God in the Diapers and the Dishes

 Christmas 2025

At Christmas, we celebrate the astonishing truth that God became human, not in power or glory, but in the ordinary rhythms of family life. Through the mystery of the Incarnation, God reveals that everyday moments are not obstacles to grace, but the very places where God chooses to meet us. Because Christ has been born, nothing in our daily lives is ever truly ordinary again.

Listen to homily here:

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Some years ago, I won’t say how long ago, but it was when I was training to be a priest, I spent a couple of years in Mexico. When I first arrived, my Spanish was very poor. I could hardly understand anything. But I arrived just before Christmas, and it turned out to be a very beautiful time to be there.

In Mexico, as in some other places, there is a tradition called posadas. It is similar to Simbang Gabi, if you are familiar with that. For about nine or twelve days before Christmas, people in the village gather each evening to reenact Mary and Joseph’s search for a place to stay. Together, the community moves from house to house, singing back and forth, asking to be welcomed in. The first few houses refuse, and then finally, at the last house, the doors are opened. And of course, once you are welcomed in, there is a big celebration: food is shared, and many songs are sung.

As I mentioned, my Spanish was very limited at the time. But there was one song I remember very clearly because it struck me deeply. It is called Los Peces en el Río, “The Fish in the River.” Some of you may know it. At the time, I didn’t really understand the lyrics, but the song moved me. We often sang it inside the houses during the posadas, and I remember feeling quite emotional whenever I heard it.

I knew it had something to do with fish in a river, somehow connected to worshipping Jesus at his birth. And so, in my imagination, I filled in the gaps. I built the song up in my mind as something very lofty and mysterious, something quite profound.

The following year, we celebrated the posadas again. By that point, after about a year, my Spanish had improved a little. So when I heard Los Peces en el Río again, I finally understood the lyrics, and I was surprised. They were much more down to earth, much more homey, than I had expected.

The song does speak about fish swimming in the river, drinking the water as they go to worship Jesus at his birth. But the first verse actually begins with Mary by the river, brushing her hair. I remember thinking, “All right, this is a bit unexpected, but I can work with this.”

Then came the second verse, which is even more striking. It begins, La Virgen lava pañales y los tiende en el romero, “The Virgin washes diapers and hangs them on the rosemary bush.” This was definitely not what I thought the song was about. The whole image I had built up in my mind suddenly burst. I remember thinking the song was a bit childish, maybe too simple.

But as time has gone on, and as I’ve learned a bit more humility, I’ve come to see that Los Peces en el Río is actually quite profound. In fact, I think it expresses something central to the mystery we celebrate at Christmas, the mystery of the Incarnation.

Like the Incarnation itself, this song communicates a deep truth. God works in extraordinary ways, but God’s extraordinary grace comes to us through ordinary moments of life. It is in the everyday, ordinary experiences we live through that God’s grace is found.

Tonight, of course, we celebrate something truly extraordinary. We celebrate the Incarnation, something astounding. God has become a human being. God chose not to save us by sending a messenger, or even an angel. God chose to become one of us, to save us, to be close to us.

The infinite God chose to become finite. The Creator of all things chose to enter into creation. The eternal Word became flesh. God did this to save us, to be as close to us as possible.

There is a story often told at this time of year, and some of you may have heard it. It tells of an old farmer on a cold winter night, shortly before Christmas. A storm had just passed, and the farmer went out to check his barn. When he entered, he discovered several birds inside. They had flown in through the rafters to escape the storm, but now that it had ended, they were trapped.

The birds kept throwing themselves against the windows and walls, trying desperately to get out. The farmer felt pity for them. He opened the barn doors wide and tried to shoo them outside. But the birds were afraid of him. They flew away from the open doors and continued to injure themselves.

The farmer tried everything. He scattered food, waved a broom, and tried to guide them gently toward the door. Nothing worked. The birds were terrified and only grew more frantic. Finally, the farmer had a realization. He thought, “If only I could become a bird. If I were one of them, they would trust me. If I became like them, I could lead them to safety.”

Just as this thought came to him, the church bells rang across the countryside, announcing the beginning of Christmas.

Tonight we celebrate something truly extraordinary. God has become a human being. And yet, at the same time, there is something disarmingly ordinary about how Jesus comes into the world. It is often said that there are two miracles at Christmas. The first is that God becomes human. The second is the kind of human being God becomes.

