Last Sunday, on “60 Minutes,” there was an alarming report about the plight of Christians in Iraq.

They interviewed the Anglican vicar for Baghdad, who said it has never been a worse time to be a Christian there. Most, he said, have either fled the country or been killed. Those left behind live in fear of arrest or execution, simply because they are Christians. They often have to meet in secret to worship. Many churches have been abandoned.

The story was a reminder of the serious persecution that Christians undergo, even now, for their faith.

So it was with great interest – and great wonder – that I came across an item published last week by the Catholic News Agency. One of their writers spent a few days with a Navy chaplain named Fr. Jose Bautista-Rojas in the Anbar Province west of Baghdad. Fr. Bautista told the story of a Muslim woman he met. For her safety, they couldn’t publish her name. But this anonymous woman was deeply impressed by how the U.S. medical personal cared not only for Americans and Iraqis, but also treated wounded enemy combatants – including one who was known to have killed U.S. marines.

She was so struck by that, that this woman approached Fr. Bautista and said to him, with curiosity, and with courage: “Tell me more about Jesus.” He did. He described Jesus and the gospels. And what most impressed this woman was how Jesus related to what she called “the two Marys.” Mary, Christ’s mother, who was without sin, and Mary Magdalene, the ultimate sinner. After thinking about this for some time, the Muslim woman finally came up to Fr. Bautista and told him, “I want to become a Christian.”

Since this priest serves all Christians, not just Catholics, he decided to introduce her to chaplains from other denominations. But after talking with them, she came back to Fr. Bautista and said, “I want to be a Catholic, like you.” When he asked her why, she replied, “You were the only one who told me about the other Christians and let me make up my own mind.”

So she began the RCIA process – but soon her family found out. They were furious, and threatened to disown her. Fr. Bautista became worried about her safety and told her to think carefully about what she was about to do.

She looked at him and said, very simply: “Do you give up so easily on Jesus?”

This woman understood Christianity more profoundly than the priest realized. God willing, she will be baptized next Easter.

That encounter, I think, beautifully summarizes the very heart and soul of this season we are celebrating right now. That woman is Advent – seeking Jesus, waiting in hope for the prince of Peace. In that woman’s journey toward Christ, we see part of ourselves during these winter weeks – traveling through darkness, into the unknown, lighting candles to mark the way, drawn toward the Ultimate Light which is Christ…who draws closer to us as we draw closer to Him.

In today’s gospel, John the Baptist calls out to us to get ready. “Repent!,” he says. It sounds like a warning. But it is beyond that. He is calling out to us in joy.

He is calling on us to repent because something better is coming. Something wonderful is about to be born. The world will be transformed. It is a cry that is full of hope.

Just last week, Pope Benedict added his voice to that cry, with his second encyclical, “Saved By Hope.”

He tells us that nothing matters without “the great hope, which must surpass everything else. This great hope can only be God.”

That is a hope John the Baptist understood.

It is a hope a Muslim woman in Anbar Province understands.

And it is a hope we pray this Advent to bring alive in our hearts.

The beautiful passage from Isaiah today shows what that hope can mean – the “wolf shall be guest of the lamb…the calf and the young lion shall browse together, with a little child to guide them.”

And it continues: “There shall be no harm or ruin on all my holy mountain, for the earth shall be filled with knowledge of the Lord, as water covers the sea.”

That is the world we are waiting for. Praying for. Hoping for. It is a world the people of Iraq can only dream about.

When I e-mailed a friend of mine the story about the Muslim woman in Anbar Province, she wrote back with a beautiful reminder: The Incarnation, she said, didn’t happen only once. It happens every day. That is the recurring message of every Advent.
Christ continues to come to us.

“Tell me more about Jesus,” the Muslim woman said. Let us make that our prayer this Advent. God, we pray, tell me more. Open my mind. Set my heart on fire to know Him. Let the Incarnation continue.

Finally, let us pray, as well, for all those Christians who are suffering persecution, in Iraq and around the world – modern day martyrs who are giving their lives for the faith in back alleys in Baghdad, or on street corners in Beijing. As we receive the Eucharist today, we should be profoundly grateful that we can receive that gift so freely. So many others cannot.

We may never learn their names. We may never hear their stories. But they know the “great hope” that the Holy Father spoke of.

And they know, as well, that you don’t give up so easily on Jesus.