December 8th, 2024
This year, I’ve been listening to the Bible in a Year podcast with Fr. Mike Schmitz—I know, I’m three years late to this party—and have been really loving going deeper into Scripture. However, some of the Bible passages I’ve found the most difficult are the ones with a lot of names. You know the ones: Matthew 1, which lists the genealogy of Jesus; the Book of Numbers, which records the census of the Israelites after two years wandering in the desert; the First Book of Chronicles, which dedicates the first nine chapters to listing out all the families of the nation of Israel—just to name a few.
Even with Fr. Mike’s explanations, I find it hard to get through these passages. Aside from a few main characters like Abraham, Moses, and Joshua, these names mean very little to me as a 21st-century Catholic reader. However, one thought that has kept me going is, “At one point, these names were really important to a whole lot of people.”
Today’s Gospel is another passage that starts off with a bunch of names. Aside from a few characters that will show up later in the Gospel narrative, the memory of these men has been lost to common knowledge. And then we get to John the Baptist.
Isn’t it interesting that the star of today’s Gospel is not one of the most politically or socially important men in their time, but a lone wanderer in a hairshirt? How radical is it that the names of the powerful and wealthy are barely recognizable to those who are not Biblical scholars or ancient historians, but there are majestic cathedrals throughout the world named after a man who only had honey and bugs to eat?
What’s so shocking about the Christmas narrative—and the overall biblical saga—is how consistently God chooses the weak, the foolish, the poor, the unimportant, and the overlooked to fulfill His plan of salvation. He didn’t choose a wealthy, politically important family that could provide baby Jesus with everything he needed and more; He chose an unmarried virgin from Nowheresville and her working-class fiancé. The angel didn’t announce the birth of Jesus to the top communicators of the empire but to lowly shepherds keeping the night watch. The star didn’t appear to the Jewish rulers, but to three wise men from a different country altogether.
As artists, we can be tempted to measure our success by how much recognition we’re receiving in the present. We think that God can’t use us until we see our pieces in a gallery or hit a million followers or get that big contract. However, our call as artists is not to be successful, it’s to be faithful. If success comes, it has very little to do with our talent or hard work—though those things are important. It is our response to the call of God upon our lives which makes the difference.
You may feel like a lonely voice crying out in the desert as you try to create art in a noisy, chaotic world. But the God who spoke to Elijah as the still, small voice (1 Kings 19:12) can use your little voice, too. And you, using your voice and your art, when consecrated to God, have the power to draw others to Him.
Vicky Wolak Freeman is a writer and copy editor based in Atlanta and the communications manager of the Catholic Artist Connection. You can find out more about her here.