We look at the nativity scene and see that God does not enter the world in power or wealth, not as a mighty ruler or a famous philosopher. God enters the world in simplicity, in humility, in a family, in poverty. God comes to us in ordinary ways.

God does not ask us to escape our ordinary lives in order to meet him. Instead, God comes right into them.

This is why Los Peces en el Río is so theologically rich. It invites us to imagine Mary brushing her hair by the river. It asks us to imagine her washing Jesus’ diapers and hanging them out to dry. I try not to think too much about the fish drinking downstream. But the point is clear. In becoming human, God enters fully into ordinary life, into joy and fatigue, family life and daily struggles.

Our ordinary existence is not an obstacle to encountering God. It is the very place where God chooses to work.

Christmas invites us to see the world differently, to put on new lenses. If God entered the world through ordinary family life, then we should expect to meet God in the ordinary moments of our own lives, at the dinner table, doing the dishes, at work, on our commute, at school, with friends, when we forgive, when we are forgiven, when we serve, when we show patience.

In all of these moments, God’s grace is at work.

Perhaps a good question for us to ask tonight is this. What seems ordinary in my life right now, and how might God be communicating something extraordinary through it? It may be something joyful. It may be something difficult. But God meets us there.

For me, Christmas Mass is always one of those moments where the extraordinary shines through the ordinary. In many ways, tonight has been very ordinary. We came through a chilly night, avoided a bit of rain, found parking, and arrived perhaps a little tired. And yet something extraordinary is happening. We are gathered here from many backgrounds and places, united as the family of God, filled with joy, celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ.

This is what Christmas reveals to us. God has chosen to fill the ordinary with his presence. And if we have the eyes to see, and this is what Christmas trains us to do, then nothing is ordinary anymore. Because Christ has been born, every ordinary moment becomes an opportunity to encounter the extraordinary grace of God.

When God Rewrites the Calendar

 4 Sunday of Advent

Life does not always follow the plans we carefully schedule, and the Gospel reminds us that unexpected moments can become places of grace rather than failure. St. Joseph shows us that trusting God, especially when our plans fall apart, allows God to work in ways we could never have imagined. When we surrender control and trust that God is guiding our lives, even detours can lead us to something greater than our original destination.

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I can oftentimes be an unorganized person, and because of that, I live by my Google Calendar app. Now, I don’t want to make this an advertisement for Google this evening, but I do find that app incredibly helpful. I can schedule my week, plan out my whole year, and use different colours to distinguish between appointments. Without it, I would truly be lost. I rely on it. I think many of us are the same way.

We like to schedule things. We like to plan. We want to know where we are going in life. And yet, we also know from hard experience that when we make strong plans and carefully map things out, life sometimes gently laughs back at us and tears up our calendars.

Today’s Gospel is really all about this. How do we react when life throws us curveballs? How do we respond when unexpected situations arise and our plans don’t go the way we had hoped?

The Gospel teaches us that when we trust in God, God can take those unexpected moments and work something truly remarkable through them. Sometimes it is precisely when our plans seem broken or changed that God is working in the most powerful way.

St. Joseph in today’s Gospel is almost like the patron saint of plans gone awry. Just put yourself in his shoes for a moment. He is engaged and preparing for marriage, and then something completely unexpected shatters his expectations. His fiancée is found to be with child and he is not the father.

Joseph must have wrestled deeply with what to do. Should he cast her aside? Should he flee? How should he respond to this new and bewildering situation? Eventually, he hears the message from the angel—but should he trust it? Should he listen? He is faced with a profound and unsettling change of plans.

The same thing can happen in our own lives. Our schedules and plans can be torn up in an instant. Unexpected situations can enter our existence. We might receive a troubling medical diagnosis—our own or that of someone we love—that changes everything in a moment. Perhaps we have immigrated to a new country and found that our hopes and expectations have not come to pass. Maybe we struggle to find work, or a relationship we depended on is now at a breaking point.

These unexpected moments can become sources of anxiety, pain, and uncertainty.

St. Joseph is our guide in moments like these. He shows us how to respond with trust. In the end, Joseph chooses to trust the message of the angel and to believe that God is in charge.

