From Tomb to Life: Finding Hope in Christ’s Resurrection

5 Sunday Lent, 3rd Scrutiny, John 11

The raising of Lazarus reveals that while death brings real grief, Christ transforms sorrow into hope through his power over death. By pointing to his own resurrection, Jesus shows that the life he offers is not temporary but eternal, a victory we share through baptism. Even now, this new life is at work in us as Christ frees us from what binds us and invites us to live in hope.

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Water, light, and life. These are the three themes we have been contemplating over these past Sundays as we have listened to these important stories from the Gospel of John. They invite us to reflect more deeply on our baptism: the light of faith we receive, the cleansing water that makes us a new creation, and the gift of the Holy Spirit poured into our lives.

Today, we turn to the theme of life. In the story of the raising of Lazarus, we are invited to reflect on how, in baptism, we are joined to the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ. We receive the life of Jesus not only for the present, but also the promise of resurrection after death.

As we have seen in recent weeks, John tells his stories with multiple layers, offering different ways of seeing so that we may grasp a deeper truth. Today’s Gospel is no exception. In the raising of Lazarus, we are invited to contemplate three different tombs and to see how what Jesus does speaks directly to us, especially in relation to our baptism. 

The first tomb is the most obvious: the tomb of Lazarus. This is a deeply emotional story. Lazarus, a close friend of Jesus, has died, and those around him are filled with grief. Mary and Martha mourn. The community gathers in sorrow. And we hear one of the shortest yet most powerful verses in Scripture: Jesus wept.

Here we are reminded that death touches every one of us. When a loved one dies, grief is real and profound. There is a story told of a child at a funeral who asked his grandmother, “Why do people cry if we believe the person is with God?” She replied, “Because love does not end when someone dies, and when love has nowhere to go, it becomes tears.” The child paused and said, “So crying is just love that is missing someone.” “Yes,” she said, “exactly.”

Jesus weeps. He knows the pain of loss. In the tomb of Lazarus, we see how death brings grief into our lives.

But John does not want us to remain there. He does not want us to stop at weeping. He wants our sorrow to be transformed into hope.

This leads us to the second tomb: the tomb of Jesus. Throughout this Gospel, John intentionally draws connections between the raising of Lazarus and the resurrection of Christ. Both tombs are caves sealed with a stone. In both stories, Mary is present in mourning. In both, there is an important role for Thomas. And in both, there are burial cloths.

When Lazarus comes out of the tomb, he is still wrapped in burial bands, with a cloth covering his face. Jesus instructs those present to unbind him. Lazarus is restored to life, but he will one day die again. He still needs those burial cloths.

By contrast, when Jesus rises from the dead, the burial cloths are left behind in the tomb. They are found there by Peter and the beloved disciple. Jesus does not need them again. His resurrection is not a return to earthly life but the definitive victory over death. He will never die again.

This is the heart of our hope. Jesus not only raises Lazarus but points forward to his own resurrection, which conquers death completely. And through baptism, we are united to him. Because Christ has died and risen, we trust that we too will rise.

This brings us to the third tomb: our own.

This Gospel invites us to reflect not only on the death of others but on our own mortality. Yet it calls us to face death with hope. As Saint Paul teaches, if we have died with Christ, we will rise with him. In baptism, we are already united to his death and resurrection.

Even more, this new life is not only something we await in the future. It is something we begin to live now.

We see this in Jesus’ conversation with Martha. She already believes in the resurrection on the last day. But Jesus deepens her understanding when he says, “I am the resurrection and the life.” Eternal life is not only a future promise. It is a present reality for those who live in relationship with him.

Through baptism, we already share in this new life. We are made new in Christ.

And just as Lazarus is unbound, so too we are called to be unbound. The Lord desires to free us from whatever holds us back. As we approach Holy Week, we might ask: where do we need to be set free? From resentment, from fear, from habits that weigh us down, from anything that keeps us from living fully in the life Christ offers?

Today’s Gospel is about life. It is about seeing the tombs of Lazarus, of Jesus, and of our own lives in a new way. As we draw closer to Holy Week, let us ask for the grace to live more deeply the gift of our baptism, trusting that Christ has come to give us new life, both now and forever.

 

Seeing the World with the Light of Faith

4 Sunday of Lent, Second Scrutiny

Faith shapes the way we see and interpret the world around us. In the Gospel of the man born blind, Jesus not only restores physical sight but leads the man to a deeper vision of faith, recognizing him as Lord. Through the gift of baptism, Christ gives us the light to see God’s presence in both the blessings and struggles of our lives.

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Faith can be, for many of us, a struggle. Believing that God exists, believing that God is close to us and cares for us, can be difficult, especially at times in life when things are hard. At those moments we may ask ourselves important questions. What does it mean to have faith? How do I know if I have faith? What does faith look like concretely in my life?

Faith can be described in different ways, but the Gospel today, the story of the man born blind, teaches us that faith has something to do with how we see the world. Faith has to do with how we see reality and how we interpret what is happening around us.

When we think about it, all of us have different lenses through which we view the world. We interpret reality in different ways. Recently I have noticed that objects at the back of the church are becoming a little blurry. I am having a harder time seeing things that are far away. So last year I went to the eye doctor for the first time to have my eyes tested. The verdict was that my eyes are getting older and that I will probably need glasses soon, though not quite yet. Many of you who wear glasses know how much difference the right lenses can make. With the proper lenses we see things clearly. If we put on glasses with the wrong prescription, we cannot see properly at all.

The lenses through which we view the world matter greatly. Sometimes the lens through which we see reality is shaped by our temperament, our upbringing, or our personality. One common distinction people make is between the optimist and the pessimist. Neither way of seeing the world is perfect. The optimist sees things with hope but may sometimes overlook suffering or difficulty. The pessimist may see problems clearly and be pragmatic, but may also fall into discouragement or hopelessness. Another lens is that of cynicism. As someone once said, the cynic knows the price of everything but the value of nothing.

The way we interpret the world has a great impact on how we live.

In today’s Gospel we see that Jesus gives us something new. He gives us faith so that we can see the world differently. Faith allows us to interpret what is happening around us and to recognize God present in it.

At first glance the Gospel is simply about Jesus restoring sight to a man who was born blind. But this is the Gospel according to John, and in John’s Gospel there are always deeper layers. The story is not only about physical sight. It is about something more important.

We see this from the very beginning when Jesus says, “I am the light of the world.” Light and darkness are central themes in John’s Gospel. When we have light, we can see and walk clearly. When we are in darkness, we cannot see.

As the story unfolds, several people witness what Jesus has done, yet they interpret the event very differently.

Some respond negatively. The religious leaders investigate what happened, but they focus on the fact that Jesus performed the miracle on the Sabbath. Because of the lens through which they interpret events, they conclude that Jesus must be a sinner. They refuse to see the good that God has done before their eyes.

Others respond with hesitation. The parents of the man who was healed know that their son can now see, yet they remain cautious and distant. Their faith does not lead them to recognize who Jesus truly is.

