Living Catholic with Father Don Wolf

Revelation, Charity, and the Work of Waiting | November 30, 2025

• Archdiocese of Oklahoma City

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Advent begins where few expect it: not with soft lights and carols, but with an unveiling. In this episode, we open the new liturgical year by facing the word apocalypse in its original sense—revelation—and asking what it discloses about our time, our communities, and our hearts. From a journalist who tried to expose church hypocrisy and instead found ordinary generosity, to a parish in Soweto that read Revelation while apartheid pressed hard on their doors, we trace how faith shows up when the world feels like it’s unraveling.

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Father Don Wolf is a priest of the Archdiocese of Oklahoma City. Living Catholic also broadcasts on Oklahoma Catholic Radio several times per week, with new episodes airing every Sunday.

SPEAKER_01:

This is Living Catholic with Father Don Wolf. This show deals with living the Catholic faith in our times, discovering God's presence in our lives, and finding hope in his word. And now your host, Father Don Wolf.

SPEAKER_00:

Welcome, Oklahoma. This is Father Don Wolfe, pastor of the Sacred Heart Parish and rector of the shrine of Blessed Stanley Rother. We stand now here at the beginning of our liturgical year. Advent is, as we begin this weekend, and we put in motion our preparations for Christmas and the celebrations of the coming of Jesus. It's an odd time, especially because the rest of the world isn't thinking about a new year yet. But it is focused on getting the most out of this one. Not only that, we're not famously good at waiting. Our society likes to get where we're going quickly. All the buildup and appreciation of what Christmas is for is mostly wasted in the hullabaloo of our December. Making room for the Savior in our hearts is unfashionable. It's an odd time of the year. As I was thinking about this weekend, I was going to begin with a reflection on the Sunday readings for Advent and how they oddly begin, not with the promises of the coming of the Savior, but with the apocalypse. But the more time I spent thinking about the end of the world, the more I was bothered by a bit of what I saw in the news. I think it contains an interesting reflection all its own and encapsulates the message of the end of things. So I'll get to how we become ready for the coming of Christ in our time, but I'll make a bit of a detour first. What I read was an article about a journalist who decided to find out if churches would really help her if she called to let them know she was in trouble. Her calls were ruses, she was not starving, she'd not lost her food stamps, and she didn't have a baby to feed or rent to pay or repairs to make. She just wanted to see what the great houses of faith would do when faced with the chance to help someone disenfranchised and forgotten. She spread out all over the place, large cities, famous churches, small towns, little chapels, and she included all the trappings to make her pleas sound truly desperate. She had the recording of a baby in the background when she called, or the sounds of a landlord yelling, or whatever she thought would be most convincing. Having set her mind to it, she began calling, and what she found surprised her. Operating from the conviction that all places of worship are phony and filled with hypocrites, she found out that most of the time people really did try to help. Although there were plenty of places that didn't do anything, and a number of churches that pushed her off to the programs and services of the state or the city, she did find help from most places. Huh. Who knew? Christians came through to help her amid her troubles, and most did it without asking too many questions or being too strict about the circumstances. In truth, according to her article, she didn't know what to do with that information. The conclusion was too tame to interest anyone. Christians help people, not exactly new news, and the process turned out to be too manipulative to gain much sympathy. Perhaps the story should have been about modern journalism rather than contemporary parish life. And who knows, she may have called here the sacred heart. In a big city parish, what you can expect is uncertain, in truth, much more so than in a small place. Because here in the city there are so many resources and so many opportunities. Some of the most emphatic services that we can offer is to let people know what other number to call and which place to go to get what they're looking for. It isn't very satisfying telling people where they can go and stand in line for a free meal or which agency will help them with their electric bill or who's got baby formula to give away. But churches are part of the network of caring. We're involved in helping match people with the resources available, and we mostly try to be present to those who fall between the cracks and who can't get what they need otherwise. Outside of the big cities, churches are often the most straightforward and the most generous places for support. In several of the places I have been pastor, especially in Duncan and Enid and Shawnee, the parishes there were the center for much of the support available for those in need. In Duncan and Enid, there were very intricate and comprehensive groups and organizations for meeting the needs of those who were hungry and needed help. For this journalist, it was an apocalyptic moment. What she had never expected, the truth that had been hidden from her, was revealed. It caused