Homily Bar 5: 1-9 Ps 126: 1-2, 2-3, 4-5, 6 2nd Sunday of Advent – C Phil 1: 4-6, 8-11 Rev. Peter G. Jankowski Lk 3: 1-6 December 8-9, 2018

The story I am about to share with you is entitled, The Cellist of

Sarajevo and was written by Paul Sullivan for a periodical called Hope

Magazine. This is the story…

As a , I was invited to perform with cellist Eugene Friesen at the International Cello Festival in , . Every two years a group of the world’s greatest cellists and others devoted to that unassuming instrument – bow makers, collectors, historians – gather for a week of workshops, master classes, seminars, recitals and parties. Each evening the six hundred or so participants assemble for a concert.

The opening-night performance at the Royal Northern College of Music consisted of works for unaccompanied cello. There on the stage in the magnificent concert hall was a solitary chair. No piano, no music stand, no conductor’s podium. This was to be cello music in its purest, most intense form. The atmosphere was supercharged with anticipation and concentration.

The world-famous cellist Yo-Yo Ma was one of the performers that April night in 1994, and there was a moving story behind the musical composition he would play:

On May 27, 1992, in , one of the few bakeries that still had a supply of flour was making and distributing bread to the starving, war-shattered people. At 4:00 p.m. a long line stretched into the street. Suddenly, a mortar shell fell directly into the middle of the

line, killing twenty-two people and splattering flesh, blood, bone and rubble.

Not far away lived a 35-year-old musician named Vedran Smailovic.

Before the war he had been a cellist with the Sarajevo Opera, a distinguished career to which he patiently longed to return. But when he saw the carnage from the massacre outside his window, he was pushed past his capacity to absorb and endure any more. Anguished, he resolved to do the thing he did best make music – public music, daring music, music on a battlefield.

For each of the next twenty-two days, at 4:00 p.m., Smailovic put on his full, formal concert attire, took up his cello and walked out of his apartment into the midst of the battle raging around him. Placing a plastic chair beside the crater that the shell had made, he played in memory of the dead Albinoni’s Adagio in G minor, one of the most mournful and haunting pieces in the classical repertoire. He played to the abandoned streets, smashed trucks and burning buildings, and to the terrified people who hid in the cellars while the bombs dropped and bullets flew. With masonry exploding around him, he made his unimaginably courageous stand for human dignity, for those lost to war, for civilization, for compassion and for peace. Though the shellings went on, he was never hurt.

After newspapers picked up the story of this extraordinary man, an English composer, David Wilde, was so moved that he, too, decided to make music. He wrote a composition for unaccompanied cello, “The Cellist of Sarajevo,” into which he poured his own feelings of outrage, love and brotherhood with Vedran Smailovic.

It was “The Cellist of Sarajevo” that Yo-Yo Ma was to play that evening.

Rev. Peter G. Jankowski Page 2 2nd Sunday of Advent – B December 8-9, 2018 Ma came out on stage, bowed to the audience and sat down quietly on the chair. The music began, stealing out into the hushed hall and creating a shadowy, empty universe, ominous and haunting. Slowly it grew into an agonized, screaming, slashing furor, gripping us all before subsiding at last into a hollow death rattle and, finally, back to silence.

When he had finished, Ma remained bent over his cello, his bow resting on the strings. No one in the hall moved or made a sound for a long time. It was as though we had just witnessed that horrifying massacre ourselves.

Finally, Ma looked out across the audience and stretched out his hand, beckoning someone to come to the stage. An indescribable electric shock swept over us as we realized who it was: Vedran Smailovic, the cellist of Sarajevo!

Smailovic rose from his seat and walked down the aisle as Ma left the stage to meet him. They flung their arms around each other in an exuberant embrace. Everyone in the hall erupted in a chaotic, emotional frenzy-clapping, shouting and cheering.

And in the center of it all stood these two men, hugging and crying unashamedly. Yo-Yo Ma, a suave, elegant prince of , flawless in appearance and performance; and Vedran Smailovic, dressed in a stained and tattered leather motorcycle suit. His wild long hair and huge mustache framed a face that looked old beyond his years, soaked with tears and creased with pain.