Trust, however, does not mean being naïve or unthinking. I’ll admit that I struggle with trust when I’m not the one driving. If I’m in the passenger seat, I can be a terrible backseat driver—tense, flinching, nervous when someone doesn’t drive the way I would. And if the driver truly isn’t competent, then perhaps concern is justified.

But in the car that is our life, the driver is not inexperienced. It is God. And God knows what he is doing. Even if we don’t always know the destination, God does.

Joseph’s trust did not appear out of nowhere. We can imagine that he learned to trust God first in small ways, little by little, until that trust grew strong enough to carry him through this extraordinary moment. He believed that God was in charge of his life and that God would bring good from it.

For this reason, St. Joseph is such a powerful model for us. When we trust God in unexpected moments—when our plans fall apart—God can truly work. God needed to work in an unexpected way in Joseph’s life because God was bringing something radically new into the world.

In our first reading, we heard the prophet Isaiah proclaim that God would send Emmanuel—“God with us”—to guide the people during a time of turmoil. For Isaiah’s audience, this referred to King Hezekiah. Ultimately, Jesus Christ is the full fulfilment of that promise. In Jesus, God is not merely working through a human being; God has become human and remains close to us in every joy and struggle of life.

God could not have done this without working in an unexpected way in Joseph’s life. And often, it is in the unexpected that God does his most remarkable work.

Perhaps you are experiencing such a moment right now. Perhaps your plans have not unfolded as you hoped—or perhaps that moment lies ahead. Can we trust then? Can we be like St. Joseph and believe that God remains in control?

I’ll close with one more Google reference. My apologies for all the advertising! Think of a GPS or a maps app. We enter a destination and follow the directions, but traffic, accidents, or road closures force a reroute. Life is very much like that. We may set our destination and make our plans, but God sometimes redirects us. And more than that, God may even set a better destination than the one we had in mind.

Let us, like St. Joseph, trust that God is always at work in our lives—especially in moments that are unexpected—because it is there that God can bring about something greater than we ever imagined.

“Are You the One?” When Faith Waits and Learns to See

 3 Sunday of Advent, Year C

John the Baptist’s question from prison reminds us that even deep faith can waver, especially in moments of suffering and disappointment. Jesus teaches that he is recognized as the Messiah not through arguments or certainty, but through lived experience—through healing, hope, and lives quietly transformed. The Gospel invites us to stop searching for substitute saviours and instead prepare space in our own lives, and in the lives of others, for Christ to be encountered.

Listen to homily here:

Read full homily here:

In the Gospel today, we are presented with what is, if we are honest, a somewhat uncomfortable situation—something that might unsettle us a little. We are presented with the figure of John the Baptist, who is now in prison.

Recall that just last Sunday we heard about this incredible preacher: John the Baptist, courageous in the wilderness, calling people to repentance, calling them to prepare to receive the Messiah. John the Baptist, of course, even baptized Jesus. He saw the Holy Spirit descend upon him and heard the words from heaven: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” We would assume that John the Baptist had unflappable faith, that he never doubted, that he possessed absolute certainty.

And yet, today in the Gospel, while John the Baptist is in prison, we hear him send a message through his disciples to Jesus, asking: “Are you really the one, or should we wait for another?” In other words, Are you, Jesus, the Messiah—the Saviour, the Christ—the one who is to liberate us?

This is an unsettling question, especially because it comes from John the Baptist, a man of such great faith. And yet, this Gospel is important because it gives us permission to voice doubts we ourselves may experience in our lives as believers. At times, we may struggle. We may wonder whether Christ is all we hoped for, whether Jesus is truly enough for us, whether he really is our Saviour and Messiah.

John the Baptist teaches us that even deeply faithful people—people who pray, who come to Mass, who live devout lives—can experience doubt and struggle. Each of us, in our Christian journey, encounters this. John’s example reminds us that this is a normal part of life as believers.

We find John today in a very difficult situation. Often, doubt arises precisely in moments of hardship. John has been imprisoned. He is struggling. We know that he will eventually be put to death. It is in this moment of suffering that he voices his question: Is Jesus the Messiah, or should we look for another?

We can see ourselves in John’s experience. We may pray faithfully and come to Mass, yet life does not always turn out as we hope. Illness enters our lives. Relationships break down. We may find ourselves without work, or lacking the things we need or long for. And we, too, can ask the same question: Is Christ truly the Messiah, or should we look for another?