her to stop and reassess what she thought she knew and the quality of her opinion about those who professed to believe. Turns out, Christians are mostly ready to help and mostly are disposed to do what they can to make things better. Of course, there was a measure of embarrassment for those who didn't help. She was quick to point out that some of the largest churches she called didn't do anything. They told her outright they weren't going to help at all. I'm not surprised by that. Equipping yourself to be a vehicle for charity isn't easy. Plus, you have to deal with people who lie to you all the time, sometimes in intricate and embarrassing ways. Most every parish would rather be on the side of those who helped rather than among those who didn't, even if by helping her they were exposing themselves to her grift and dishonesty. Well, life is never easy, and it's never not complicated. The truth of the apocalypse is that it happens in our world. Constantly we're challenged to see what's falling apart, and then we're being asked to find out what we can do and what we can put together from what's left. In our culture of broken homes and broken hearts, we are now more than ever trying to find where we can become a place of refuge and hope when the easy arrangements of common understanding and the firm structures of life tumble down. We live amid the apocalypse. Now the word means unveiling. It's often translated as revealing, which is how that book of the Bible is called revelation. This last book of the scriptures reveal what happens at the end of things. It concludes the written story of God's work in the world, pulling the curtain back and showing how things fall apart. In the middle of the great collapse, we see how God will triumph. It's a work of literature filled with symbols and codes and secrets, and no one has figured out exactly what it's all supposed to mean or exactly how we fit in. Suffice it to say it purports to tell us the real truth about how the world is, which is why it's called revelation. This last book in the Bible details how God's initiative is resisted by the world. The cultural theorist Rene Girard pointed out that Christianity is the only great religion predicting its own failure. We wrestle with the symbols and the descriptions of what's supposed to happen with stories of wars and defeats and conquests and death and destruction. And amid these climactic moments, the work of God becomes clear. We begin to understand how God is at work even as the pillars of the earth are shaken and the stars overhead begin to tumble. The great and final revelation is that God does win and peace does prevail, although not until the great losses and failures are summed up in fear and sadness and despair. God overcomes all that is arrayed against the divine goodness and is triumphant in everything. Of course, as in the rest of the scriptures, the book's not to be taken as if it were an agenda, laying out what's going to happen according to the calendar in our approximate year. Many people have made fools of themselves, trying to fit the news of the day into the verses of this book, looking for hidden clues and clinging to dodgy predictions about what's around the corner. In the novel War and Peace, one of the characters is trying to understand what's going to happen in Russia, since he was convinced Napoleon was the predicted antichrist, and his rise to power was God's scourging because of the changes in the liturgy of the Orthodox Church. We read those words now and think of the character's foolishness and his childish concerns. We have a hard time imagining a character like Napoleon stimulating the dread of anyone, beginning how benign his actual rule was compared to the dictators and totalitarians to come. Looking on from the heights of Hitler, Stalin, and Mao, Napoleon is indeed a short man. Stirring up apocalyptic dread by trolling through the verses of the scriptures seems like the silliest waste of time. But the truth of the matter is that the apocalypse is happening among us right now in every way, benign and malignant. The world is ending as we speak. This is, of course, the warning of the preachers who thunder from their pulpits about how much me we must worry and how much we have to get ready. When they do, it often embarrasses them and their flocks. Just a couple of months ago, a preacher in Nigeria made worldwide news by promising a date for the beginning of the end, noting that he and his flock were to be carried to heaven while the troubles and plagues of the end of the world played themselves out here. He was, of course, proved wrong, just as all those who've read the books, the words of the book, as if they were an intricate crossword puzzle, have been proved wrong. What he did not do was look around and see the truth of the world beyond the words on the page. The world is ending right now, just not how he thinks. In 1999, I visited South Africa as part of the International Convocation of English-speaking priests. We visited Sacred Heart Parish in Soweto. There, the pastor talked to us about the upsets caused by the protest against apartheid and the systemic discrimination that was part of the civil life in South Africa at the time. The parish was a place of refuge for many families whose lives were upset during the troubles. It was also a place that gave support to those who opposed the laws and were advocating change. It was common, as a result of that opposition, that people would come out of the church and find their car tires slashed or some other part of the parish vandalized. Those who wanted to keep things the same wanted