Finally we encounter the man who was healed. He grows gradually in his understanding of Jesus. If we listen carefully to the titles he uses for Jesus throughout the story, we see the progression of his faith.

At first he simply calls Jesus a man. Later, when speaking to the religious leaders, he calls Jesus a prophet. His understanding has grown. Finally, when he meets Jesus again at the end of the Gospel, he calls him Lord and worships him.

This man experiences two miracles. The first is the restoration of his physical sight. The second is the growth of faith. He comes to see Jesus for who he truly is.

Faith allows us to see the world differently as well. We may see good things happening around us and think they are simply coincidences. We may encounter suffering and conclude that God is absent. Faith is the lens that allows us to interpret reality differently. Faith allows us to recognize God’s goodness in our lives and to trust that God is present even in difficulty.

To have the eyes of faith means recognizing that Christ, who suffered and died for us, remains close to us when we suffer. It means believing that God continues to accompany us.

This kind of faith is a gift that we first receive in baptism. Once again, John’s Gospel contains several layers. On one level the man receives his sight. On another level the story is about faith. On yet another level it points to baptism.

Consider the way Jesus heals the man. He makes mud with his saliva and places it on the man’s eyes, and then sends him to wash in the pool. There is an anointing and there is washing with water. Many commentators have seen in this an image of baptism.

In the early Church this Gospel was closely connected with baptism. Jesus, the light of the world, enlightens those who are baptized so that they can see the world differently. In fact, in the early Church baptism was sometimes called photismos, a Greek word meaning enlightenment. Catechumens preparing for baptism were called those who were about to be enlightened, and the baptized were called the enlightened.

In baptism we receive a new way of seeing.

As we continue our journey through Lent, we might ask ourselves a simple question. What is the lens through which I see the world? Do I see the world with the eyes of Christ? When I experience blessings in my life, do I recognize them as gifts from God? When I encounter suffering, do I trust that Jesus remains with me?

Let us pray for the gift of the Holy Spirit so that the grace we received in baptism may grow stronger within us. May we receive the faith to see the world with the light of Christ. 

The Thirst Only Christ Can Satisfy

3 Sunday Lent, year A, First Scrutiny

The first scrutiny invites both the catechumens preparing for baptism and all the baptized to reflect on the deeper meaning of baptism in their lives. In the story of the Samaritan woman, Jesus reveals that our deepest thirst for love, purpose, and acceptance cannot be satisfied by the many things we often turn to. Christ alone gives the living water of the Holy Spirit that truly fills the human heart.

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Today we begin the first of the three scrutinies. The word “scrutiny” comes from a root meaning to inquire, to question, to examine more deeply. These three scrutinies, which take place this Sunday and the following two Sundays, are especially important for the members of our RCIA group who are preparing to enter the Catholic Church at Easter.

This year, however, we are reminded that the scrutinies are not only for them. They are an opportunity for all of us who are baptized to deepen our own baptismal commitments and to reflect on what baptism means in our lives.

As you probably know, the Church follows a three year cycle of Sunday readings: Years A, B, and C. Year A focuses on the Gospel of Matthew, and that is the year we are in now. In many years, the special Gospel readings associated with the scrutinies are used only at the Masses where the scrutinies themselves are celebrated. This year is an exception. During this Year A cycle, all of us at every Sunday Mass have the opportunity to hear these important readings from the Gospel of John that are connected with the scrutinies.

These three Gospel readings focus on themes that are closely related to baptism. Today we heard the story of the Samaritan woman at the well, which invites us to reflect on the meaning of water in baptism. Next week we will hear the story of Jesus healing the man born blind, which invites us to reflect on the gift of light and the enlightenment that comes through baptism. Finally, in two weeks we will hear the story of the raising of Lazarus, which encourages us to reflect on the new life that Christ brings through baptism.

This first scrutiny, then, focuses on the theme of water.

Water, of course, is central to baptism. But in the Gospel of John, water carries a deeper meaning. To begin, we should appreciate how important water was in the time of Jesus. Here in New Westminster, sometimes it feels as if we have too much water. Just a few days ago it was raining, and you may have noticed that the water was flowing across Royal Avenue. At times it almost looks like a small river. Thankfully it bypasses the church and makes its way down the hill, eventually reaching the Fraser River again.

In the time of Jesus, however, water was not so plentiful. If you have visited the Holy Land or seen pictures of it, you may know about the wadis. These are riverbeds that flow during the rainy season but remain completely dry during the rest of the year. Finding water for crops, livestock, and drinking was often a real challenge. Because of this, wells were extremely important. People depended on them for their daily survival, just as the Samaritan woman does in today’s Gospel.

But we must also look deeper, because water in John’s Gospel often symbolizes something more.

In the encounter between Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well, there is a deeper, symbolic meaning. The Fathers of the Church noticed this very early on. For example, St. Augustine reflected on how the woman’s desire for water represents a deeper longing within her. Water becomes a symbol of the deeper needs of the human heart: the need for love, acceptance, and purpose. These are desires that every one of us carries within us.

St. Augustine also points out an interesting detail in the story. We learn something about this woman from the time of day when she comes to draw water. John tells us that she comes to the well at noon. In that part of the world, noon is the hottest part of the day. It is the time when you would normally avoid going out to draw water. Most people would go early in the morning or later in the evening when it is cooler.

The fact that the woman comes at noon suggests that she hoped no one else would be there. She seems to have been somewhat of an outsider in her community. For whatever reasons, she did not quite fit in. As the conversation continues, we learn one possible reason why. Jesus tells her that she has had five husbands, and the man she is now with is not her husband.

Because of this situation, she may have found herself on the margins of her community. She comes to the well not only for physical water, but also with a deeper longing. She is searching for love, acceptance, and purpose.

In this sense, she is very much like each of us. We all carry these same desires in our hearts. At times, however, we try to satisfy those desires in ways that do not truly fulfill us. The Samaritan woman, it seems, has been searching in different directions, perhaps looking for love in ways that have not brought her the happiness she hoped for.

Some interpreters have also suggested that the reference to her husbands might symbolize the different idols worshiped in that region. In that sense, the story can remind us that we sometimes try to find meaning, acceptance, or fulfillment in things that are not truly God, things that ultimately cannot satisfy our deepest thirst.

This Sunday invites us to ask ourselves what those idols might be in our own lives. Where do we look for purpose, meaning, or acceptance in ways that do not truly satisfy us?

Sometimes this can take very ordinary forms. It might be endless scrolling on our phones, constantly checking for new notifications in the hope that something will fill a certain emptiness within us. It might take the form of workaholism, alcoholism, or other habits that promise satisfaction but leave us still thirsty. It might even involve relationships that, in the end, do not bring us the love and peace we are seeking.

Like the Samaritan woman, we too can search for love, acceptance, and purpose in places that do not ultimately fulfill us.

In the Gospel, however, Jesus is presented as the one who can truly satisfy this thirst.