As a side note… in the Chicagoland Area, Yo Yo Ma has served as a role- model for disadvantaged youth, attending fundraising concerts and promoting

Rev. Peter G. Jankowski Page 3 2nd Sunday of Advent – B December 8-9, 2018 the arts in low-income neighborhoods, all for the sake of helping the impoverished youth and providing hope and peace for those who seek it.

As I reflected on the scripture readings and themes for this week’s

Second Sunday of the Advent Season, I came across this story I once read about the Cellist of Sarajevo and the means by which Vedran

Smailovic communicated the sadness and agony of the war set upon the citizens of Bosnia and Herzegovina. I was thinking about this story because Mr. Smailovic, even in the throes of war, attempted to illuminate a glimmer of hope and peace in a war-torn country through a simple piece of classical music. In his own way, Smailovic attempted to shed light during a great moment of darkness in southeastern region of

Europe.

In light of today’s readings, I envisioned Smailovic as some type of messenger of hope and peace at a time when the citizens of Sarajevo looked for hope and peace. Smailovic was not hope and peace itself, but a messenger that communicated that hope and peace was not impossible, that the vision of the future promised something greater

Rev. Peter G. Jankowski Page 4 2nd Sunday of Advent – B December 8-9, 2018 than the people could grasp at the moment. For twenty-two days,

Smailovic preached the gift of hope and peace in a war-torn nation through his gift of music. It is Vedran Smailovic who became a messenger of hope and peace in the for the 20th Century citizens of

Bosnia and Herzegovina for what was yet to come.

In today’s scripture readings, we encounter the same message of hope and peace during the people’s time of darkness. The first reading today comes from the prophet Baruch, a text that we encounter during our three-year liturgical cycle only twice – once every three years on the

Second Sunday of Advent and every year at our Easter Vigil. The text from Baruch most likely was written during the faithful people’s exile from Jerusalem during a time of agony in the area of Babylon, an agony similar to that experienced by those in the story I shared today. Baruch’s message from today’s first reading holds a similar theme to today’s story: that God will lead the people from their misery into the Promised

Land.

Rev. Peter G. Jankowski Page 5 2nd Sunday of Advent – B December 8-9, 2018 As I reflected on the readings for today’s Mass, I was thinking about

St. John the Baptist, who is the one of the main subjects of our Second

Sunday of Advent each year. St. John is considered the last great prophet of the scriptures prior to the coming of the infinitely greater priest, prophet and king, the one who specifically points to Jesus as the

Savior who will redeem God’s chosen people. Only in Luke’s gospel will we read about the birth of John the Baptist and the impact this birth made on his parents Elizabeth and Zechariah. His birth inspired a canticle by his father that is prayed at every Catholic morning prayer throughout the world by the holy priests and religious who pray it.

It is St. John the Baptist who echoes the sentiments of today’s first reading from Baruch, who points to a sign of hope and peace during a great darkness in the world of faith, a sign of hope and peace that would shine the light of the sun into the throes of the night. It is St. John the

Baptist who became a messenger of hope and peace in the 1st Century for what was yet to come.

Rev. Peter G. Jankowski Page 6 2nd Sunday of Advent – B December 8-9, 2018 I was also thinking about a model of this Christian virtue, a man named St. Nicholas of Myra, who, because of his generosity to the poor and neglected, became a model of charity throughout the world. It was through the stories passed on by St. Methodius to the Dutch Catholics of the 9th Century that the legacy of this Dutch Sinterklaas evolved into the

Santa Claus tradition of today, a tradition that we renew each sixth of

December and on the Feast of our Lord’s Incarnation on December 25th.

Today, St. Nicholas is considered the patron saint of gift givers. And on December 6th, the feast day of this saint, tradition speculates that this

Sinterklaas fellow leaves gifts in the shoes of the good Dutch boys and girls as a reward for their goodness over the year gone past. It is St.

Nicholas who became a messenger of hope and peace for the 4th Century people of Asia Minor, for the Dutch people of successive generations and for all of us sitting in these pews today.

As I reflected on the readings for today’s Mass, I came upon the image of the Blessed Mother in my prayers. This weekend, we celebrated the feast of the Immaculate Conception, which, paralleled

Rev. Peter G. Jankowski Page 7 2nd Sunday of Advent – B December 8-9, 2018 with her Assumption body and soul into heaven, constitute the two major infallible statements that our Holy Fathers have pronounced in the last 160 years (the Immaculate Conception in 1854; the Assumption in 1950). This Wednesday, our Church celebrates the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the Patroness of the Americas, the mother of us all, and the Mother of God who holds the distinction of serving as the first tabernacle of the New Testament.

