Learning to See Again: Advent and the Courage of Vision
A Lectionary reflection for the Saturday of the Second Week of Advent & Feast of St. Lucy (Sir 48:1–4, 9–11; Mt 17:9–13).
The Prophetic Failure of Vision
Today’s readings ask a deceptively simple question: What does it mean to be a prophet?
In Scripture, the prophet is not primarily a predictor of the future, but a witness to reality as God sees it. Elijah stands as the great model - one who sees clearly, speaks boldly, and prepares the way for conversion. Yet Jesus reminds us in the Gospel that John the Baptist came in the same spirit and power and was still unrecognized. The failure was not one of information, but of vision.
This is where Advent begins.
Advent Is a School of Sight
Advent is not merely a countdown to Christmas. It is a season of re-education, a time to learn how to see again - to attend to what we have grown accustomed to overlooking. The prophets noticed what others had learned to ignore: a people drifting from God, numbed by familiarity and compromise. Because they saw clearly, they spoke.
Isaiah. Elijah. John the Baptist.
They noticed. Then they responded. That rhythm defines prophetic life. And it is the discipline Advent invites us to recover.
Saint Lucy and the Cost of Clarity
The Church places Saint Lucy before us today as a concrete embodiment of prophetic vision. A virgin-martyr of the early Church, Lucy desired a life wholly given to Christ. When she refused to compromise that vocation, tradition tells us that her eyes were torn from her head and that she was ultimately killed by a wound to the throat (an attempt to destroy both her vision and her voice).
The symbolism is arresting. The eyes and the throat: the capacity to see the truth and the courage to speak it. Lucy’s witness reminds us that prophecy is never abstract. To see clearly is already to stand exposed. To speak truthfully is already to accept risk.
Learning What Vision Really Means
That symbolism has always been personal for me.
I had the privilege of attending St. Alice School in Upper Darby, Pennsylvania, when it was attached to St. Lucy Day School for the Visually Impaired. As a child, I was in daily contact with visually impaired peers - students who experienced the world differently than I did, yet who were striving, in every meaningful sense, to live lives as full and rich as my own. That experience quietly reshaped my understanding of sight.
I came to see that vision is not merely biological. Some of the clearest perceptions I encountered came from those who, physically, could not see as I did. Their attentiveness, resilience, humor, and presence revealed a truth I can now, with more theological training and life experience, begin to articulate: seeing is as much about awareness and courage as it is about eyesight.
Perhaps that is why, to this day, I wear Saint Lucy’s medal around my neck, not as an ornament, but as a reminder. A reminder to notice. A reminder to resist the blindness of the heart. A reminder that clarity, once given, carries responsibility.
Seeing Clearly, Speaking Faithfully
That lesson returns with force during Advent, and especially on the feast of Saint Lucy. For it is Lucy who confronts us with uncomfortable questions. What have we stopped noticing? Where have we dulled our spiritual vision? Where has silence replaced witness? Advent Eyes are not cynical or combative; they are attentive. They refuse distraction. They see what needs healing (within us and around us) and do not look away.
And Advent Eyes do not stop at seeing. They speak.
We may never face the violence Lucy endured. But we are tempted, in quieter ways, to dim our light, to privatize our faith, to soften our convictions for the sake of ease. Lucy refused that temptation. So did the prophets. Advent invites us to refuse it as well.
Lucy did not hide her light, and neither should we. Advent does not ask us to see more - it asks us to see truthfully, and to live accordingly.
Thank for this beautiful read❤️❤️