FROM THE PASTOR’S DESK

My Dear Parishioners

Think about the person you miss most in your entire life. Picture them. And then think of the time you missed someone more intensely than you’ve ever missed anyone—during a deployment, a long trip, when a child moved away, whenever it was. Recall the longing, and the joy of reunion. This longing is the engine behind half the books and movies on the market—every Nicholas Sparks plot runs on it. Two people fall in love, circumstances wrench them apart, they pine for one another, obstacles arise, twists unfold, but the pull of the relationship wins in the end. Why does that story sell? Because we’re made for relationship. Something in us comes alive when the one we love is present, and something in us aches when they’re gone.

Hold that person in your mind, the one whose absence unsettles you, whose presence brings you peace.

Here’s the real question, and I mean this sincerely: Is your longing for Christ anything like that? Would you describe your desire for the presence of Jesus the way you describe missing that person?

For many of us, the honest answer is no. We often reduce our faith to “going to church,” because that’s how many of us were raised. And going to church is essential. But how many of us would describe our relationship with Christ as an intense longing? How many of us speak of him the way we speak of the person we miss most?

My greatest fear is that Jesus has become for many of us a distant memory or a distant judge— someone who lived 2,000 years ago, is now far away, and is mainly concerned with handing out verdicts. My fear is that our faith becomes duty alone: “I go to church because you’re supposed to. If I don’t, I might go to hell.”

But my greatest hope is the opposite: that you would encounter Jesus Christ as alive, present, active—a real person who knows you and can transform your life. That your faith would move from obligation to relationship.

That was my own journey. I was the good Catholic kid doing everything right, avoiding sin out of fear, even entering seminary out of a sense of duty. On the outside it looked perfect, but inside there were fractures, because my faith had never become a real, personal relationship with the living Christ. The question that changed everything for me—and the question for each of us this Advent— is simple but life-altering: How real is the person, the presence of Christ to me? If the answer is “not very,” then faith becomes ideas, rules, customs— true, but unable to change us.

This brings us to our readings and to John the Baptist. He dominates Advent because he prepares us for the Messiah. His first words are: “Repent, the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” Shouldn’t he say, “Bake cookies and clean the house—my cousin Jesus is coming”? No.

The Fathers of the Church insist the “kingdom” is not politics, laws, or social programs. The kingdom is Jesus himself. Origen even coined a word for it: autobasileia— “the kingdom-inperson.” Jesus is the kingdom. John isn’t announcing a movement; he’s announcing a person.

Think again of the person you miss. When they’re absent, life feels off; when they’re present, everything steadies. So too with Christ. When our relationship with him is real and healthy, peace and wholeness reign, even amid chaos. That’s what Isaiah poetically describes: wolves with lambs, leopards with goats—inner places of conflict finally at peace. In Christ’s presence, everything changes.

So, what holds us back? John tells us in one word: repent. Not just “stop sinning,” but turn around. Turn your heart away from the things you’ve decided will give you happiness and toward the One who can. We all cling to idols—finish the sentence: “I can’t imagine my life without…” Repentance is loosening our grip on those things so we can turn toward Christ.

The same things that ruin relationships with people also ruin our relationship with Christ: taking him for granted, growing distant, investing our time elsewhere, breaking trust, letting someone or something else become more important. If those things break earthly relationships, why wouldn’t they break our relationship with Jesus? John calls us to repair what’s broken—through confession, prayer, adoration—through renewing time and attention.

So, ask yourself this Advent: How real is Christ to me? Do I long for him the way I long for the people I miss most? If I lost Christ’s friendship, would it hurt me more than losing a friend—more even than losing a spouse or a child? Is my relationship with him in need of repair? If so, please come and talk to me. I want to help.

We look forward to Christmas for cookies, gifts, and music. But maybe this Christmas we can desire something deeper: to experience Christ as he truly is—real, present, alive, active. Maybe this year, our longing for him could outweigh everything else.

Peace,
Fr. Monteleone

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