Editorial
Longing for the Prince of Peace
During Advent, we give expression to some of our deepest desires as individuals and as the people of God.
For example, we admit that the God who we believe is “with us” often seems to be absent, far away from us.
And during Advent, we acknowledge the nearly universal fear that the darkness of sin and evil has overpowered the forces of goodness and light. Finally, at this holy time of year, we give voice to our heartfelt longing for the coming again of the Prince of Peace. He alone can banish hatred and enmity among us, the warring tribes of planet Earth.
And so, we cry: Maranâ thâ’ (Come, Lord Jesus). We cry to him who is the nearness of God, the light that overcomes all darkness, and the Prince of Peace. Come, Lord Jesus, and fill our hearts with confidence, hope and the peace that binds us all together as one family of God.
We believe that Christ is with us—in our prayer, in the sacraments (especially the holy Eucharist), and in our efforts to serve one another and build a better world for all. And yet, we are hesitant and afraid. Will he really come again? And if he comes, what real difference will it make?
Advent is a time of waiting, and most of us lack the patience necessary to “wait in joyful hope.” We think of ourselves as “doers,” not waiters. We are restless, irritable and discontented when we are asked simply to pray and wait. Perhaps this is why we rush to begin the Christmas season. Waiting for the blessed bope, Christ, makes us uncomfortable. We would much rather stop waiting and start celebrating.
Unfortunately, our celebrations are empty and superficial if we don’t prepare for them properly. That’s why the Church asks us to take Advent seriously. We need to acknowledge our deep-seated longing for God, and we must give voice to our anxious fears, before we can truly rejoice in Christ’s coming again.
Christian faith is a profound paradox. We truly believe that Christ has come and that he is with us now. But we feel his absence all around us. We sense that he is missing—in our personal relationships, in our communities, and in the public square. The philosopher who declared “God is dead” was not completely wrong.
Paradoxically, our God is both living and dead, present and absent, in our lives and in our world. We Catholics affirm his real presence in the Eucharist, but we also acknowledge that it too often feels like he is somehow missing from our daily lives.
Advent assures us that the light of Christ will once again shine in our world’s darkness. During this holy season, we proclaim the nearness of God (Emmanuel) and we sing of the coming again of the Prince of Peace in spite of the grim warfare all around us. Advent is a season of hope. It invites us to cast off the doom and gloom of winter and embrace the warmth and sunshine of our Savior.
The Prince of Peace cannot come too soon. Recent years have witnessed civil unrest, antisemitism, rising poverty and homelessness, ugly words and divisiveness among neighbors and fellow citizens, hostility and the ravages of war among nations and peoples.
We long for the Prince of Peace—especially now—because it seems increasingly evident that without divine assistance, peace is impossible.
God alone is capable of uniting his increasingly divided people, and while it is essential that each of us pray for peace and work for peace—in our hearts, our homes and in our world—we cannot do this by ourselves. We can (and must!) be peacemakers, but we cannot hope to accomplish this most urgent and ambitious goal without God’s help.
Maranâ thâ’! We plead for the coming again of the Prince of Peace, and we wait—not always in joyful hope, but with eager expectation that the One we long for will, in fact, come again.
During this time of National Eucharistic Revival, our longing should increase, and deepen, because we are growing in our awareness of and appreciation for the presence of the Prince of Peace in our lives. Each time we receive Christ in the Eucharist, we welcome the nearness of God into our hearts. Each moment we spend adoring the Blessed Sacrament, we acknowledge that his light overcomes all darkness.
Maranâ thâ’! We need you, Prince of Peace, now more than ever!
—Daniel Conway