To appreciate this more fully, it helps to know something about the significance of wells in the Old Testament. Interestingly, wells are often places where people meet their future spouses. Moses meets his wife at a well. Jacob meets his wife at a well.

The other day I happened to see an infographic online that was showing how people have met their spouses over the past seventy years. In the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s, most people met through friends, family members, or work. Those accounted for the great majority of relationships. Over time, especially with the rise of the internet and smartphones, online dating became increasingly common. Today, depending on the statistics you look at, a very large percentage of couples meet that way.

But before online dating apps, there were wells.

In the Old Testament, wells were places where people met and formed relationships. So when Jesus meets the Samaritan woman at the well, this detail is significant. In a symbolic way, Jesus is presented as the true bridegroom, the one who can truly satisfy what she has been seeking.

Notice also that the woman has had five husbands and is now with a sixth man. In biblical symbolism, the number seven represents completeness or perfection. In this sense, Jesus becomes the seventh, the one who finally fulfills what she has been searching for.

Jesus promises her not physical water, but living water, water that will become within her a spring welling up to eternal life. Later in the Gospel of John, we come to understand that this living water symbolizes the gift of the Holy Spirit. This is the gift we receive in baptism and which is strengthened in confirmation.

In this encounter, Christ promises to give the Samaritan woman the gift of the Holy Spirit, the gift that can truly fill her heart with meaning, love, and direction.

As we celebrate these scrutinies with the members of our RCIA group, this Gospel invites each of us to examine our own lives. Like the Samaritan woman, we all carry jars with us. Sometimes those jars are empty, and we try to fill them with things that do not truly satisfy.

What are the idols in our lives? Where are we searching for fulfillment in ways that leave us still thirsty?

At the end of the Gospel, the Samaritan woman leaves her water jar behind. She no longer needs the water she came to draw, because she has encountered something far greater. She has encountered Christ.

As we journey closer to Easter and the great celebration of the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ, we are invited to remember our own baptism. Christ desires to fill our hearts with the gift of the Holy Spirit. And like the Samaritan woman, we too may find that we are able to leave behind some of the jars we have been carrying, the things we have tried to fill with what does not truly satisfy.

Christ alone gives the living water that satisfies the deepest thirst of the human heart. 

The Transfiguration “Glow Up”: From Mountaintop Faith to Christian Service in the World

 2 Sunday Lent

In the Transfiguration, the disciples witness Christ’s radiant “glow up,” a glimpse of his divine glory and a preview of the resurrection. Yet the mountaintop is not a place to remain, but a moment of preparation that strengthens them to follow Jesus down into lives of service and sacrifice. When Christians encounter the transfigured Lord, they are sent into their families, communities, and civic life to help bring the light of Christ to the world.

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One of the privileges I have had as a priest is serving at times as a high school chaplain. Some years ago, I was visiting a Catholic high school in Vancouver. I would usually walk the halls once a week, greeting students and wishing them good morning. On one particular visit, I had just had my hair cut a few days earlier. As I walked down the hallway, a student called out, “Hey, Father Nick, nice glow up.”

It took me a moment to understand what that meant. If you are not fluent in Gen Z vocabulary, a “glow up” refers to a significant and positive transformation in someone’s appearance, confidence, or overall life. It suggests improvement, growth, and renewal.

We all appreciate a good glow up.

In today’s Gospel from St. Matthew, Peter’s response to Jesus’ transfiguration is very understandable. Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a high mountain. In the Scriptures, mountains are places of encounter with God. It is there that Jesus is transfigured. His face shines like the sun, and his clothes become dazzling white. Moses and Elijah appear with him, representing the Law and the Prophets. In this moment, the fullness of salvation history converges. The disciples see a glimpse of Christ’s divine glory. It is, in many ways, a preview of the resurrection.

Peter responds as many of us would. “Lord, it is good that we are here. If you wish, I will make three tents.” He wants to stay. He wants to preserve the moment.

Mountaintop experiences are powerful. We experience them in prayer, on retreat, in moments of deep peace, in the beauty of creation, in the kindness of others. There are times when following Jesus brings clarity and joy, when life makes sense in the light of faith. These moments are real gifts. They strengthen us and remind us of who Christ truly is.

At the same time, the mountain is not the final destination.

After the transfiguration, the voice of the Father is heard: “This is my beloved Son. Listen to him.” As the Gospel unfolds, we learn what listening to Jesus means. He will speak about taking up the cross. He will walk toward Jerusalem. He will suffer and die. The mountain is preparation, not conclusion. It gives the disciples strength for the long journey ahead.

When they come down from the mountain, Jesus returns to the work of teaching, healing, and serving. The vision of glory does not remove him from the world’s needs. It sends him more deeply into them.

The same is true for us. Our faith is not meant to be an escape from ordinary life. The moments of consolation we receive are meant to strengthen us for mission. We are not called to remain in tents on the mountain. We are called to descend into the everyday realities of family life, friendships, workplaces, and our wider community.

The world does not need disciples who remain only in places of comfort and inspiration. It needs disciples who carry the light of Christ into concrete situations. When we encounter the transfigured Lord, we are invited to reflect his love in acts of service, in concern for our neighbour, in building up the common good, in contributing to a more just and compassionate society.

Christ loves every person. If we love him, we must also love those he loves.

The transfiguration is a gift of hope. It reveals that glory is the final word, even when the path leads through the cross. During this Lenten journey, we pray not only to glimpse the light of Christ, but also to receive the courage to follow him down the mountain. Strengthened by his grace, we are sent into the world to bring his love, his mercy, and his transforming light to others.

From Adam to Christ: A Lenten Journey of Hope

 1 Sunday of Lent, Year A

As the Church celebrates the Rite of Election and accompanies those preparing for Baptism, Lent invites all the faithful to rediscover the meaning of their own baptismal identity. The readings contrast Adam and Christ, reminding us that while we share in humanity’s woundedness, we are being transformed into the likeness of Christ, the new Adam. This season calls us to live both compunction and joy, honestly facing our need for conversion while trusting in the mercy that leads us toward Easter hope.

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This 1st Sunday of Lent at Holy Rosary Cathedral, an important celebration will take place: the Rite of Election. Each year at the cathedral, the Archbishop gathers those adults who are preparing to enter the Catholic Church at the Easter Vigil. This year, Archbishop Smith will greet, welcome, and bless them as they continue their journey toward Baptism and full communion. The cathedral will be filled with catechumens, candidates, their sponsors, and members of RCIA programs from across the archdiocese who have accompanied them with prayer and encouragement.

In our own parish, we have much to give thanks for. Seventeen catechumens are preparing to be baptized at the Easter Vigil, and ten candidates, already baptized in another Christian tradition, are preparing to enter into full communion with the Catholic Church. Tomorrow, they will be called forward and chosen, their names inscribed as a sign of the Church’s confidence in God’s work within them.