In times of difficulty, we may search elsewhere for fulfilment or liberation. We may pursue ambition or wealth. We may distract ourselves with noise, busyness, or comfort—anything that promises to numb the pain or fill the emptiness.

St. Augustine, who lived about four hundred years after the time of Jesus, offers a powerful example of this searching. In his autobiography, Confessions, Augustine describes his long search for fulfilment and salvation. He looks for it in relationships, ambition, power, wealth, and various philosophical traditions. And finally, he discovers that true fulfilment is found in God through Jesus Christ. In his famous words, he writes: “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.”

From both John the Baptist and St. Augustine, we learn that doubt and searching can be part of our journey toward Christ. We may wonder whether Jesus truly is the Messiah, the Saviour in our lives.

The response Jesus gives to John is very telling. It teaches us how we come to know, with certainty, that Jesus truly is the Messiah. Jesus does not give John an argument or a proof. Instead, he points to experience, to encounter, to relationship.

When I was in university, I was one of the few among my friends who still went to Mass. I tried my best, though I was not always perfectly faithful. Many of my friends had grown up Catholic or Christian but had stopped practising, and others had no faith at all. We had many good conversations, and often the question was asked in different ways: Why do you believe? Why are you still Catholic? Why do you believe in Jesus?

At the time, I did not have a strong answer, and perhaps I still struggle to articulate one fully. But over the years, especially as a priest, I have journeyed with people of deep faith—even in the midst of suffering and difficulty. I have heard answers to that question that resonate deeply with me, and I believe they reflect the experience of many.

Some people say: “I stayed because when I actually prayed—when I really prayed—I became more patient, more honest, less fearful. I didn’t get all the answers, but I became more human.”

Others speak of suffering: “Christ is the Messiah because when I suffer, he does not disappear. He stays. He does not remove my cross, but he carries it with me.”

Still others say: “Christ is the Messiah because following him calls me out of myself—toward forgiveness, humility, and concern for the poor. Left to myself, I would settle for much less.”

Jesus teaches us in today’s Gospel that we come to recognize him as the Messiah through experience. He tells John’s disciples: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind regain their sight, the deaf hear, the poor have good news preached to them.”

How would we answer that question ourselves? Why do we believe that Christ is the Messiah? How have we encountered Jesus in our own lives?

Even though John the Baptist struggles, Jesus calls him great—the greatest, in fact—because John prepares the way for others to encounter Christ. He makes space for Jesus to enter people’s lives.

We are called to do the same. We prepare space for Christ through our faithfulness, honesty, integrity, and kindness. We prepare space by living in a way that sparks curiosity. Why does this person respond with forgiveness rather than vengeance? Why do they face challenges with hope rather than despair? Why do they respond with gentleness rather than anger?

Finally, we prepare space through invitation. As we approach the Christmas season, we can invite others to join us for Mass. We can offer to pray with someone who is struggling. In simple ways, we can create moments where Christ can be encountered.

Today’s Gospel presents us with John the Baptist experiencing what is a very human moment—doubt in the midst of suffering. It also shows us that we come to know Jesus as the Messiah through experience: through the ways he heals, liberates, and saves us in daily life.

The Gospel challenges us not to search for counterfeit messiahs, but to be like John the Baptist—to prepare space in our hearts, and in the lives of others, to encounter the Messiah who has already come into the world.

Choosing Christ: The Advent Call of John the Baptist

 2 Sunday of Advent, Year A

The RCIA rites happening this weekend remind the whole parish that the Christian life is a journey of choosing again to follow Christ. John the Baptist calls each of us during Advent to examine our lives, let go of what holds us back, and take concrete steps toward deeper discipleship. While we act, it is God’s grace that brings true growth, renewing our hearts just as He brought new life from the stump in Isaiah’s prophecy.

Listen to homily here:

 

Tomorrow will be a very important day for many people in our parish community, and I would like to explain why. We will be celebrating two significant ceremonies for those participating in our RCIA program—that is, the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults. Since September, a number of people have been gathering every Tuesday to pray together, search the Scriptures together, and deepen their faith. Unless you come on Tuesdays, you may not have met them, but it is important for us as a parish community to be aware of their presence, because they have made the decision to enter the Catholic Church here at St. Peter’s. We want to accompany them with our prayers. As we approach Lent and Easter, we will celebrate the scrutinies, and they will join us, especially at the 5 p.m. Saturday Mass.