We see this same example from the prophets of the Old Testament, our Blessed Mother, St. John the Baptist, St. Nicholas, St. Methodius… and all of you. This year, the Season of Advent runs for just over twenty-two days, offering the same kind of war-torn hope and peace for a universal Church that the Celloist of Sarajevo offered to a very small part of it. I thought it appropriate to end today’s homily with a prayer of peace I was asked to offer this weekend as part of Tezak Funeral Home’s

Advent and Christmas Service of Remembrance over which I was asked to attend, a prayer that very much fits the theme of today’s liturgy, a precursor to the Season of Christmas and the coming of The Prince of

Rev. Peter G. Jankowski Page 8 2nd Sunday of Advent – B December 8-9, 2018 Peace and a good theme to carry with us in everything we do, all the days of our life. The prayer was first offered by the Congregation of the

Most Holy Redeemer and I adapted it slightly for the service I attended yesterday…

I have come to bring you peace. Not the peace of the season, for it is too fleeting, Not the peace of the carol, for it is nostalgic, Not the peace of the greeting card, for it is too slick, Not the peace of the crib, for it is too wistful.

Rather, I have come to bring you peace, Peace of the ordinary, the daily, the homely, Peace for the worker, the driver, the student, Peace in the office, the kitchen, the farm Peace for those who have lost and for those who seek comfort.

I have come to bring you peace, The peace of accepting yourself as I fashioned you. The peace of knowing yourself as I know you, The peace of loving yourself as I love you, The peace of being yourself as I am who I am.

Rev. Peter G. Jankowski Page 9 2nd Sunday of Advent – B December 8-9, 2018 I have come to bring you peace, The peace that warms you at the completion of a task, The peace that invades you at the close of the day, The peace that sustains you at the beginning of the day, The peace that reinforces you when you are reconciled with one another. The peace that touches you when your family is in order.

Without peace, my coming is unfulfilled. Without peace, my birth is forgettable. Without peace, Christmas is a contradiction. I have come to bring you peace. Amen.

This is our prayer.

Rev. Peter G. Jankowski Page 10 2nd Sunday of Advent – B December 8-9, 2018 Como pianista, me invitaron a tocar con el violonchelista Eugene Friesen en el Festival Internacional del violoncelo en Manchester, Inglaterra. Cada dos años, un grupo de los mejores violonchelistas del mundo y otros dedicados a ese instrumento sin pretensiones (creadores de arco, coleccionistas, historiadores) se reúnen durante una semana en talleres, clases magistrales, seminarios, recitales y fiestas. Cada noche, los más o menos 600 participantes se reúnen para un concierto.

La presentación de la noche de apertura en el Colegio Royal de Música consistió en obras para violonchelo no acompañado. Allí, en el escenario de la magnífica sala de conciertos, había una silla solitaria. Sin piano, sin atril, sin podio de directores. Esta debía ser la música de violonchelo en su forma más pura e intensa. El ambiente estaba sobrecargado de anticipación y concentración.

El violonchelista de fama mundial Yo-Yo Ma fue uno de los artistas de esa noche de abril de 1994, y había una historia conmovedora detrás de la composición musical que interpretaría:

El 27 de mayo de 1992, en Sarajevo, una de las pocas panaderías que todavía tenía un suministro de harina estaba haciendo y distribuyendo pan a las personas hambrientas y destrozadas por la guerra. A las 4 pm. Una larga fila se extendía hacia la calle. De repente, un proyectil de mortero cayó directamente en el centro de la línea, matando a 22 personas y salpicando carne, sangre, huesos y escombros.

No muy lejos vivía un músico de 35 años llamado Vedran Smailovic.

Antes de la guerra había sido violonchelista en la Ópera de Sarajevo, una carrera distinguida a la que ansiaba pacientemente regresar. Pero cuando vio la carnicería de la masacre fuera de su ventana, fue empujado más allá de su capacidad para absorber y soportar más. Angustiado, resolvió hacer lo que mejor hacía música: música pública, música audaz, música en el campo de batalla.