It is helpful to keep this Rite of Election in mind as we begin Lent. In the early Church, these forty days were a particularly intense time of preparation for those awaiting Baptism. Lent was first and foremost their season. After the Rite of Election, they entered into a period of prayer, fasting, and instruction as they prepared to die and rise with Christ in the waters of Baptism. That remains true today.

Lent, then, is not only about personal improvement. It is about Baptism. As we accompany those preparing to enter the Church, we are also called to renew and deepen our own baptismal identity. We are invited to remember who we are and to rediscover the story into which we have been baptized.

In the readings today, especially in the first reading and in Saint Paul’s letter, we are presented with a striking contrast between Adam and Christ. These two figures shape the Christian understanding of our story. We descend from Adam, yet through Baptism we are joined to Christ. We carry something of both within us.

In Genesis, we hear of Adam and Eve in the garden, created in the image and likeness of God, endowed with extraordinary dignity. Yet through disobedience, their relationships were fractured: with God, with one another, and even with creation itself. Saint Paul reminds us that this woundedness touches all humanity. We share in that brokenness. Each of us knows, if we are honest, that we struggle. None of us are perfect.

Yet this is not a message of despair. It is the context for hope. Saint Paul proclaims that Jesus Christ is the new Adam, the one who comes to undo what was done in the beginning. Where Adam gave in to temptation, Christ remained faithful. In the Gospel, Jesus is tempted in the wilderness but does not fall. He lives fully our humanity, yet without sin.

Through Baptism, we are joined to him. The transformation has begun, even if it is not yet complete. We still feel within ourselves the pull of the old Adam, but we are being conformed more and more to Christ. The fullness of that transformation will come at the resurrection.

One of the most powerful images of this mystery is found in the ancient icon known as the Harrowing of Hell. In it, Christ descends to the realm of the dead and takes Adam and Eve by the hand, lifting them up and drawing them toward the Father. It is a vivid expression of what Saint Paul describes: Christ entering into our brokenness in order to raise us up.

This is the story into which we have been baptized. It is the story Lent invites us to remember.

Traditionally, Lent has been described as a season marked by two realities that exist together: compunction and joy. Catholic faith is often a matter of both and.

Compunction is a word we do not use often. It describes the sorrow we feel when we recognize that we have done wrong. It is the honest awareness that something in us needs healing. On Ash Wednesday, we heard the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Lent places our lives in perspective. We remember that we are finite. We acknowledge our need for mercy.

Like Jesus in the wilderness, we enter a place of testing and reflection. The wilderness is a place of struggle, but also of renewal. Israel passed through the wilderness on the way to the Promised Land. During Lent, we ask ourselves: Where am I falling short? What habits need to change? Where is God inviting me to grow?

Yet we do not remain in sorrow alone. Lent makes sense only in light of Easter. We do not approach a harsh judge, but a Savior who understands our weakness. Christ does not expose our wounds in order to condemn us, but in order to heal us.

As we begin this Lenten season, let us pray for both compunction and joy. Let us ask for the grace to see clearly where we need conversion, and at the same time to trust deeply in the mercy of Christ.

Perhaps during this Mass, each of us can identify one area where the Lord is inviting growth. Then let us turn our gaze toward Jesus, the new Adam, who has come not to leave us in our brokenness, but to raise us up and transform us into his likeness.

Crossing the Bridge: Lent as a Courageous Step Toward New Life

 Ash Wednesday

The closing of the Pattullo Bridge reminds us how easy it is to cling to what is familiar, even when we know a new and better path is needed. Lent is an invitation to step away from habits and patterns that are no longer life-giving and to embrace prayer, generosity, and sacrifice with renewed sincerity of heart. Through the symbol of ashes, we are reminded that what seems like an ending can become the beginning of new life when we trust Christ to lead us forward.

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On Monday, I had the opportunity to walk across the Pattullo Bridge one last time. As you know, the Pattullo Bridge is now closed and will soon be taken apart. In its place, a new bridge has been built: the stal̕əw̓asəm Bridge. It was a wonderful opportunity to cross that familiar span one final time. Perhaps some of you had the chance to do the same. If not, I am afraid the opportunity has passed.

What made the experience especially moving was what people had written in chalk along the bridge. Some messages were humorous: “R.I.P. Pattullo Bridge.” Others were heartfelt: “Thank you for your service,” or simply a heart with the words, “We will miss you.” Someone had even placed flowers there. It was clear that people felt attached to this bridge, this path that for decades connected New Westminster and Surrey. I saw someone interviewed on television who spoke about all the times they had crossed that bridge to visit family members, some of whom have since passed away. Of course there is nostalgia. Of course there is a certain hesitation about letting it go.

Yet in the midst of that nostalgia, we can forget something important: we needed a new bridge. Driving across the old one could be rather perilous. Some of you may remember having your mirrors clipped by passing trucks. Others may recall the netting installed underneath to catch pieces of concrete that might otherwise have fallen onto cars below. As much as we might feel sentimental, we needed a safer, stronger way forward.

Ash Wednesday, as we begin Lent, is something like that moment of crossing from the old bridge to the new. It is an opportunity to leave one path behind and take another. Often the path we cling to is familiar. It may even have served us well for a time. But deep down, we know that some habits, patterns of behaviour, or ways of relating to others are no longer life-giving. We sense that God is calling us to something new, something better, even if it feels uncertain or demanding.

In the Gospel, Jesus speaks about prayer, almsgiving, and fasting. These are not simply religious exercises. They are concrete ways of stepping onto that new bridge. Prayer deepens our relationship with God. Almsgiving reflects our love and generosity toward others. Fasting helps us let go of what does not truly nourish us, whether that be food or other attachments that distract or diminish us. Above all, Jesus reminds us that what matters is the heart. These practices are meant to be rooted in authenticity, in love of God and love of neighbour.

When I was younger, I used to dread Lent. It felt like a season of deprivation. We put ashes on our foreheads and speak about repentance. It can sound heavy. But the older I get, the more I recognize a simple truth: change is difficult. It is difficult for me, and I suspect it is difficult for all of us. We can see clearly where we need to grow, and yet taking that first step can feel daunting.

That is why Lent is a blessed season. It is a time when, as a community, we focus together on the changes to which God is calling us. We do not attempt this on our own. We trust that Christ gives us the grace and strength we need. The ashes we receive today are a sign of that grace.

These ashes come from the palms we held on Palm Sunday. Those palms once symbolized Christ’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem. Over time they dried and withered. Now they are burned and transformed into ash. What once seemed finished is given new meaning.

Ash can seem like a symbol of destruction, but it is also a sign of new life. After a forest fire, the landscape may look devastated. Yet the ash returns nutrients to the soil, and in time new growth emerges. What appears to be an ending becomes the beginning of something new.

So too in our lives. Lent invites us to let certain things die so that something better can grow. Leaving old paths behind is not easy. Taking a new bridge, a new direction, requires courage. But we do not do it alone. We walk this journey together, strengthened by Christ.

Like any significant change, what matters most is often the first step. Today, as we receive ashes, we take that step. We step onto the new bridge, trusting that the One who calls us forward will also give us the grace to cross.

