For a number of years, on the day after Thanksgiving, I've had the tradition of gathering together with my brother priests for a nice meal and some time together. So last Friday, the day after Thanksgiving this year, a number of us went out for a succulent Chinese meal, and then to a concert at Severance Hall. The Cleveland Orchestra played a number of pieces from American composers Aaron Copeland, Duke Ellington, and George Gershwin. The highlight of the concert for me was certainly Gershwin’s famous “Rhapsody in Blue”.
You may be familiar with this piece as it’s been played in United Airlines commercials since the 1980s. It also began Woody Allen’s famous movie, Manhattan.
Rhapsody in Blue begins with a lone clarinet, a glissando over two and a half octaves from a rich low g at the bottom of the clarinet’s range to high soaring c. The opening phrase is among the most iconic in all of American concert music and encapsulates the entire spirit of the work: it is simultaneously playful yet ambitious, simple yet sophisticated, and undeniably modern.
In this one opening phrase Gershwin declares the piece’s departure from the staid expectations of European classical music. Instead, it offers a distinctly American voice—one reflective of the thriving jazz clubs of Harlem, the gritty energy of Manhattan, and the confident optimism of a country forging a new cultural identity in the early twentieth century.
Consider that lone clarinet—its single, pure tone emerges out of the silence, then stretches and bends upward in a way that was new, surprising, and full of possibility. It captures not only Gershwin’s vision of a fresh, uniquely American sound, but also something that touches upon our religious experience: the way that God uses prophetic voices, often standing alone, apart from the rest of the noise, to announce something new, transformative, and deeply vital.
In today’s Gospel, we encounter the lone voice of John the Baptist. Like the clarinet in “Rhapsody in Blue,” John stands at the edge of the old and the new, bridging the silence of centuries with a resonant cry that invites humanity into something greater than we’ve ever known.
John, out in the desert, echoes a familiar theme of the prophets: repentance. Throughout Israel’s history, the call to turn back to God was a constant theme. Repent, turn away from your sinful ways back to God, back to the path of holiness. The prophetic call rouses God’s people out of spiritual slumber to a new reinvigorated and renewed life of faith. And thankfully, God sends us prophets, because he knows how easy it is to fall asleep.
But John’s preaching bridges the old and the new, announcing that God is about to burst onto the scene in a new and unexpected way in the coming of Christ—the in-breaking of the Son of God into human history.
Again, I think of what Gershwin was doing with that clarinet. The clarinet in Gershwin’s piece doesn’t apologize for its boldness; it’s unabashedly confident, and in a sense it’s almost a referendum on the past. With that clarinet, Gershwin is saying that he’s not just going to write music in the same way as Europe has always done it.
Similarly, John the Baptist arrives on the scene and begins boldly proclaiming that God is about to do something new. And he sort of sets the stage for a key theme in the preaching and teaching and miracles of Our Lord himself. Throughout the Gospels, Jesus often breaks with certain conventions, not because he is some hippy radical who just wants to tear down the old, but because he wants to usher in something profoundly holy, so all people, of all places, and all times may encounter God.
But we must be willing to change, to leave behind those ideas, behaviors, and attitudes that hinder us from growing in our relationship with God. The Lord is constantly condemning the Pharisees in the Gospel due to their unwillingness to set aside their way of doing things. But the old must give way to the new, and the world must give way to heaven, the flesh must give way to the Spirit.
Like John, like our Lord, the Christian is often required to do things differently than the rest of the world. Like I said last week, we must prepare for Christmas not simply in the way the world teaches us to do so, but according to divine wisdom, the wisdom of the saints, the wisdom of the Word of God.
Like Gershwin’s clarinet, like John’s voice in the wilderness, the Christian vocation is to rise above the noise of our world and give witness to something greater, something that transforms lives: the truth of God’s love.
But also, like Gershwin’s clarinet invites the audience to lean in and listen more closely, Christians are to live our faith in such a way that others are drawn to its beauty and vitality. Sometimes this means speaking a challenging word, calling out injustices and sins in our lives and our communities. Sometimes it means daring to be hopeful in the midst of cynicism, to be loving in the midst of hate, to be joyful even as the world groans. Sometimes it means reaching out to someone the rest of society treats as unlovable, untouchable, with gentleness, compassion, and genuine aid.
We, who are preparing for the Lord’s coming, have such a privileged vocation—announcing that Christ is near, that mercy and forgiveness are possible, and that God offers us an opportunity to live a new life—one shaped by God’s grace.
Again, I invite you, to really get into the Advent spirit, we need to be attentive to the Word of God. Don’t let a day go by without spending time with the scriptures, particularly the Advent scriptures. If you want the music of God to resonate in your life, if you want your life to be guided by his wisdom, if you want your life to be filled with God’s gifts, you must open yourself and attune yourself every day through scripture, through prayer, through good works, and repentance, sincere repentance.
Make a good Sacramental Confession this Advent, to identify and amend the dissonant notes, the willfulness that so often disrupts the flow of God’s grace.
As we repent and prepare, may our hearts become tuned to the key of divine love, so that the world may hear in us a beautiful, unmistakable invitation: The Lord is coming. Let us make ready our hearts and sing His praise, for the glory of God and the salvation of souls.
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