1st Sunday of Advent, A November 30, 2025
Fr. Alexander Albert St. Mary Magdalen, Abbeville
One Sunday when I was a boy, we were running late for reasons I don’t remember. My dad insisted on going to Mass every Sunday; that’s one of the only times I remember us not making it. Pulling up to the Church and seeing Mass about to end, my father decided we’d pray in the adoration chapel. He told us to spend some time in prayer to make up for missing Mass. So we did.
I went in, knelt down, and told God sorry. I think I asked for some blessings on family and friends, maybe expressed a little gratitude, and then quickly got distracted-slash-bored. After just a few minutes, I sat back and whispered to my Dad that I was done and we could go home. He looked at me and said, “we miss a whole Mass and you think a few minutes is enough?” We stayed a little bit longer, but it wasn’t a full hour. I think my dad decided it wasn’t worth it to fight with two fidgety boys in a chapel for too long and disturb the other people there.
And yet, it always stayed with me. Mass was not to be missed. If you did miss it, it mattered. Now, my younger brother and I almost never resisted going to Mass even if we complained. It was something we had to do because it was important, like a chore to get out of the way so we can get to the stuff we actually wanted to do.
Let’s be honest: most Catholics see Mass this way. We go to Mass every Sunday because we know we’re supposed to. We may not fight it, we accept that it’s an obligation, and many of us even try to at least try to pay attention and do it well. But, the majority still see it as something they have to do. That’s not all bad. Obligations are good for us and we can appreciate the fact that meeting our obligations is a good thing. After all, it’s not like we can control how we feel about something, right? It’s not as if we can change our desires… or can we?
About 12 to 15 years later, I found myself on vacation with some people. Though it was a weekday, looked online for a Mass at Churches near to the hotel. I found a Mass at 6:30am the next morning. When I told those I was with, someone said, “you know you don’t have to do that right?” I said I know and planned to go anyway. In the morning, I drove to the Church only to discover that Mass had been cancelled. Unlike that Sunday long ago when I was happy to miss, I was disappointed this time, sad that I didn’t get Mass that day. I found myself reflecting on what I should have said the night before: “I don’t have to go, but I want to… I get to.”
What changed? How did I go from merely fulfilling an obligation to eagerly seeking out the Mass, even when it wasn’t required? Not that I always feel that way. To this day even as a priest, there are times when it feels more like an obligation and less like an opportunity. I give the example from my life because it’s what I know. I’m no saint. I am just an undeserved witness of grace. Some people in my life have an enthusiasm for worshipping God that far outstrips mine.
Regardless, why does our attitude about Mass matter? Because of what Isaiah says in our first reading, this vision of God’s holy dwelling on earth: “many peoples shall come and say: ‘Come, let us climb the LORD’s mountain… that he may instruct us in his ways, and we may walk in his paths.’” It’s not “let’s go the temple because we don’t want to go to hell.” It’s “let’s do the hard work of climbing a mountain because we want to be instructed, we want to walk in his ways.”
Being Catholic isn’t meant to be begrudgingly checking boxes to avoid hell. It’s about being eager to get close to God. We wonder how God can send people to hell, but the truth is people choose hell. Why would they choose hell? Because when we die, judgment is going to be a little bit like standing in the hall looking at two rooms. In one door is a bunch of people drinking and fighting and kissing. In the other door there are people attending Mass and it looks like it might never end. Which would you choose? The party room is actually hell and changes to isolated torment once you enter. Heaven, however, is going to look like a long long long Mass. Most of our weekend Masses are between 45 minutes and an hour-five. What, I wonder, is your gut reaction when you hear that Mass will be 10 minutes longer than usual? Christmas Mass often gets to an hour and a half. The Easter Vigil is well over 2 hours. Does that annoy you? Do you dread that kind of extra time?
Now, to be clear, Mass on earth is imperfect. Sloppiness, bad music, or bad preaching can really make it hard. The Church tells us not to make liturgies too long or tedious. So no, I’m not saying you go to hell if you sometimes feel impatient and annoyed about a Mass that drags on for no good reason. Nor am I saying that everyone should go to Mass every day – some people can’t or even shouldn’t.
What I am saying, however, is that the goal should be for us to want to worship God forever and to the best of our abilities. Some part of us is supposed to look forward to Mass. I don’t just mean receiving communion. I mean diving into every aspect: sitting, standing, kneeling, silent contemplation, singing, listening, praying out loud. The whole Mass is a sustained ritual of mystical worship, not a manmade “service” that we find entertaining. When we finally see heaven, it is going to look a awful lot like a big, fancy Mass that never ends. It’s a whole lot more than that, of course, but the point is this: if you don’t like Mass then you also don’t like a big part of what makes heaven heaven.
That’s some of what the second reading and gospel are getting at. Jesus reminds us that Noah’s neighbors were living life and loving life right up until the moment the flood wiped them away. Paul tells the Romans to avoid promiscuity, drunkenness, and rivalries because the day of the Lord is near. We’re in Advent where we prepare for two things: the celebration of Christ’s birth and the return of Christ at the end of time. How do we prepare for both of those things? By “conduct[ing] ourselves properly as in the day” and “put[ting] on the Lord Jesus Christ.” What is the right conduct? How do we put on Christ?
“Do this in memory of me.” Jesus instituted a formal ritual to literally infuse our bodies and souls with his body, blood, soul, and divinity. There’s no better way to put him on. Advent means “arrival.” Jesus arrived as a child at Christmas. Jesus will arrive again as judge at the end of the world. In the meantime, however, he arrives every time we celebrate Mass. Mass isn’t just a recipe for making Jesus cookies. It makes present the whole Paschal Mystery. Mass gives us Jesus in the Eucharist, yes, but it also brings heavenly worship here. True worship is a participation in heavenly realities that transcend words. That’s why the Mass is a ritual, why it has rules, why it’s structured and full of symbols and phrasings that we can’t just change or make up for ourselves.
So please learn to love the Mass! Learn to want to go to Mass. If we don’t want it, how do we fix that? How do we change our desires? Time, effort, and grace. What changed for me was a dramatic conversion experience involving lots of tears and prayer and a rosary prayed badly but sincerely. In college I went from “have to” go to Mass to “want and get to go” literally overnight. But that overnight change came after years of sin and months of helpless, agonizing prayer. It was God’s grace.
Your change of heart was or will be different, but it involves the same elements as all conversions. Prayer, repentance, acceptance of grace, and continued effort. You see Mass as mostly an obligation? Pray for a change of heart. You find it uninteresting? Make no provision for the desires of the flesh. Cut out sin! Especially sins of the flesh, which blind us to spiritual realities. You can’t keep up the effort? Get help! Confession, mentorship, counseling – seek grace and help with humility. Put on Christ through sacraments and through others. And finally, keep going deeper. Study the Mass, learn its value, and keep showing up.
I have literally bet my life on this truth: the Mass is worth it. Even when done poorly by everyone else, if you approach it with faith and perseverance, it is indeed something worth rejoicing over. The Lord has come as a child. “At an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come” again to judge the living and the dead.
And yet, there is an hour you do expect, a time when he comes to us not as a baby and not as a judge, but as Friend, Teacher, Healer, Savior, and Lord. That hour… sometimes more than an hour, sometimes less… that hour is every Mass and that place is the Church, the house of the Lord. Pray to love it, repent of the sins that blind you to it, make use of sacraments and the support of others, learn what the Mass is instead of focusing on what you want it to be. Then keep coming until you can say this and mean it: “Let us go rejoicing to the house of the Lord.”