to send the message that no change was possible. The pastor, noting all that was happening, told his parishioners to read the book of Revelation. It describes the upsets of the whole world and the great strain placed on all those who opposed God's plan. Then he invited the people to read the book with the violence they'd seen in their own lives in mind. The conclusion was stark. The apocalypse was happening to them. It was not a book of predictions or a plan of what would happen up ahead. It was a description of what happens when the veil is pulled open and what has laid hidden is revealed. The strict laws and the harsh segregations of apartheid hid a level of violence and a presumption of brutality that was seeping out into the open. As the veil was pierced, it opened to reveal the complicated machinery of oppression and fear and chaos. Their world was ending. And anyone with an eye could see it. No, apocalypse is all around us. It takes only a few minutes online to know the world is spinning out of control. All has come unwound. Nations rise against nations, even if there aren't any big wars right now, besides Ukraine and Russia, which have been at war with each other more than a few times in the past, there is a lot of saber rattling going on which terrifies all of us. This is especially true between China and the U.S. And the rich pull up the poor, the inequalities at the beginning of a generation exaggerate and grow until it seems the world serves the rich and dispossesses the rest. And the gains we make in technology and ease are twisted to enslave the unwary and to disarm the most committed. But worse than the noted international news, where nations fight over the crumbs of their empires and their borders on their maps, the boundaries creating good order has begun to bleed away. What used to be solid, sober lines have become dotted. It's hard to know what they represent. The distinctions between men and women, for example, have become so fluid that individuals claim that he or she can become one even if he or she is the other. Children are robbed of childhood by an educational system that refuses to respect their innocence and a society that refuses allow children to be childish. At the same time, adulthood has been postponed so that nobody expects to participate in or prepare for a meaningful life until he's about 35. And the cornerstones of society, namely the family and the church, have been so diminished, diminished such that they are both referenced more for being the locus of abuse than the definition of sanctuary. The world is coming undone. It's happening faster and faster, more and more. We can read the pages of the scriptures simply by watching the national news without ever opening a copy of the Bible. What was safe and secure, because it was certain and agreed to, has unraveled into threads and labels. What seemed tame and neutered has begun to roar and paw around us. Nothing is certain anymore. The warnings of Dostoevsky seems to be coming true among us. He reminded his people when they began talking about how to make the world a perfect place by rearranging the means of production and the relations among people that it wouldn't be so easy. Getting along together isn't a picnic, not the least because we're fractious and disagreeable about most things. He warned: if we presume that when everyone has a place and everything is provided for, there will be peace, it won't be so. There are those who will burn everything down just because it provides them with something to do. The secret of society is that many people prefer chaos, and they'll do whatever's necessary to make sure and get it. Simply arranging society so that everyone is cared for, that everyone has enough, and that each person is content and stands on the road of opportunity isn't enough. Accomplish all these things, and someone, perhaps many someones, will throw a grenade in the middle of it just to make life more interesting. Even the structures of goodness, when pierced by a little violence, reveal the complicated machinery of the world that grinds relentlessly. And it's not just when the scales tip and we begin to see the craziness act out on our streets or in our operating rooms. The truth is that such mindlessness and violence is around us and with us at every turn. It lies just below the surface of every society and in every person, threatening to leave its cage and to roam about, sniffing for what's next. When the gates are left open or are taken off their hinges, what was controlled and positive and helpful for the community, that same thing can become the source of chaos and fear everywhere. Tweak things just a little here and there, and the most peaceful place can become a riot. It can happen internally and personally, as much as overtly and publicly. Although when it happens on the outside, it will on the inside it'll also find its expression on the outside. When what is hidden is revealed, everyone can see. Which is why Advent begins here. The coming of the Messiah into our lives and our time is as critical and important as it was when the people of Israel groaned under the weight of Roman occupation and pagan governance. Our world is broken and needs a savior. More than any other aspect, the complications of our time reveal that we cannot save ourselves. Only by the work of God will we be able to recover a sense of community and the prospect of hope. We are Israel, searching the skies for the promise of the coming of Christ. And not just the ultimate final coming of Christ in glory at the end of time. This is a coming we do anticipate. In fact, it is the