Isaiah 35:1–6a, 10; James 5:7–10; Matthew 11:2–11

This third Sunday of Advent is called Gaudete Sunday, from the Latin Introit for today's Mass from Philippians 4: "Rejoice in the Lord always." The light of Jesus' coming is dawning on us, and so we light a rose colored candle and wear rose colored vestments to celebrate and rejoice in the coming dawn. Some ministers will rejoice a bit less if you tease them about wearing pink today, so for the record, I will remind you that we are wearing rose colored garments.

So my question to you today is for what are we waiting?

Advent is about anticipation. We are in waiting for the coming of Jesus, not once but twice. First, we await His coming in human history, in the Incarnation. Second, we await His final coming at the final judgment.

The primary posts for this trip are here and here. This one I wanted to address separately.

When my friend Teri mentioned that Dachau was close to Munich, I was hesitant to commit to visiting. I had one day in Stuttgart and one day in Munich for sight seeing, and I didn't know if I wanted to give up a good part of that time.

But you simply have to go to places like Gettysburg, or Yad Vashem, or Dachau. Our shared humanity obligates us to do so.

Week 1 of my European tour is recounted here. Week 2 would include the CMS/DITA Europe conference, where I gave a presentation with a colleague and exhibited for my employer(s), Vasont Systems and Transperfect.

After spending my only free day traipsing around Stuttgart, I hopped on an ICE Train and headed to Munich. (ICE stands for intercity express.)

The ride was interesting.

I've just returned from a ten-day business trip for a couple of conferences in Germany. The first was TCWorld Stuttgart 2016, a conference hosted by Tekom, a European technical communications conference and "fair" (what we typically call here an exhibit). This was my first long-awaited trip to Germany.

I landed in Frankfort and took the ICE Train to Stuttgart, then took a taxi to the hotel location (a business park way out by the airport).

Samuel 5:1–3; Colossians 1:12–20; Luke 23:35–43

Today is the last Sunday of Ordinary time—Christ the King Sunday. I think it couldn't have come at a better time—a little reminder for us that, regardless of who sits in the White House, regardless of how bleak the world may look at one time or another, Christ is still Lord and King. I rest better knowing that.

Ephesians 3:2–12; Luke 12: 39–48

The readings today concern stewardship: the guarding of treasures put into our possession for their safekeeping, or the authority entrusted to us for the benefit of others. And this is a message we so badly need to hear.

2 Kings 5:14–17; 2 Timothy 2:8–13; Luke 17:11–19

My dentist is one of our parishioners here: Dr. Scott Morrell. He takes very good care of me and hires top-notch hygienists. I'm one of those lucky few who have excellent dental health, so I only have to go in once a year for a cleaning. What that means is that even though my teeth are in great shape, I always have that tartar that has to be chipped away, and that's rarely any fun.

Job 9:1–12, 14–16; Luke 9:57–62

Why do bad things happen to good people? That question seems to be at the forefront of Job's story. There's a whole branch of theology that we refer to as theodicy dedicated to this question and the question of God's divine attributes. Job seems to be an early student of this mystery.

Job's story is one that doesn't really fit with the rest of the Hebrew canon. And that makes sense because it's not originally a Hebrew story.

I've had an interesting week. I've been praying for discernment for direction in my vocation for a number of months now, and this week has brought a number of changes and new assignments that will really give me an opportunity to see if what I think I want is really what I want or what would be good for me.

We have an interesting, if not particularly uplifting, selection for our readings today. It's actually rather fitting to have these reminders of the final temporal end of human life given that we have just officially passed into autumn. If you've ever read Moby Dick, you might recall the narrator, Ishmael, reflecting on "the damp, drizzly November in my soul." And we've had just a little of that dampness and drizzle as autumn officially begins.
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