This past Christmas, I was with my wife and our son, visiting her family. On Christmas Eve, we went to Christmas Mass, and it was — unsurprisingly — very, very crowded. Even though we’d gotten there about 45 minutes early, we were still unable to secure a seat in the main part of the church. So we ended up sitting in the “overflow” room, the community area usually reserved for brunches and the like. Our connection with the main Mass was via television, showing aurally and visually what was happening in the room 20 feet away.
I didn’t mind this development. I’m happy to be part of the community, and it’s a joy to see so many there to celebrate the Church’s second-most-important holiday. Like many, I pray that our “twice-a-year” Catholic brothers and sisters find the inspiration to become more active members of their Christian community, but until then, I recognize it’s easier to reach their hearts if they’re actually there in the pews than if they’re staying home for Christmas and Easter.
However, there was one curious development for our group. Due to the weakness of the audio, the musical portion was practically inaudible to our room; our priest had a good strong microphone for his homily and the rest of Mass, but most of what we heard from the music was just what wafted in from across the hallway. As a result, people were reluctant to sing in our room, because there wasn’t a good accompaniment.
Sensing the problem, I mustered up my courage and sang as loud and clearly as I could from my spot in the office-chair “pew,” picking up the lead notes and trusting my own ability to keep tempo and tune. As soon as I did that, I became a de facto “leader” of our room, with the rest of the voices rising up to meet my voice. Soon what had been uncertain musical mutterings became a room of joyful singing, with everyone else happily caroling the hymns and songs that help make Christmas so wonderful.
I wasn’t perfect by any means in my role as impromptu cantor . . . but I believe I was a fair bit better than no one having stepped up to the role.
Although the reason may not be obvious at first, I was reminded of all this as I tried to wrap my mind around today’s readings. The Gospel selection tells about the coming of the first disciples to Jesus. It details John the Baptist seeing Jesus and saying, “Behold, the Lamb of God,” which prompts two of his disciples to follow Christ. The first reading — from the First Letter of John — talks about righteousness and sin, and it includes some statements I found puzzling: “No one who is begotten by God commits sin, because God’s seed remains in him . . .” and “no one who fails to act in righteousness belongs to God . . .”
I spent a fair bit of time chewing on that. “Wait; if the Spirit and Christ are the ‘seed’ within me, does that mean I’m incapable of sin?” and “Hold on; does that mean if I fail to act in righteousness one time, I no longer belong to God?”
Even the other readings failed to illuminate things for me. The Alleluia proclamation is, “In the past God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets:
in these last days, he has spoken to us through the Son.” Okay . . . so we’re talking about listening to Christ. The Responsorial Psalm says, “All the ends of the earth have seen the saving power of God. Sing to the LORD a new song, for he has done wondrous deeds . . .” So we’re talking about seeing and praising God?
Suddenly it clicked. For me, today’s readings were a powerful reminder of the immutable links between “seeing,” “believing,” and — at least as important — “acting.” The Gospel: The disciples were presented with the truth — “Behold, the Lamb of God” — they believed, and they followed Christ. The Psalm: The Earth has seen the saving power of God; the faithful of the Earth have believed, and feel compelled to “Sing to the LORD a new song.”
And even the Letter of John that I found confusing made more sense. Of course someone who tends the seed of the Spirit and Christ’s love doesn’t sin, because that’s what that means. You can’t sow the seeds of the Spirit while sinning, any more than you can claim to be drying something while splashing water on it. Of course failing to act in righteousness drives one away from God; that’s why we ask for forgiveness “in what I’ve failed to do” during Mass, and why we have the Sacrament of Confession!
This cycle of seeing-believing-acting can work miracles. You’re exposed to the truth, you believe in God’s promise, and you act on Christ’s teachings to bring about the Kingdom on Earth. Others see your actions, they come to believe, and they in turn act upon those beliefs. And so on. In the same way the actions of my one voice was enough to spark a collective choir, so too do our actions give others tangible proof of God’s love in action . . . which will lead them to believe, and then act.
Our Church and faith should not be solely a sanctuary where we shut out the world, but a recharging font that energizes our faiths and leads us out into the world to act. We’re blessed to actually experience Christ in the flesh each Holy Communion, which helps to reenforce our beliefs. Don’t hide those beliefs under a bushel basket, but let your gifts and expertise help bring the Light to others. The journey of faith began for those disciples who witnessed Christ those millennia ago, and their beliefs and actions changed the world. This ancient journey can be yours as well, if you’re brave enough to heed the call, believe, and act.
Today’s readings: 1 Jn 3:7-10; Ps 98:7-8,9; Heb 1:1-2; Jn 1:35-42
