiritually, Advent might also be a time of purging, cleansing, and reconciling. Before she decorates her house for Christmas, my best friend first cleans house. And while “cleaning house” may not be a priority for us, cleansing and purging our hearts and homes might yield great blessings as we move into the celebration of the birth of our Savior.

What behaviors do we need to throw into the trash, to burn in fire? As we write Christmas cards and make visits, what person, not on our list, do we need to add to that list—you know—the person who has become the thorn in our side?

And what about our prayer life? The little Advent prayer book I am currently reading daily asks the reader to devote six out of the 1,440 minutes out of each 24 hour day to prayer—conversation with God. Even six minutes a day, prayed at the same time of day, can re-start a prayer life.

In Advent, as we prepare again to welcome the infant Christ, we are reminded of purgation, our need to repent and be cleansed. We are also reminded that we are empowered by the Spirit, who bestows gifts of wisdom and understanding, counsel and might, knowledge and the fear of the Lord.

Steven D. Olson