From Law to the Heart

 6 Sunday Ordinary Time, Year A

In Matthew 5:17–37, Jesus teaches that he fulfills the law not by adding more rules, but by transforming the human heart, moving from external obedience to interior conversion. In the wake of the Tumbler Ridge tragedy, this Gospel reminds us that healing, reconciliation, and grace begin in the heart. Like the moon reflecting the sun at Lunar New Year, Christians are called to reflect Christ’s light, allowing his grace to renew our hearts and bring hope to a wounded world.

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Read homily here:

There are some stereotypes when it comes to being Catholic. One is that Catholics have many commandments and instructions. Another is that Catholics are often burdened with guilt when we do not follow them perfectly. In today’s Gospel, Jesus speaks at length about the commandments, and at first glance it may seem that he is adding even more to our plate.

He tells us, “I have come not to abolish the law but to fulfill it.” He also says, “Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.” Those are strong words. What does it mean for our righteousness to exceed that of the Pharisees? What does it mean for Christ to fulfill the law?

In the end, Jesus is drawing our attention to the heart. The commandments matter. They guide us in loving God and loving our neighbour. But Jesus has come not simply to reinforce external observance. He has come to change our hearts.

This Gospel comes to us at a difficult moment in our province. Many are struggling with grief and sorrow after the violence in Tumbler Ridge. There is confusion, anger, pain, and mourning. There is a deep need for healing and reconciliation. Into this reality, Jesus speaks about the heart. He comes not to condemn, but to heal and to give hope. He desires to transform what lies at the root of our actions.

In the Gospel, Jesus repeatedly says, “You have heard that it was said,” and he recalls the commandments. Then he adds, “But I say to you.” It is not only about murder, but about anger. It is not only about adultery, but about lust. It is not only about oath-breaking, but about the integrity of our speech.

Jesus is not multiplying rules in order to make us anxious or scrupulous. He is showing us that everything begins in the heart. Violence in the world, whether physical or verbal, does not appear out of nowhere. It begins with resentment, with hatred, with a failure to see the other person’s dignity. It begins in the heart.

Jesus speaks in strong and even startling language. If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. Of course, he is speaking in hyperbole. He is underscoring how serious our interior life is. Small seeds, if left unattended, can grow into something destructive. Anger can lead to resentment. Resentment can lead to division. Division can lead to conflict.

Yet Jesus is not trying to lead us into despair. He fulfills the law not by giving us more regulations, but by giving us the grace to live what the law intends. The Sermon on the Mount, including the Beatitudes, is impossible without God’s grace. Our hearts are central, and Christ has come to renew them.

This week, many also celebrate the Lunar New Year. In many cultures it marks a hopeful beginning, a chance to look forward with confidence. Even though we celebrate January 1 according to the solar calendar, we are not strangers to lunar rhythms. The Jewish tradition followed a lunar calendar, and even the dating of Easter depends on the cycle of the moon.

The moon has long been a rich symbol in Christian reflection. The sun produces its own light, but the moon shines by reflecting the light of the sun. At times it appears dark, and at other times it is full and radiant. Its light is borrowed light.

This image can help us understand what Christ does in our hearts. He does not ignore the darkness within us, the grief, the anger, the wounds, or the unforgiveness. But when his grace touches us, our hearts are illuminated. Like the moon that begins as a small sliver and gradually grows brighter, our hearts can grow in light when they reflect Christ.

So we return to that question. How can our righteousness exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees? Not by adding more rules. Not by becoming overly scrupulous. Not by being driven by guilt. Our righteousness exceeds when Christ changes our hearts. From the heart flow all our words and actions.

In this Eucharist, we pray especially for those whose hearts are heavy with grief. We pray for healing and peace in our province. We also pray for ourselves, that we may allow Christ to transform us from within. We fall short each day, but with God’s grace we can walk the path set before us.

May the Lord enter our hearts once again and fill them with his light, so that we may reflect his love and peace to the world.

Salt, Light, and Credibility: What Real Christian Witness Looks Like Today

 5 Sunday OT, Year A

In a world filled with loud public claims of Christianity that are not always compelling, Jesus reminds his followers that true witness is measured not by volume or power, but by credibility. Through the images of salt and light, the Gospel shows that Christians are called to draw out the goodness in others and to reveal what is life-giving, without overpowering or dominating. Authentic Christian witness makes God visible not through force or status, but through a quiet presence that enhances goodness and illuminates the path toward Christ.

Listen to homily here:

Read homily here:

Sometimes people suggest that one of the problems Christians face in the world today is that they need to be quiet about their faith, or that they should not really show it to others. Certainly, in some parts of the world, Christians do face persecution, and it is also true that at times people may feel embarrassed or hesitant about practising their faith openly. But despite these challenges, it is difficult to say that Christianity is always quiet in the public sphere. In fact, there are many very loud expressions of Christianity in the world today.

For example, one could argue that the Super Bowl is one of the days of the year when the most prayers are offered. In many sporting events, athletes quite openly make the sign of the cross, whether at the Olympics or the World Cup. In politics as well, we often hear public figures quoting the Bible or referencing the fact that they are Christians and followers of Jesus. Christianity, it seems, is not always subtle or hidden. And yet, these loud expressions are not always compelling. At times, they even push people away.

What seems to be missing is not volume, but credibility. In fact, simply saying that one is Christian can sometimes act less like an announcement of good news and more like a warning sign. Christianity can acquire a bad reputation, not because of the Gospel itself, but because of the way it is sometimes embodied. This is not new. Throughout history, people with power or wealth have often claimed the Christian name while living lives very far from the Gospel. In the early centuries after Christianity was legalized, many Roman emperors called themselves Christians, yet their lives bore little resemblance to Christ. Later, during the Renaissance, some popes, despite being regarded as the vicars of Christ, lived in ways that were deeply scandalous. The same pattern continues today when those in positions of power claim Christianity while offering an example that contradicts the message of Jesus.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus seems to anticipate this problem. He offers two simple but profound images that show us what credible Christian witness looks like: salt and light. Both images point to a way of being present in the world that is not forceful or domineering, but transformative in a quieter and more authentic way.

Consider first the image of salt. In the time of Jesus, salt was extremely valuable. The word salary itself comes from the fact that Roman soldiers were sometimes paid with salt. Salt was used to preserve food, to disinfect wounds, and, as today, to enhance flavour. It is this last use that is especially helpful. When used properly, salt draws out the goodness of what is already there. But too much salt can ruin a dish.

I remember when I was in elementary school becoming interested in cooking and baking, long before you could look everything up online. I once attempted to make meringue, those baked desserts made from whipped egg whites and sugar. The recipe called for just a small amount of salt, but I misunderstood what that meant and added far too much. The result was inedible and had to be thrown away. Salt, when it overpowers, destroys rather than enhances.

