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:

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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.

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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?

Not Safe, But Good: Following Christ Like the Magi

 Epiphany 2026

Following Jesus is not always safe or predictable, but it is always good, as shown in the journey of the Magi who risk everything to encounter Christ. Drawn by the star, they follow Jesus not out of fear or obligation, but because they are attracted by his goodness, truth, and beauty. This Epiphany reminds Christians that discipleship means allowing Christ to change our lives, trusting that his goodness leads us to true fullness of life, even when the path is risky.

Listen to homily here:

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I think many of us are familiar with the book The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Either we read it, and I know I had to read it when I was in elementary school, or we have seen the movies. It has become a popular series, especially to watch during the wintertime.

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe was written by C.S. Lewis, who was a deeply committed Christian. He was Anglican, not Catholic, but certainly a man of profound Christian faith. Lewis wrote this book as an allegory, meaning that different characters stand in the place of figures from the New Testament.

The story follows a group of siblings who make their way through a wardrobe into the land of Narnia. When they arrive, they discover that this land is under the grip of an evil witch, who symbolizes evil itself. Eventually, the children take refuge in the home, more like a hut, of a beaver family, Mr. and Mrs. Beaver. There, they learn more about the land of Narnia, about the power of the witch, but also about the hope that still exists among the people.

The Beavers begin to tell the children about a figure named Aslan. Aslan, of course, stands in the place of Jesus in the story. They explain that Aslan is a king who will return and free the land from the witch’s power. In other words, he will rescue Narnia from slavery to evil, just as Jesus comes to rescue the world from slavery to sin.

At one point, the Beavers tell the children that Aslan is not a human being, but a lion. This leads to a memorable exchange between Lucy, the youngest child, and Mr. Beaver. When Lucy hears that Aslan is a lion, she asks rather nervously, “Well, is he safe?” Mr. Beaver responds, “Safe? Who said anything about safe? Of course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

With this brief exchange, C.S. Lewis captures something essential about who Jesus is and what it means to follow him. And we see this same truth reflected in today’s Gospel story of the Magi. Jesus is good, but he is not safe, if by safe we mean that following him will involve no risk or no change.

Jesus Christ is good. He loves us. He wants what is best for us. He walks with us through our lives. He even died to save us. Jesus is ultimately good. But he is not safe in the sense that following him will leave our lives unchanged or completely predictable.

When we follow Jesus, we often find ourselves challenged to change our behavior, to let go of bad habits, or to serve in ways we had not planned. Sometimes we discover that God has something different in store for us than what we had imagined. Something better, perhaps, but also something risky, something unexpected, something that does not feel entirely safe.

We see this clearly in the lives of the Magi. They are drawn to Jesus not by fear, but by goodness. Something attracts them, symbolized by the star, and they set out to follow it. Yet their journey is risky. They encounter Herod, who schemes to destroy Jesus and attempts to manipulate them. Their decision to seek Christ puts them in danger.

And after they meet Jesus, their lives are changed forever. We are told that they return home by a different road. Encountering Christ brings fullness of life, but it also brings change. Their path is no longer the same.

So it is for us. Following Jesus can be risky. Around the world today, many Christians face real persecution for their faith. We think of Christians in places like Nigeria, Somalia, North Korea, or Iran. For them, following Christ carries serious danger.

But even for us, following Jesus can feel risky in quieter ways. It can mean going against the flow of our culture. It can mean choosing compassion, forgiveness, or integrity when those choices cost us something. It can mean being challenged to change, to put others before ourselves, to let Christ reshape our priorities. That kind of change can feel unsafe.

Yet we follow Jesus because of his goodness. Like the Magi, we are drawn by a star.

There is an image sometimes used of a rabbit being guided either by a stick or by a carrot. A rabbit can be forced forward by being struck from behind, or it can be drawn forward by something attractive placed in front of it. The question for us is similar. Do we follow Christ because we feel pressured, guilty, or afraid? Or do we follow Christ because we are drawn to him, because we recognize his goodness?

The Magi were not forced to follow Jesus. They were attracted. They saw the star and were drawn by what it promised.

Philosophy speaks of what are called the transcendentals: beauty, truth, and goodness. These are realities that attract every human heart. In Jesus Christ, we encounter all three. There is a beauty in his life and love that draws us. There is a truth in his teaching that helps us understand ourselves and the world. And there is a goodness that satisfies the deepest longings of our hearts.

