The Roman Catholic nun Sister Helen Prejean recently wrote in the New York Times about her experience as a spiritual adviser to death row inmates. Sister Prejean is probably best known as the inspiration for the 1995 movie Dead Man Walking.
Sister Prejean noted that on only one occasion has she been allowed in the same room as a criminal in his final hour. She recalls how difficult it was in 1984 when she could not physically lay hands on an inmate as he died. She writes, “I touched him in the only way I could. I told him: ‘Look at my face. I will be the face of Christ, the face of love for you.’”[1]
Sister Prejean writes powerfully of the importance of human touch, noting how intrinsic it is to the Christian tradition. Jesus laid hands on people to heal and took children in his arms. The laying on of hands is used for empowering people, like the earliest apostles, to go forth to proclaim the Gospel.[2] Touch is a vital part of the healing ministry of the Gospel. Touch, in many instances, can show us the face of Christ, just as Sister Prejean has been the face of Christ to condemned inmates. And when physical touch is impossible, it’s still possible to point to the face of love.
Sister Prejean’s ministry testifies to a core truth of our faith, but one which the world so often ignores. It is a truth often ignored even by many who would profess the Christian faith. Perhaps they were never taught this truth, even though it is quite simple. The image of God within each one of us, tarnished though it may be by sin, by heinous sin in the case of some people, is never, ever lost. Sister Prejean sees her mission as manifesting the belief that a criminal “is worth more than that singularly worst act of his [or her] life.” Making this truth known is pointing to the face of love in Christ. The most profound truth of Christ’s life is that we are not defined by our sins but are always worthy of God’s forgiveness.
It is during this season of Advent that we look to the hands of the prophets. As we look back on them, we see them in some mysterious way pointing to the face of love in God and declaring repentance, most especially when we have lost our way. It is so when in Luke chapter three, John the Baptist appears on the scene, pointing the way to Jesus, the face of love revealed in human flesh.
In the Godly Play curriculum that we use in children’s formation each week, we often ask the question, “is there any part of this story that we could leave out and still have the whole story?” If we were to ask ourselves this question about the first six verses of Luke, chapter three, we would have to say an emphatic no.
And yet, it seems that the historical context in which God’s word comes to John, as narrated by Luke, is an excessive elaboration of unnecessary information. Is it really important for us to know that all this occurred in the reign of the Emperor Tiberias, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and Philip and Lysanias were also earthly rulers, and when Anna and Caiaphas were high priests? Surely, we could leave this part of the story out and still have the whole story.
Or can we? This seemingly dry recitation of historical information helps us understand just why the advent of God’s word to John in that particular time and place was so important. It’s into this complicated mess of both earthly and religious power that God’s word comes. His word appears to arrive unbidden, but at the right time and place. And it arrives to the right person, who lifts his hand and points his finger to the face of Christ, for whom he is merely preparing the way. John is pointing to the face of love.
John the Baptist has one mission, and it is to proclaim a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Set in the context of the prophet Isaiah’s words, this is the great leveling of God’s justice. The world’s wrongs will be righted, and the end result is that all flesh—all flesh—shall see the salvation of God.
How different the values of this heavenly kingdom are from the historical kingdom into which it enters! These earthly kingdoms are sorely limited by physical boundaries and geographical space. They are limited by the fallenness of the earthy rulers and religious hierarchy and by the lack of human forgiveness. These earthly kingdoms define themselves through power, by further oppressing the lowly and enslaving those who never even had a real chance to begin with.
Standing in stark relief to such earthly kingdoms is the kingdom of God. With its infinite scope and infinite mercy, it undercuts all limitations of earthly rule and hardness of heart. And at the heart of this kingdom is the forgiveness of sins. It all starts with John’s call to repentance and baptism, and it is the foundation of being baptized into the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
There is one clear message here. It is simple, but few truly understand it. You and I—no one—is defined by our worst sins. No one is unworthy of being forgiven again, and again, and again. It’s not about second or third chances. There’s no rule of three strikes and you’re out. There are infinite opportunities to get it right with God. And each time, God welcomes us as we turn to walk back towards the face of love. But to see that face, we must first turn.
It is the hands of the prophets we now see pointing towards the face of love seen in God’s boundless mercy and compassion. Many years later, there on the cross, crucified between two criminals, Jesus showed it. There as he was spat upon and abused before his death, Jesus showed it. To us, as we confess our sins and turn again and again and again back to him, he shows it. It never goes away. The face of love is always there, even when we fail to see it.
John the Baptist, that fierce prophet of God, straddled the border between earthly condemnation and heavenly forgiveness. He stood in that uneasy place, which eventually led to his own death. He stood there proclaiming, if stridently at times, for people to repent, turn to God, and receive the forgiveness of sins. And this forgiveness was a freedom that earthly authorities could never offer, because control and power can’t offer a gift as free as love. It was up to John to point the way to the face of love in Christ.
I do not need to tell you that we inhabit a culture that has largely forgotten the meaning of forgiveness. We might ask whether many people even know where to find the face of true love. The lonely ministry of Sister Helen Prejean is a testament to this fact. It is not just about criminals on death row. We see it in how we cannot forgive ourselves. We see it in the structures of our society that pressure us to be perfect, to achieve impossible standards, and that demonize people for their worst mistakes. We see it in the recurring violence that can only be explained by lonely souls, sensing they are not loved and acting out in anger. We see it, sometimes even most prominently in the Church herself. If our culture’s behavior is any indication, it’s that we are defined by our sins. There are no second chances. Condemnation is a life sentence, and even making amends will never buy one true freedom.
But it is in the cross that we see this blasphemy shattered. There on the cross, Jesus reveals completely and utterly that at the heart of the salvation he so freely offers us is freedom from all that enslaves us. With God’s forgiveness, we have countless opportunities to be born again into a freed life, recognizing that God’s love is not conditional, like that of the world.
It is now, maybe not more than ever but as much as ever, that the witness of the Church is needed to stand in the breach between earthly vindictiveness and heavenly forgiveness. We find ourselves in a long chain of people, from ancient prophets through John the Baptist and to those in our own day, like Sister Helen Prejean, who feel compelled to point the way to the face of love that God so freely offers. We, too, as disciples oriented towards the face of love can do nothing else.
To those who have never seen true forgiveness, let us point the way to Christ. When we can’t forgive ourselves, let us look to the fingers of others pointing us back to the one whose image we bear. When society tells us not to let go of our grudges and grievances, let us feel the healing touch of Christ, who lightens our burdens by freeing us from all that weighs us down. Each week in the Sacrament of the Mass, we are privileged to gaze upon and take into ourselves the face of love.
This Advent, may we look to the hands among us pointing the way to the face of love. May we let that face of love bore deep into our souls. And may we never lose sight of the heart of our faith, the face of love, that calls us back again and again and again and never lets us go.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Second Sunday of Advent
December 5, 2021
[1] “‘Look at My Face,’ I Told a Man before He Was Executed,” The New York Times, November 9, 2021.