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As the Church draws Ordinary Time to a close each year, she looks to the Book of Revelation as both an invitation and a word of caution to the faithful. In the Lectionary Cycle C (just finished), one recent reading that caught my attention in a way I have never previously experienced was the story about Jesus and his entry into Jerusalem. He had just dined with Zaccheus, the tax collector, in Jericho. Geographically, Jericho is on the West Bank of the Jordan River and about 30 miles east of Jerusalem. To get from Jericho to Jerusalem requires passage over a mountainous area that, in Jesus’ day, would have taken more than a day.

As he drew near, he saw the city and wept over it, saying, “If this day you only knew what makes for peace—but now it is hidden from your eyes. For the days are coming upon you when your enemies will raise a palisade against you; they will encircle you and hem you in on all sides. They will smash you to the ground and your children within you, and they will not leave one stone upon another within you because you did not recognize the time of your visitation.” (Luke 19:41-44)

I added the emphasis in the final phrase to call attention to that portion of the reading that caught my attention.

In Advent 2019, pre-COVID, Ginny and I were blessed to travel to the Holy Land. We saw the very spot where Jesus wept over Jerusalem. There now stands the church, Dominus Flevit, which literally translates, “the master wept.” The photo was taken peering through the window in Dominus Flevit. The view is both breathtaking and haunting, given Jesus’ sorrow in the moments He stood there.

Jesus, in his approach to his Passion and Crucifixion, lamented those who had not come to know him.

How, I wondered as I meditated on this Gospel passage that I had heard many times before, does one come to know anyone, let alone know Jesus?

Of course, it happens through conversation. In the case of our relationship with Jesus, this conversation is prayer. In our culture today, how many no longer know, or have ever known, Jesus? In my reflection, I realized that often I do not recognize Him.

Polish-born American philosopher and rabbi, Abraham Heschel (1907 – 1972) said, “Prayer is our humble answer to the inconceivable surprise of living.” One might expect nothing less from an individual who escaped Poland after his arrest by the Nazis. His mother was later murdered by the Nazis, and two sisters died in Nazi concentration camps. Heschel’s reflection is en pointe. Gratitude, an ideal state from which to start any prayer conversation, begins with recognizing life itself as a gift. Thank you, Jesus, for the gift of my life.

Yet another perspective on prayer comes from President Abraham Lincoln, in an 1863 proclamation of A National Day of Fasting, Humiliation, and Prayer, in which he offered the following words, as applicable to our nation today as they were 160 years ago in a nation ravaged by Civil War.

Lincoln said: “We have been the recipients of the choicest bounties of Heaven. We have been preserved, these many years, in peace and prosperity. We have grown in numbers, wealth, and power, as no other nation has ever grown. But we have forgotten God. We have forgotten the gracious hand which preserved us in peace, and multiplied and enriched and strengthened us and we have vainly imagined, in the deceitfulness of our hearts, that all these blessings were produced by some superior wisdom and virtue of our own, intoxicated with unbroken success, we have become too self-sufficient to feel the necessity of redeeming and preserving grace, too proud to pray to the God that made us.”

Finally, in a verse from the closing hymn at Mass on the Feast of Christ the King, another phrase caught my attention in a way I had never before recognized, despite having played and sung the song at least a hundred times or more over the years. From the 1987 song, “Lead Me, Lord,” by John Becker, the following line from the second verse jumped off the page and left me again in rather deep thought as I finished my post-Mass thanksgiving to Jesus: “Blest are those whose hunger only holiness can fill, for I say they shall be satisfied.”

Hmmm . . . true satisfaction comes from a hunger for holiness. Go figure.

In a world that clamors for validation on the human level – everyone hungers to be recognized, rewarded, made to feel special often for simply doing what is expected of them, let alone anything extraordinary – it is imperative to understand the purpose of one’s being: to know God, to love God, and to serve God in this life, so that we can spend eternity with Him in Heaven.  Nothing more, nothing less. To the extent that one is certain of this self-worth rooted God’s love and generosity, the need for human affirmation dissipates exponentially. To the extent we do not recognize Him, our cup will forever remain half-empty.

Advent is a time to change how well we know Jesus. As we anticipate the commemoration of Jesus’ birth at Christmas, let us take up our vocational call to holiness – the foundation of our mission as Serrans – by entering into conversation with Jesus . . . repeatedly. St. Paul, in his first letter to the Thessalonians said, “Pray without ceasing.” (1 Thes 5:17)

It doesn’t have to be elaborate. Talk to Jesus like you talk to your best friend. Make this Advent a time to get to know Jesus, too, as a best friend. You won’t be disappointed. In fact, you will be satisfied.