So yesterday was the anniversary of my mom’s birth, and death. One year ago today, she died. I’d been scheduled to fly down the next day to spend the weekend visiting, and she passed before I could get there. Suffice it to say, her childrens’ hearts, still feel broken from that moment.
We’d lost our dad ten years before, on March 5, 2014, Ash Wednesday. So Dad is forever linked to Lent, and my mother, to Advent. Liturgically, it leaves the rest of us feeling like there is no ordinary time. There is now, when we must grope through the days that followed, living in hope for the day we see face to face, and yet knowing that will also be a day of grief for those we leave behind.
December 3, 2025, I took the day off from work to grieve, to pray, to sit in the pain of loss and be willing to feel it, all of it. Life however, and God, had other plans. My daughter accompanied me to the nine o’clock at our secondary parish, the one we go to when we can’t make it on time to our own, the one only a mile from our house, the one with the 24-7 adoration chapel.
The mass turned out to be an all school mass. My mom worked as a religion coordinator and teacher for about twenty-five years at the school we’d all attended. So I felt her presence in the multitude of children raising their hands to answer questions during the homily. But even before that moment, God wanted me to hear something. God wanted me to hear the readings read aloud at my mother’s funeral mass a year ago on December 27, 2024, on her birthday/death day in the course of Advent, December 3, 2025.
On this mountain the LORD of hosts
will provide for all peoples
A feast of rich food and choice wines,
juicy, rich food and pure, choice wines.
On this mountain he will destroy
the veil that veils all peoples,
The web that is woven over all nations;
he will destroy death forever.
The Lord GOD will wipe away
the tears from all faces;
The reproach of his people he will remove
from the whole earth; for the LORD has spoken.
On that day it will be said:
“Behold our God, to whom we looked to save us!
This is the LORD for whom we looked;
let us rejoice and be glad that he has saved us!”
For the hand of the LORD will rest on this mountain.
and…
R. (6cd) I shall live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
In verdant pastures he gives me repose;
Beside restful waters he leads me;
he refreshes my soul.
R. I shall live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.
He guides me in right paths
for his name’s sake.
Even though I walk in the dark valley
I fear no evil; for you are at my side
With your rod and your staff
that give me courage.
R. I shall live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.
You spread the table before me
in the sight of my foes;
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
R. I shall live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.
Only goodness and kindness follow me
all the days of my life;
And I shall dwell in the house of the LORD
for years to come.
R. I shall live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.
Reflecting on the reality of those words, Christ’s crucifixion destroys the permanent power of sin and death, and thus my mother is in the house of the Lord, and when I am at mass or in adoration, so am I. I am with my father and my mother, and all those I’ve loved or who have loved me, though I may not have known it. Teachers who tried to reach me. Friends I did not know were friends. Family I loved, and family who loved me even before I knew their names, all of them are there and with us, all the saints who pray for us, all the souls who when they saw people in need, acted because they must, they all rejoice with the “Lord, Lord.” who saw them when they saw Christ in others.
The Gospel sent me back to my father’s funeral, and Mom’s decision then, to gift the leftovers from the feast, which when gathered, filled twelve baskets. The readings weren’t quite the same but I got the point. I trembled with tears.
Alleluia
R. Alleluia, alleluia.
Behold, the Lord comes to save his people;
blessed are those prepared to meet him.
R. Alleluia, alleluia.
Gospel
At that time:
Jesus walked by the Sea of Galilee,
went up on the mountain, and sat down there.
Great crowds came to him,
having with them the lame, the blind, the deformed, the mute,
and many others.
They placed them at his feet, and he cured them.
The crowds were amazed when they saw the mute speaking,
the deformed made whole,
the lame walking,
and the blind able to see,
and they glorified the God of Israel.
Jesus summoned his disciples and said,
“My heart is moved with pity for the crowd,
for they have been with me now for three days
and have nothing to eat.
I do not want to send them away hungry,
for fear they may collapse on the way.”
The disciples said to him,
“Where could we ever get enough bread in this deserted place
to satisfy such a crowd?”
Jesus said to them, “How many loaves do you have?”
“Seven,” they replied, “and a few fish.”
He ordered the crowd to sit down on the ground.
Then he took the seven loaves and the fish,
gave thanks, broke the loaves,
and gave them to the disciples, who in turn gave them to the crowds.
They all ate and were satisfied.
They picked up the fragments left over–seven baskets full.
Blessed are those prepared to meet him. I thought about that phrase a lot. My daughter aquired a build-a-bear for me, with my mother’s voice recorded, wishing our family a “Merry Christmas.” and the tears came again, big ugly tears that crashed and shattered any remains of my attempting to “get through the day.”
My son reminded me, my default method is to “play through the pain,” which over the years has transformed into “ignore the pain,” or “the pain isn’t enough pain to bother with,” or “there are others in more pain so this isn’t something to feel too much about.” All of which were ways of applying mental asprin to carry on. Tears and grief indicate love, so let them fall. Being prepared to see the Lord means being prepared to find and care for those we encounter, and to respond with charity. So practice so you become better at it.
This is the reality of Advent, of blessed waiting, of becoming better at responding to the moment as we should, not merely as we feel. We should be anticipating and eager, wanting the opportunities to be kinder to others, and creating them when they otherwise might not seem to exist.
Be Advent to others. Be sources of salt and light, that leave them feeling overflowing with hope, faith and love, seven to twelve baskets full. It doesn’t eliminate the reality of suffering, but it is part of how we participate in the salvific mission with Christ on the cross, and make the world a little more aware of Heaven, and a little less overwhelmed by all that isn’t.
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