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Para cada uno de los próximos 22 días, a las 4 p.m., Smailovic se puso su atuendo formal y formal para el concierto, tomó su violonchelo y salió de su apartamento en medio de la batalla que se libraba a su alrededor. Colocando una silla de plástico al lado del cráter que había hecho el caparazón, jugó en memoria del Adagio en Sol menor de Albinoni muerto, una de las piezas más tristes e inquietantes del repertorio clásico. Jugó a las calles abandonadas, a los camiones destrozados y a los edificios en llamas, ya las personas aterrorizadas que se escondieron en los sótanos mientras caían las bombas y volaban las balas. Con la mampostería explotando a su alrededor, hizo su inimaginable valiente defensa por la dignidad humana, por los perdidos en la guerra, por la civilización, por la compasión y por la paz. Aunque los bombardeos continuaron, nunca fue herido.

Después de que los periódicos recogieron la historia de este hombre extraordinario, un compositor inglés, David Wilde, se conmovió tanto que él también decidió hacer música. Escribió una composición para violonchelo no acompañado, “El violoncelista de Sarajevo”, en la que vertió sus propios sentimientos de indignación, amor y hermandad con Vedran Smailovic.

Fue “Ela Violoncelista de Sarajevo” que Yo-Yo Ma tocaría esa noche.

Ma salió al escenario, se inclinó ante el público y se sentó tranquilamente en la silla. La música comenzó, se adueñó de la sala silenciosa y creó un universo sombrío y vacío, inquietante e inquietante. Poco a poco, se convirtió en un furor agonizante, chirriante, cortante, que nos aferraba a todos antes de hundirnos finalmente en un estertor de muerte y, finalmente, volver al silencio.

Rev. Peter G. Jankowski Page 12 2nd Sunday of Advent – B December 8-9, 2018 Cuando terminó, Ma permaneció inclinada sobre su violonchelo, con el arco apoyado en las cuerdas. Nadie en el pasillo se movió o hizo un sonido durante mucho tiempo. Era como si hubiéramos presenciado esa horrible masacre.

Finalmente, Ma miró a la audiencia y extendió la mano, haciendo señas a alguien para que subiera al escenario. Una indescriptible descarga eléctrica nos invadió cuando nos dimos cuenta de quién era: ¡Vedran Smailovic, el violoncelista de Sarajevo!

Smailovic se levantó de su asiento y caminó por el pasillo cuando Ma salió del escenario para encontrarse con él. Se lanzaron sus brazos uno alrededor del otro en un exuberante abrazo. Todos en el pasillo estallaron en un caos, frenesí emocional, aplausos, gritos y vítores.

Y en el centro de todo estaban estos dos hombres, abrazándose y llorando sin vergüenza. Yo-Yo Ma, un príncipe suave y elegante de la música clásica, impecable en apariencia y rendimiento; y Vedran Smailovic, vestido con un traje de moto de cuero manchado y hecho jirones. Su cabello largo y salvaje y su enorme bigote enmarcaban un rostro que parecía más viejo que él, empapado de lágrimas y arrugado por el dolor.

Rev. Peter G. Jankowski Page 13 2nd Sunday of Advent – B December 8-9, 2018 He venido a traerte la paz. No es la paz de la temporada, porque es demasiado fugaz, No es la paz del villancico, porque es nostálgica, No es la paz de la tarjeta de felicitación, ya que es demasiado resbaladiza, No la paz de la cuna, porque es demasiado melancólica.

Más bien, he venido a traerles paz, La paz de lo ordinario, lo cotidiano, lo hogareño, Paz para el trabajador, el conductor, el estudiante, La paz en la oficina, la cocina, la granja. Paz para los que han perdido y para los que buscan consuelo.

He venido a traerte paz. La paz de aceptarte como te formé. La paz de conocerte a ti mismo como te conozco. La paz de amarte a ti mismo como te amo, La paz de ser tú mismo como soy quien soy.

He venido a traerte paz. La paz que te calienta al completar una tarea, La paz que te invade al final del día, La paz que te sostiene al comienzo del día, La paz que te refuerza cuando Se reconcilian unos con otros. La paz que te toca cuando tu familia está en orden.

Sin paz, mi venida no se cumple. Sin paz, mi nacimiento es olvidable. Sin paz, la navidad es una contradicción. He venido a traerte la paz. Amén.

Esta es nuestra oración.

Rev. Peter G. Jankowski Page 14 2nd Sunday of Advent – B December 8-9, 2018