The same can be true of Christian witness. When Christianity becomes overbearing or dominating, it ceases to be attractive. There are forms of Christianity that imply that believers are better than others or that seek to control rather than serve. This is not credible witness. To be salt in the world means helping to draw out the goodness already present in others, helping people recognize the dignity and goodness with which God has created them.

The image of light carries a similar meaning. Today we take light for granted. We simply flip a switch. In the ancient world, light was precious and difficult to come by. Yet light, too, can be misused. I was driving recently on a rainy evening when a car approached from the opposite direction with extremely bright headlights. They were so intense that they actually made it harder to see. Good light, however, does the opposite. It illuminates the path, reveals direction, and allows us to move safely.

Light should never blind. It should reveal. Think of a sunrise. Gradually, what was hidden in darkness becomes visible, and the beauty of creation emerges. When Jesus calls us light, he is inviting us to live in a way that reveals goodness, that helps others see both the path forward and the beauty already present in their lives. Christian witness should illuminate, not overwhelm. It should guide, not dominate.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus invites us to reflect seriously on what kind of witnesses we are. When people think of a Christian, what comes to mind? Someone who claims faith but contradicts it in practice, or someone whose presence brings out goodness, sheds light, and quietly points toward God?

As we continue with this Mass and enter the coming week, perhaps one final question is worth considering. Imagine that someone encounters you this week and knows that you are a Christian. Imagine, in fact, that you are the only Christian they ever meet. What kind of picture of Christ would your life give them?

The Paradox of Blessedness: Finding Fulfilment Through the Beatitudes

 4 Sunday of Ordinary Time, year A

Jesus’ Beatitudes challenge our usual ideas of success by revealing that true blessedness is not found in comfort or status, but in right relationship with God and with one another. Even in poverty, grief, or struggle, a person can experience deep fulfilment through trust in God and a life shaped by self-giving love. Lived out in the Christian community, this paradoxical way of life becomes a powerful witness to the Gospel and a sign of God’s work among us.

Listen to homily here:

Read homily here:

We hear the words of Jesus so often, especially the words we heard in the Gospel today, the Beatitudes, such a familiar and beloved teaching. We can become so accustomed to hearing them that they lose their power to surprise us. And yet, when we listen carefully, the teaching of Jesus, particularly in the Beatitudes, really should shock us. It is strange. It is paradoxical. At first glance, it does not make much sense. Today we are invited to allow ourselves to be surprised once again by the teaching of Christ.

For those who first heard Jesus preach, the Beatitudes would have been deeply unsettling. If we were asked to identify someone who was most blessed in life, we would probably not point to the people Jesus describes. In Jesus’ time, just as in our own, to be blessed meant to be fortunate, fulfilled, and successful. It meant good health, a strong family, financial security, comfort, and perhaps social standing. This is what it meant to live a good life. And yet Jesus turns all of this upside down. He declares blessed the poor, the meek, those who mourn, and those who are persecuted. This is unexpected and unsettling, and it should give us pause.

Jesus is not glorifying suffering for its own sake, nor are Christians meant to seek out hardship. What Jesus teaches in the Beatitudes is that while the good things of life are indeed gifts from God, they are not the final measure of blessedness. Even in the midst of struggle, poverty, grief, or persecution, a person can still be blessed. True beatitude, true fulfilment, comes from living in right relationship with God and in right relationship with one another. When we live in communion with Christ, we can experience blessedness even amid difficulty and struggle.

Jesus often points to children as a model for how we are to relate to God. This truth struck me in a particular way this past Wednesday during our parish PREP program, when we celebrated First Confession for about fifty children, mostly in Grade Two, with some a little older. That evening, I was feeling a bit on edge and distracted, carrying the weight of many concerns. Yet as I listened to these young children make their confessions, something remarkable happened. No matter how heavy my heart may have been, the simple and sincere faith of these children was deeply moving.

In them we see a profound trust in God, a simplicity and directness, and a genuine sense that God is a loving parent who cares for them. This is precisely the relationship Christ invites us into. Each time we pray the Our Father, at Mass and throughout the day, we approach God as children who trust in their Father’s care. When we live with this kind of trust and abandonment to God, we can experience peace, fulfilment, and blessedness even in the midst of life’s struggles.

We also experience this blessedness through right relationship with one another. In the Beatitudes, Jesus gives us a picture of life in the Kingdom of God, a way of living marked by mercy, humility, forgiveness, and generosity. This way of life is sometimes described as the law of the gift, a phrase articulated by figures such as Saint John Paul II. It captures the paradox at the heart of the Beatitudes and of the Christian life itself. At first, this way of living does not seem logical. Yet we discover its truth when we live it. We find our life and our fulfilment precisely when we give our lives as a gift to others, when we serve, forgive, and place the needs of others before our own.

In today’s readings, Saint Paul reminds us that not only the teaching of Jesus but the very life of the Christian community can appear strange to the world. Writing to the Corinthians, Paul explains that God did not choose the powerful or the wise by worldly standards, but those who seemed insignificant. The wisdom of the cross stands in contrast to the wisdom of the world. Historically, many early Christians came from the margins of society, including the poor and the enslaved, people who recognized in the Gospel a message of liberation and hope.

A Roman governor named Pliny, writing around the year 115, described this new movement of Christians to the emperor. He noted that Christians lived within society and contributed to its well being, yet they also lived differently. They shared what they had, refused to deceive or defraud others, and sought to live honest and faithful family lives. Even from the perspective of a pagan observer, their way of life stood out as something unusual and paradoxical.

Today, Jesus once again invites us to be surprised by the strangeness of the Beatitudes. This teaching may appear illogical, but its truth becomes clear when it is lived. As a parish community, we are called to be a place where the Beatitudes are made visible, where this paradoxical blessedness is lived out. May we commit ourselves anew to being people of the Beatitudes, trusting that true joy and fulfilment are found not in the absence of difficulty, but in living in right relationship with God and with one another.

Taking the Bible Off the Shelf: Why God’s Word Belongs in Daily Life

 3 Sunday of OT, Year A

Sacred Scripture is not meant to be admired from a distance but read and lived as a daily part of Christian life. Through the Word of God, Jesus continues to speak, call, and guide believers in the midst of ordinary, busy lives, just as he did the first disciples. Even a small daily practice of reading the Bible, especially the Gospels, can deepen faith, shape discipleship, and transform how we follow Christ.

Listen to homily here:

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I remember when I was a kid and I would go visit my grandma’s house. She had the cups and plates that we normally used, but there was also a cabinet that you were not really allowed to open. Inside that cabinet were other plates and cups, the good china. I was always amazed as a kid that all of those dishes just sat there. They were never used. They were waiting for a special occasion. Maybe you have something like that in your house as well. I think a lot of people do.

Sometimes people say that this is the way Catholics approach the Bible, sacred scripture. The Bible can be like fine china. We respect it. We give it a place of honour. But we do not take it out very often. There are exceptions, of course, but for many Catholics, the Bible is not something that becomes part of daily life.

