(Malachi 3:1-4, 23-24; Psalm 25:4-5AB, 8-9, 10 and 14; Luke 1:57-66)
My grandfather died decades ago, when I was a handful of years old, on New Year’s Day. I remember thinking at the time that at least he got to experience some of the new year. As I got older, I realized that was small comfort to my grieving grandmother or mother.
I was reminded of this as I reflected on today’s readings. The first reading is from the Book of Malachi, which talks about the coming of Elijah the prophet to make way for the Lord. (In fact, today’s reading is from the last page of the Old Testament!) Reading its words – “Lo, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me; And suddenly there will come to the temple the LORD whom you seek . . .” – I had assumed that “Elijah” was actually referring to John the Baptist. Actually, it’s a bit more complicated than that (Msgr. Charles Pope has written a great overview), but the upshot is that Jesus tells us (Matthew 11:14), “If you are willing to accept it, he is Elijah, the one who is to come.”
So, the Book of Malachi was written, and it told us that someone like Elijah was coming, and he would help to make us all ready for the coming of the Lord. Hold onto that thought for a moment.
Today’s Gospel selection from Luke tells a bit about the birth of John the Baptist. In particular, it shares the story of Zechariah, John’s father (who was rendered mute after the angel Gabriel told him that Zechariah and his wife – Elizabeth – would soon expect a child). Elizabeth was adamant that the child’s name would be John, but their friends and neighbors didn’t think that made sense (since no one had that name in their family). The Gospel continues: So they made signs, asking his father what he wished him to be called. He asked for a tablet and wrote, “John is his name,” and all were amazed. Immediately his mouth was opened, his tongue freed, and he spoke blessing God. (Zechariah gives a wonderful canticle right after this – Luke 1:68-79 – which might make great Advent reading.)
Now, the Bible doesn’t tell us about Zechariah’s ultimate fate. However, it’s not unreasonable (to me) to presume that he passed away before the ministries of John the Baptist and Jesus could come into being; Zechariah is not mentioned again as being part of the picture once John the Baptist and Jesus are active in adulthood, and Zechariah was already advanced in age when John was born.
If Zechariah was dead at the time of John’s ministry, that would parallel the story of someone else vital to the Advent story: Joseph, foster father of Jesus. According to Catholic tradition, Joseph – who was so vital at providing for the Holy Family and keeping them safe – died before Jesus’ ministry, in the “arms of Jesus and Mary.” (Joseph is the patron saint of a happy death for this reason.)
To back up a moment, put yourself in the shoes of someone who heard the words of the Book of Malachi when it was written. Scholars note that was sometime around the fifth century B.C., meaning it was half a millennium before the pieces fell together and anyone knew that Malachi referred to the coming of John the Baptist and Christ. Even if the words that would become the Book of Malachi stirred something in your soul, and you knew you needed to prepare your heart and mind, you would’ve been dead for hundreds of years before you understood what those words meant.
Similarly, Joseph died before he could see how all the pieces fit together. He was a man of steadfast faith, but he wasn’t rewarded in this life with the knowledge of what it all meant; he died before Christ truly began to transform the world through his words and deeds. Zechariah also probably died before he could understand his vital place in God’s plan of salvation for the world.
I suspect many people – even people of strong faith and conviction – go through life wondering how the pieces fit together. This sensation is probably exasperated by modern times, where technology has ensured we’re more interconnected and knowledgable than ever before in human history. But no amount of technology would have shown Joseph how vital he was to God’s plans. No cellphone plan could have given Zechariah a glimpse of the wonderful news that would come from Christ’s ministry. No website could have informed the readers and listeners of Malachi what it all meant. Only time, and the deliberate hand of God, could let these things come to pass at the hour and day that God intended.
There are aspects of the Bible that have still not come to fruition, and Christ specifically warns us that there are certain parts of the divine plan that we cannot know ahead of time (see Matthew 24:36-44 – where Jesus talks about the Unknown Day and Hour – for the quintessential example). Sometimes it seems that life is happening around us, despite our efforts, and it’s hard to know what it all means.
If your prayerful introspection has led you to conclude that you’re doing what God wants you to do, don’t be discouraged if you’re not seeing how your efforts are contributing to the larger whole. Like Joseph, we can live holy lives and die happily even if we don’t understand the big picture. If you realize there’s still more you can be doing, then do what you need to put yourself right . . . but don’t be discouraged if your life doesn’t immediately transform. If there are parts of the faith that are challenging, continue to pray and reflect – and realize that, like the audience of Malachi, there may be parts of what God is telling you that won’t make sense until later . . . if ever, in this life.
When my grandfather died, I wasn’t a Catholic. My parents were long divorced and my household had no religious affiliation. However, when I entered the Church, I remembered the life of faith and devotion that meant so much to him. My entry into the Church was easier knowing that the joy and earnestness of my grandfather could be mine. I inherited his rosary and much of his outlook. He must have been somewhat disappointed at his own children’s drifting from the Church, but I pray that he knows how much he was part of God’s plan, and how grateful I am for his contributions to my faith . . . even if he didn’t live to see its fruition in this life.