Tomorrow is a very important moment for these RCIA members. Some are not yet baptized and are making the decision to enter the catechumenate through the Rite of Acceptance. Others are already baptized—often in another Christian denomination—and are taking the next step toward becoming Catholic. This year we are extremely blessed to have a large number of people in RCIA: just over thirty, which is double last year’s number. This is truly a sign, I believe, of the Holy Spirit. We have an incredible RCIA team, working hard each year, but this year in particular it seems that God is stirring many hearts.

The Rite of Acceptance and the Rite of Welcoming are important steps. Those participating are choosing to say, “Yes, I want to continue this journey. I have heard the voice of God calling me, and I want to follow Jesus and enter the Catholic Church.” These rites mark a decision—an act of discipleship.

It is significant that this is happening on the weekend when we hear today’s Gospel, because John the Baptist invites each of us to make the same kind of choice. On this Second Sunday of Advent, we too are faced with the invitation to choose again to follow Christ.

Some years ago, I had the opportunity to visit the area near the Jordan River where John the Baptist is believed to have preached. When you enter that place and see its starkness, you can appreciate something of his character. In the Gospel today, he strikes us as a bit of a wild man—clothed in camel’s hair, eating locusts and honey, living simply in the wilderness. And the wilderness itself is stark, dry, and austere. Yet in the Bible, the wilderness is a place of decision and of closeness to God. It was in the wilderness at Sinai that the people had to decide whether to accept the covenant God set before them.

I see John the Baptist as someone who calls us into this same adventure of following Jesus Christ. Because he is so passionate, his language is passionate. He tells us that to follow Jesus, we need to make changes in our lives. We need to prune away those things that hold Christ back from entering our hearts—habits, patterns, or attitudes that prevent us from following Him more fully. John the Baptist invites us to take action. What are those areas in our lives God may be calling us to move away from? What bad habits is He asking us to overcome? What patterns of prayer is He inviting us to renew? What relationships need healing? What acts of service is He prompting us to undertake?

John’s call to decision mirrors what our RCIA members are doing this weekend.

It is also important to remember that change in our lives does not come simply from our own effort. Yes, we must respond, but it is God who blesses us, God who brings grace and new life. In the first reading from Isaiah, we hear the image of a stump—a tree cut down and lifeless—from which God brings forth new life. Isaiah proclaimed this message during a time of great difficulty. The Assyrian Empire had nearly destroyed the kingdom of Judah. Very little seemed to remain. It was a time of darkness and hopelessness. Yet in that moment, Isaiah proclaimed that God would work wonders, bringing life out of lifelessness.

Isaiah reminds us that although we must take steps to follow Jesus, it is ultimately God’s grace that brings growth.

As we enter further into Advent, we are confronted again by John the Baptist’s call. We can ask ourselves: What steps have I taken so far to welcome Christ? What steps will I take? God will provide the grace, but He invites our cooperation.

I would like to suggest two practical actions for the coming weeks. First, as we begin this new liturgical year—Year A—we will hear from the Gospel of Matthew each Sunday. Perhaps during Advent, we can read one chapter of Matthew each day, reflecting on what God is speaking to our hearts through this evangelist. Second, on Thursday, December 11 at 7 p.m., we will have our Advent penitential service. As always, several priests will be present to hear confessions. Going to confession is a wonderful way to respond to John the Baptist’s call: to bring our sins before the Lord, to receive forgiveness and healing, and to prepare for Christmas with renewed joy.

Today’s readings, especially Isaiah and the Gospel, present the dynamism of the Christian life. We are called to make decisions, to take action in following Jesus. John the Baptist urges and challenges us to do so as we approach Christmas. But Isaiah reminds us that the life, the growth, and the transformation ultimately come from God.

So in this Mass, let us choose to take some step forward during this second week of Advent. As Christmas approaches and time seems to run ahead of us, let us commit ourselves to doing something meaningful this season so that God may truly work in our lives. God can work miracles in us, just as He did for His people in Isaiah’s time. Let us act—and allow God’s grace to accomplish the rest.