Today is a special Sunday in the Church year, a Sunday dedicated to the Word of God. It is meant to remind us that sacred scripture, reading the Bible, is an indispensable part of our relationship with Jesus. In the Gospel today we hear the story of the first followers of Christ, those whom Jesus comes to and calls. We remember today that when we read and ponder sacred scripture, this is how Jesus still speaks to us. This is how he still calls us and says, “Come, follow me.”

In recent generations, the Catholic Church has been rediscovering the importance of sacred scripture. This week we have been celebrating the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity with our other Christian brothers and sisters. This week is an important moment in the Church’s mission toward greater unity among Christians. Along this ecumenical journey, Catholics have learned that we have much to learn from other followers of Jesus. One of the most important things we have learned is the central place of scripture in the Christian life. Many other Christians read the Bible faithfully and allow it to shape how they live day by day. They listen for how Christ calls them through that daily encounter with scripture.

At the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s, the Church emphasized this strongly in a document called Dei Verbum, which means “The Word of God.” This document was influenced by the ecumenical movement and also by a rediscovery within our own Catholic tradition. It taught that sacred scripture is not simply a book that gives us information. For a long time, Catholics often approached the Bible mainly as a source of teachings or propositions, truths that we could not discover through reason alone. Scripture was seen primarily as a book that told us things about God.

Dei Verbum broadened that understanding. It taught that revelation exists to lead us into a relationship with God. Sacred scripture certainly teaches us about who God is, but more importantly, it draws us into a living relationship with God now and forever. Scripture is relational first and foremost. It is meant to help us encounter Jesus so that we can follow him more closely. This is something the Church has been rediscovering and teaching with renewed emphasis in recent generations.

It is through sacred scripture that Jesus continues to call people today. He speaks a personal word that can change our lives. Some years ago, I had the opportunity to live in Jerusalem for a time and to visit the Sea of Galilee. I saw the remains of the places we hear about in the Gospels. There are several churches there, many cared for by the Franciscans, and one beautiful church by the Sea of Galilee recalls the moment in today’s Gospel when Peter, Andrew, and the others are called while fishing.

When we visited that place, we spent time in prayer, reading the Gospel and imagining what it might have been like for those first disciples. They were not gathered in quiet prayer. They were busy with their daily work. Their minds were probably elsewhere. And it was precisely there, in the midst of ordinary life, that Christ called them and changed their lives forever.

Sacred scripture can do the same for us. Our lives are busy. Our minds are often elsewhere. But when we take even a few minutes to read the Bible, especially the Gospels, Christ can speak to us. A word or a phrase can give us direction, inspiration, or clarity. It can help us to live our lives more faithfully. Through sacred scripture, Christ continues to call us.

For this reason, the Church encourages us to develop some daily practice of reading scripture. That does not have to be complicated. Sometimes we set goals that are too ambitious and then give up before we begin. We might think we need to read an entire Gospel at once. In reality, very small habits can be powerful. Reading a short passage or a few paragraphs each day can take only a minute or two, but it can make a real difference.

We can simply ask, “Jesus, what are you saying to me today? How are you calling me? How are you showing me your love? How are you inviting me to live?” In doing this, we can be changed. Like the first disciples in the Gospel, we can hear the voice of Jesus.

If we do not already have a habit of reading scripture, or if we once did and let it slip, today is an invitation to begin again. One simple step might be to place the Bible somewhere visible, somewhere we will actually use it. In a sense, it means taking that fine china off the shelf and bringing it into daily life. Even a few minutes each day, perhaps before going to bed, reading a short passage and listening for what Jesus is saying, can make a profound difference.

Jesus continues to speak to us. He continues to call us, just as he called those first disciples. We simply need to make time to approach sacred scripture, this great gift given to us. Even a few minutes each day can change us and help us grow more and more into the disciples Jesus calls us to be.

Loved Into Service: Ministry That Flows from Grace

 2 Sunday OT, Year A

We are first known and loved by God, and that identity comes before any call to serve. Christian service flows not from guilt or pressure, but from an overflow of God’s love that fills our lives and naturally spills out to others. Parish ministries are one way this love takes shape, as each person is invited to serve according to their gifts and season of life.

Listen to homily here:

Read homily here:

Are you familiar with the expression being voluntold? Basically, what happens is this: you’re part of a group or organization, someone says, “We’re looking for volunteers,” and then, before you know it, people are being told exactly what they are volunteering for.

In the Church, of course, we can be quite good at that. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve been guilty of voluntolding on more than one occasion.

This Sunday, however, we have the opportunity to reflect as a parish community on service and ministry. After Mass today, we will be holding our Ministry Fair in the hall. It’s a chance to see the many ministries and groups that are part of our parish life: liturgical ministries, ministries focused on education, ministries focused on service. It’s an opportunity to recognize those already involved and to consider what ministries we ourselves might want to be part of.

Truth be told, there may be a little voluntolding that happens during the Ministry Fair. But the readings today, especially the first reading, give us something much deeper to reflect on: why we serve. Why do we minister at all? And this isn’t just about serving in the Church. It applies to serving in our families, our workplaces, our schools, and our wider communities.

Why is it that we serve? Do we serve because we feel compelled? Because we feel guilty? What is the spiritual motivation that truly moves us to serve and minister to those around us?

The first reading from the prophet Isaiah describes the servant of the Lord, and in this passage we are given some powerful guidance and inspiration about service. First and foremost, Isaiah reminds us of a fundamental truth: before we consider what we are called to do, we must first remember who we are. Our identity in God’s eyes comes before our mission.

This is something many of us struggle with. I know I do. We can easily fall into the trap of measuring our value by what we do. We can start to believe that people will only love us, care about us, or see us as good if we are doing certain things. In that way of thinking, our dignity and worth come after our service.

Isaiah offers us a completely different perspective, God’s perspective. We hear in the reading: “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you; I have called you by name.”

Before any ministry, before any service, God already knows us. God already loves us. God already delights in who we are. We do not need to earn God’s love. We do not need to prove our worth through activity. That dignity, that identity, comes first.

From there, Isaiah shows us something else: we are loved into service. It is this secure identity, this grounding in God’s love, that inspires us to serve and minister to others.

There are two images that can help us think about how God’s grace works in our lives, and both involve water. One image is like a river flowing over solid rock. The water rushes through, and over time the rock is worn down. That can sometimes be how we experience service: everything passes through us, and eventually we feel exhausted and worn away.

The other image is a glass of water filled to the brim. Once it is full, the water naturally spills over. This second image is much closer to how service is meant to work in our lives. God’s grace, God’s love, fills us first. And only then does it overflow to those around us.

When we serve as if grace is only passing through us, burnout is never far away. But when we serve from an overflow of God’s love, service becomes life-giving. Even then, ministry can still be challenging. It isn’t always easy. But it is meant to come from that fullness, from hearts that have already been filled by God.

Finally, Isaiah reminds us that we do not serve alone. In the reading, all of Israel is called the servant of the Lord. Together they are meant to be a light to the nations. St. Paul echoes this beautifully when he speaks of the Church as the Body of Christ. Each of us has a role. Each of us has gifts. Each of us serves in different ways and at different seasons of life.

There may be times when we are able to be very active in ministry, and times when other responsibilities make that difficult. But all of us belong to the mission. So when we think about service, we shouldn’t begin by asking, “Where is the greatest need?” or “Where do I feel pressured?” Instead, we might ask: Given the gifts and time God has given me in this season of my life, how is God inviting me to share his love with others?

That is what all our parish ministries and groups are ultimately about: communicating God’s love, peace, and goodness to the world around us.

As we reflect on ministry today, let us remember these messages from Isaiah. We are first and always beloved sons and daughters of God. From that identity, we are loved into service. Service is not meant to be driven by guilt or pressure, but by love.

And as Mother Teresa so wisely reminded us, when we serve in this way, service leads to joy. As she often said, joy is the fruit of service.

Baptized with Christ: Identity, Dignity, and Mission

 Baptism of Our Lord, year A

On the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord, this homily reflects on the meaning of Christian baptism through the voices of the early Church and the teaching of the Second Vatican Council. Baptism is presented as the foundation of Christian identity, naming us as sons and daughters of God, equal in dignity, and fully belonging to the Body of Christ. From this identity flows a mission, as every baptized person is sent into the world to build God’s kingdom of justice, peace, and love.

Listen to homily here:

Read homily here:

You may have noticed, either by coming to Mass or by looking at our email bulletin, that we have had a good number of baptisms in recent years. Every year around this time, we are required to make records of these things and send them to the Archbishop’s office. All of this data is then collected and forwarded to Rome.

So I had to add up the number of baptisms we had last year here at St. Peter’s, which came, if my arithmetic is correct, to sixty-seven. I was quite surprised by that number. Of course, in the Church we also love record-keeping, and here at St. Peter’s we have parish registers going all the way back to the founding of the parish in 1860. I began looking through those books to see when the last time was that we had this many baptisms in a single year. What I discovered was that the last time we had this number was in 1982, which, somewhat ironically, was around the time that I myself was baptized in this parish.

That is quite a while ago, and it is truly a blessing for all of us. It reflects the fact that many new families are coming to New Westminster and joining our parish community. It is a blessing, and it is also an opportunity for us to pause and reflect on our own baptism and on the great gift that baptism is in our lives.

On this feast that we celebrate today, the Baptism of the Lord, the Church gives us a unique opportunity to consider our own baptism, its meaning, and how in baptism we receive both an identity and a mission in Jesus Christ.

The early writers of the Church loved to speak very poetically about this event. The baptism of Jesus struck them, as it does us, as a profound paradox. How is it that Jesus Christ, who is God, comes to be baptized by John, a human being? How is it that the one who is without sin submits himself to baptism? These early writers often described how Christ’s baptism allows something extraordinary to happen for each and every one of us, and they expressed this mystery with rich and beautiful language. I would like to share some of that language with you this morning.

Saint Ephrem, who lived around the year 350 in Syria, was a deacon, theologian, and one of the great poets of the early Church. He wrote many hymns that are still used today, especially in Syriac-speaking churches. Writing about this feast, he says:

“The River Jordan trembled
when it saw the Lord within its depths.
Fire entered the water,
and the water did not burn.
The voice of the Father thundered,
the Son stood in the Jordan,
the Spirit hovered like a dove,
one mystery revealed in three signs.”

Around the same time, another great writer of the Church, Saint Gregory of Nazianzus, writing in the fourth century, reflects on this mystery in these words:

“Christ is illumined. Let us shine forth with him.
Christ is baptized. Let us descend with him,
that we may also rise with him.
The heavens were opened, because the heavens were closed to us.
The Spirit descended, because he was exalting our nature.
The voice bore witness, because he was being borne witness to.”

And finally, Saint Maximus of Turin, who was bishop of Turin around the year 420, offers this brief but powerful statement:

“The Savior wills to be baptized, not that he might be cleansed, but that the waters might be cleansed by him.”

Through these voices, the early Church helps us see that in the mystery of Christ’s baptism, Jesus is preparing the way for our own baptism. He enters the waters so that we might receive this central sacrament, a sacrament that changes our lives.

Some fifteen hundred years later, the Church gathered for the Second Vatican Council, the most recent ecumenical council of the Church. Ecumenical councils are moments of profound teaching, when bishops from around the world gather to reflect on the life of the Church and to articulate the faith anew in light of the present moment. Pope Francis has recently begun a catechetical series reflecting on the documents of the Second Vatican Council, highlighting their enduring relevance for us today.

One of the most important documents of the Council is Lumen Gentium, which means “Light to the Nations.” This document speaks powerfully about what baptism does for us. As we see in the Gospel today, baptism touches something fundamental about identity. When Jesus descends into the water, his identity is affirmed. He is revealed as the Son of God.

In our baptism, the same thing happens to us. Through Christ, we receive an extraordinary dignity. We become sons and daughters of God. In the ancient world, the family to which one belonged made all the difference. It shaped one’s place in society and one’s entire future. In baptism, we receive a new identity and a radical equality. We are all sons and daughters of God, sharing the same grace and the same life.

Lumen Gentium, number ten, states: “The baptized are consecrated to be a spiritual house and a holy priesthood.” Through baptism, we receive our name and identity, and we also come to belong to the Church, and therefore to one another.

The Second Vatican Council emphasizes that baptism is our most fundamental vocation. At times in the past, there may have been a sense that some Catholics were more important than others, perhaps clergy or religious. While each of us has a distinct vocation, Lumen Gentium reminds us that baptism is the first and most important calling we receive. It is through baptism that we belong to the Body of Christ, and therefore every person matters. There are no passive spectators in the Church.

Lumen Gentium, number thirty-two, says, “There is a true equality in dignity and action among all the faithful.” In baptism, we become part of the Body of Christ, and each of us has a role to play in the mission of Jesus.

Finally, baptism does not only give us identity and dignity. It also gives us mission. By baptism, we become part of the Body of Christ, and the Church continues the mission of Jesus in the world. We are called to help build the Kingdom of God, a kingdom of justice, peace, and love.

Lumen Gentium, number thirty-one, teaches that the baptized, by their very vocation, seek the Kingdom of God by engaging in the affairs of the world and ordering them according to God’s plan. Because we are baptized, we are sent back into our families, workplaces, schools, and communities with new eyes, called to shape these places according to God’s vision.

Baptism gives us an identity as sons and daughters of God, confers great dignity, incorporates us into the Church, and sends us on mission. For this reason, it is important to remember our own baptism and even to celebrate it.

I love a piece of advice Pope Francis gave early in his pontificate. He asked people, “Do you know the date on which you were baptized?” If you do not know it, he said, find out. Put it in your calendar. Mark it in some way. It is an incredible day in our lives.

Perhaps that is our challenge today, as we reflect on the Baptism of the Lord and what it means for us. Do we know the day on which we were baptized, and if we do, how are we remembering and celebrating that gift?