culmination of the book of the apocalypse. It signals the end days when the curtain on the drama of our world will be flung open after the final act and all of the scenery will be struck down and moved out of the way. But this is the great fulfillment of the final promises entrusted to us. They are the last pages of the book. But our advent is also to prepare us for the first coming of Christ in the first pages of the Gospels. Jesus came into the world unrecognized and uncelebrated. The world didn't receive him because it didn't recognize him. Everyone expected a king, one who would defeat the powers of evil and confront the domination of politics. Instead, he came as an infant, growing into a man who surrendered himself to God's will so completely that many could not see him for who he was. Even in death, he died as a stranger to those around him. He was the Messiah, but his kingship remained hidden even among those who longed for him the most. And we are they. Major portions of our lives still long for the presence of this hidden Messiah. Although Jesus has come among us in the world, we're still surprised to find out he could be present in the complications of the world we live in. The Messiah prayed miracles among his people and cast out the powers of the devil to the astonishment of those who were there. We're still puzzled when we find we're promised healing, and we still bristle when evil is named and called out among us. As we look into the mirrors of our lives and note the tumbled down promises and the worn out ideals lying there, we can take a lesson from the preparation for Advent. The Christ child comes to just such a place. Jesus was born in a forgotten place smelling of manure and straw. If we look, we'll notice we have just such places in our lives. We're still waiting for the first coming of Christ. As Advent begins, we're given the chance to enter most fully into the gift of preparation. Hearing the harsh words of the truth of the world and then listening to the promises that animated the hearts of Israel, we have the right to hope those promises will be enacted in us. We can't repeat the story of the people of Abraham, but we can recapitulate the story of God's embrace of those who sought him and longed for his initiative. For these first weeks we are those who have inherited the great story. We are those pining for the one who will save us. As we prepare ourselves for the coming of Christ among us, I think of the example cited by Gil Bailey in one of his lectures. He mentioned that in the 1960s a professor at a small Christian college, most noted for preparing men for the ministry, received a letter from a small church in California. The members of the parish wanted to know if he knew of a young man who could come to their parish and provide pastoral leadership for them. It was a small congregation, but they needed someone who was willing to work with them to reach out to the surrounding area of mixed race and income. They wanted someone who could preach about the Message of hope amid the changes of the time that seemed so extreme and so violent. And most of all, they needed the assurance from the young preacher who might come that, although they couldn't pay him much, that he'd stay for a while. In the return mail, the professor wrote back and said, My wife and I will be there next week. And they went. Jesus comes to us in the unexpected and the chaotic. Where he comes to, the grime of the world, is not swept away. Instead, it signals that the truth of the world is revealed. That's what we can prepare for in these weeks. Advent is beginning. Look around. Christ is coming. Back in just a moment. If I could have had all I wanted, I certainly would have chosen poorly. The powers of choice are vaunted, they are abandoned only sorely. But they do provide a fantasy outlet, a source for our dreams and delights, to assuage the disappointment and upset and salve our wounds outright. In these long, vaporous afternoons, my life would be perfected in every way. I'd make the most of every gift and boon, become a spokesman by every word I'd say. Not to mention all I'd decide and do, in the freedom of my all knowing. All my skies would be iridescent blue and every thought full, expansive and glowing. But I know, without real constraints, by the limits of discipline and morality, I'd give in to my regular complaints, limp into today with my sore maladies, and make my life poor and worsen my prospects by my unconstrained will to power, and inheriting nothing but dreck, thus make all light dark, all sweetness sour. That's if I could have a good idea. Many of them, in fact, probably most of them, are directed at those who are not specifically and actively involved previously. It's it's so many of those activities are uh focused on those who are have a desire to be newly engaged or are invited into a kind of new sense of participation. So don't be discouraged if you don't know what's going on or haven't been actively engaged yet. This is the perfect time to to dip your toe into the kinds of activities taking place in your parish. And it's certainly not too early to to be clear about what's going to happen as far as the actual Christmas, holidays, New Year's, and Epiphany. This is a wonderful time to make that connection, especially if it hasn't been a part of the regular practice. It's nothing it to be embarrassed about, but to begin a new uh sense of life and participation at this new time of the year. And so the invitation remains open, which is what we do here at Living Catholic.

SPEAKER_01:

We hope to uh have you back with us in the weeks to come.org.