The following sermon was preached by Fr. Jason Catania on December 6, 2025 in celebration of the Rorate Caeli Mass.

“Rorate caeli desuper, et nubes pluant iustum…” — “Drop down dew, ye heavens, from above, and let the clouds pour down righteousness.”

We gather before sunrise, in the soft glow of candlelight, to celebrate this Rorate Caeli Mass—one of the most beautiful treasures of our Advent tradition. We come in darkness, not because it is convenient (it most certainly is not!), but because this moment expresses something deeply theological: the experience of humanity before Christ, and often, if we are honest, the experience of the human heart even now.

For much of human history, the world waited—waited for the Messiah, waited for the promise, waited for God to act. Israel prayed, year after year, century after century: “Drop down dew, ye heavens. Let the clouds pour down righteousness.” This was not a merely poetic request. It was the cry of a people who felt abandoned, exiled, and empty. And in many ways, that same cry rises again today—from a secularized world that has forgotten its Creator; from the wounded, torn places of society; and from the quiet suffering many carry inside. The human heart still longs to be rescued, it still aches for peace, it still waits for God to be near.

Yet into that longing, God has spoken—not with explanations, but with a promise: “Behold, a Virgin shall conceive and bear a Son.” A promise that seemed impossible, a promise that required faith. And that promise was entrusted to one heart: the Immaculate Heart of Mary.

As so today, Our Lady stands before us not only as the Mother of Christ but as the model of Advent waiting. Mary did not fully understand all the details. She was certainly not given a blueprint, nor a guarantee that life would be smooth. Her “yes” brought misunderstanding, uncertainty, poverty, and suffering—but it also brought the Savior. Her fiat—“Let it be done to
me according to thy word”—was truly the hinge of history.
Through Mary, God teaches of us three things:

  • Grace enters through humility.
  • Salvation comes through surrender
  • The eternal breaks into time through trust.

The world looked for a Messiah crowned in power; God sent a Child hidden in her womb. The world expected thunder; God worked in silence. The world expected immediacy; God chose nine months of waiting. So too in our lives, God rarely answers with speed or spectacle. He comes quietly, he works slowly. His presence within us grows just as Christ grew in her—hidden,
mysterious, steady.

Our waiting must be active—not anxious, but attentive. Mary did not simply wait; she made room. She listened. She pondered. She prepared. Her heart became a living manger before Bethlehem ever saw straw. The holy season of Advent invites us to do the same:

  • To make room for silence in a noisy world.
  • To welcome repentance in a distracted soul.
  • To trust God’s timing in unanswered prayers.
  • To believe that even in the darkness, He is already at work.
    The great tradition of the Church teaches that Christ comes to us in a threefold Advent:
  1. In history — as a Child born of Mary in Bethlehem.
  2. In mystery — in the sacraments, especially the Holy Eucharist.
  3. In majesty — at the end of time, when every tear will be wiped away and every knee shall bow.

The Rorate Mass focuses on the second: Christ coming to us her and now in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. As the light grows slowly in this church, let it remind us that grace grows gradually. Holiness is not sudden. God does not rush, because genuine love never rushes.

Each of us have areas of our life that remain unfinished, uncertain, or heavy. Perhaps it is a sin we struggle with, a fear that robs us of peace, a wound that has not healed, or a prayer that seems unanswered. This morning, let us bring those struggles to Mary. For just as she was the first to receive Christ—she now brings Him to us. At Bethlehem, she gave Him to shepherds. At Cana, she revealed Him to disciples. At Calvary, she offered Him for the world. In the Upper Room, she prayed until the decent of the Holy Spirit. She will do the same now if we let her.

In a few moments, as Mass continues, the darkness around us will soften, and the world outside will brighten—not because we demand it, but because morning comes inevitably. And that encapsulates the message of Advent: Night does not have the final word, the Light is coming, Christ is near. So let us pray with confidence: Rorate caeli desuper. Drop down dew, O heavens. Let the clouds pour down righteousness.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Do not delay.
✣In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen