By Fr. Glenn Jones:

Last weekend Bashar al-Assad’s regime in Syria fell to what have been reported to be U.S.-backed rebels. Subsequent videos coming from the area allegedly show atrocities occurring, including persecution of a large Christian population existing in Syria. We’ll have to see what the future brings. It will be especially trying for the Christians suffering so especially now that the Christmas season is fast approaching.

There were also videos supposedly displaying Assad’s “garage”—several tens of vehicles at least: Rolls Royces, Lamberghinis, Corvettes, Ferraris, Cadillacs, RVs, Porsches, etc.—the usual excesses of dictators while their people may suffer. We who are older remember that when Philippine ruler and kleptocrat Ferdinand Marcos was overthrown in 1986 his wife Imelda was found to have up to 3,000 pairs of shoes, not to mention other vast hoards of clothing. As the old adage was mentioned here last week: Power corrupts, and absolute power absolutely.

Yet, as the Bible warns: “All streams run to the sea, but the sea is not full … The eye is not filled with seeing, nor the ear with hearing.” (Ecclesiastes 1:7-8). We always desire more. Never content, we acquire, we upgrade, we remodel … always something else. Always more.

Ever wonder why we always feel like there is “something more”… why we are always restless and never completely satisfied? Well … that’s because there IS “something more”—that which fulfills completely. But the problem is: it’s not in material things or anything we’ll find here on earth. When rich, we still want what we don’t have. When in love, we are wary lest someone more appealing to our beloved comes along and supplants us … or maybe we find someone who appeals more. So, in what can we find contentment? Where can we find our true rest?

As we come to the latter part of Advent and the (rapid!) approach of Christmas, we often hear in Catholic Mass Gospel readings of John the Baptist. John was from the priestly caste and so would have been able to live a nice comfy life near Jerusalem performing regular religious duties like his father Zechariah. But rather than accept that life of relative ease and security, out of his ardor of faith he went to the desert to call people to repentance and conversion, “clothed in camel’s hair and living on locusts and honey” (hmmm … yum, yum!). John forsook the easier, simpler life for a parallel but greater purpose: to call people to live worthily as true followers of the God of Israel.

You can’t but admire John’s humility and clarity of vision. Though people were coming to him from the whole country, he refused honors and power for himself. Rather, he said of Jesus, his kinsman: “I am not the Messiah … He who has the bride is the bridegroom. The friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice. For this reason my joy has been fulfilled. He must increase, but I must decrease.” (John 29-30)

John found his own spiritual contentment not in worldly things, but in living a righteous life, teaching others the way of truth. His personal contentment and dedication was such that he did not flinch from even risking (and eventually suffering) death in chastising King Herod because of Herod’s spiritual crime of incestuous adultery.

So, what do we learn from John the Baptist? We see a man wholly invested in living rightly, regardless of poverty, criticism, or earthly judgment. We experience that as we age, times and events in which we have lapsed in goodness and righteousness—in holiness—tend to increasingly nag our conscience—a prickling by design so that the angst of such memories will hopefully dissuade us from doing likewise again.

But we have a safety valve to keep us from spiraling toward neurotic obsession with life’s failures: confession. Even when people came to John, we read: “… they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.” (Matthew 3:6) A similar modern and poignant scene in the movie “Deep Impact” is when Téa Leoni’s character, with certain death just moments away as the asteroid is about to hit, confesses to her father: “When I was eleven I took thirty-two dollars from your wallet,” and he responds: “When you were a baby I once dropped you on your head.” That urge to unburden ourselves, even of relatively trivial faults and failures, is ingrained in us.

We priests and ministers see such longing to unburden the self often, especially when someone realizes that death’s hand is really closing—this longing to unburden the self. In the Catholic Church—following the risen Jesus’ promise to His apostles, the early Church—of “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained” (John 20:23), we have confession, or more properly called the sacrament of reconciliation (with God and the Church). Jesus knew of what and how we are made, and thus gives His disciples His own divine assurance of forgiveness (and relief!) when we “come clean”… cleanse our conscience and our souls.

Naturally, it’s best to not fall into fault at all! But even the best of us can—and likely will—lapse from time to time. But we’ll not find contentment in possessions or pride, but in that inner peace of sincerely living a life of righteousness and charity.

So rather than futilely wishing for a time machine to correct past sins, let us persevere determinedly in seeking the good always, redoubling our conviction during Christmas to develop habits of charity and doing the right in all times and circumstances. For, as Jesus promises: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” (Matthew 11:28-29)

Editor’s note: Rev. Glenn Jones is the Vicar General of the Archdiocese of Santa Fe and former pastor of Immaculate Heart of Mary Catholic Church in Los Alamos.