Following Jesus means following that star, allowing ourselves to be drawn by his beauty, his truth, and his goodness.

As we reflect today on the journey of the Magi, let their journey become our own. We acknowledge that there will be detours, struggles, and risks along the way. But we also trust that we are being drawn by Christ himself.

And so we remember the wise words of Mr. Beaver. Jesus is not safe, but he is good. And he is our King.

More Than Resolutions: A New Year Rooted in Relationship

 Holy Mary Mother of God, New Year 2026

As the new year begins, the Church invites us to look beyond self-improvement and focus instead on relationships, especially our relationship with God who has come close to us in Jesus Christ. Through the Marian dogmas of Mary as Mother of God, the Immaculate Conception, and the Assumption, we are reminded that God’s grace precedes us, accompanies us, and leads us toward our ultimate hope. Grounded in this grace, we are invited, like Mary, to begin the year by saying a deeper yes to God’s plan for our lives.

Madonna di Macerata, Carlo Crivelli (c. 1470)

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New Year’s is, of course, a time when we often make resolutions. Resolutions to improve ourselves in some way. To eat healthier, to exercise more, to read more. And of course, these resolutions can be a very valuable thing. Oftentimes, by February, they have gone by the wayside, but it can still be good to take that moment and resolve to do something new.

At the start of this new year, however, the Church in her wisdom does something interesting by giving us this great feast dedicated to Our Lady, the Mother of God. On this day, the Church does not have us focus on making resolutions. Rather, the Church has us focused on relationships. We are given the image of Mary holding the baby Jesus. This relationship between Mary and her child, between ourselves and her child, and between ourselves and Mary. It is all about relationships today for the Church.

Although self-improvement is important, the Church on this day does not have us focus on that. Instead, we focus on the way that God has come so close to us in the Incarnation. Today, as we celebrate Mary as Mother of God, it is a reminder of how close God has come to us in the person of Jesus Christ.

In the Church, we have what we call dogmas, which are centrally held beliefs, non-negotiable teachings for us as Catholics. Several of these dogmas have to do with Our Lady, with Mary. I would like to look briefly at three of them this evening and reflect on how they prepare us well for the new year. These dogmas fill us with encouragement and, ultimately, they protect this central belief of our faith, the belief in the Incarnation, in how close God has come to each and every one of us.

We begin, of course, with the truth we celebrate today, Mary, Mother of God. This title is so important, and it was defined at the Council of Ephesus in the year 431. It was a time of great debate in the Church. Can we call Mary the Mother of God or not? Although this dogma seems to be about Mary, it actually protects something central about Jesus.

We believe that Jesus was always fully God and fully human in one person. There was never a moment when Jesus was not God. Therefore, if we believe that Jesus was God from the moment of his birth, then we must believe that Mary is the Mother of God. At the Council of Ephesus, the Church defined this article of faith, this title for Mary that we celebrate today.

This belief protects and defends what we believe about Jesus. Jesus was not half God and half human. He was fully God and fully human. This means that God has come incredibly close to us. God was born into a family. God was held by his mother. God was fed. God grew up. In Jesus Christ, God became like us in all things but sin.

This central belief that Mary is Mother of God reminds us that God has come so close to us in the Incarnation. As we start this new year, this is an incredible message of hope. God is with us. God knows what we go through. Because Jesus was truly human, he understands our joys and our struggles, and he will never leave our side.

The second Marian dogma I would like to reflect on is the Immaculate Conception. This was defined in the nineteenth century by Pope Pius IX. The Immaculate Conception is the belief that Mary was conceived without original sin. At first, this can seem like a strange concept, so it is worth unpacking it briefly.

Original sin does not mean that a baby has personally committed a sin. Rather, it means that we are born into the world lacking something that we should have. That something is the life of God within us, the life of grace that we receive in a special way through baptism. Original sin, then, is being born without that life of grace.

The Immaculate Conception teaches that Mary was not born with this lack. From the moment of her conception, she possessed the life of God within her. This does not mean that her life was easy. It does mean that she was able to respond fully to God’s plan with a perfect yes.

This belief is deeply encouraging for us. Often we think of salvation as God fixing things after we make a mess. We sin, we fail, and God comes in through Christ to restore us. That is true. But the Immaculate Conception teaches us something more. God’s grace goes before us.

Even before Mary could make a choice, God’s grace was already at work in her life. This is such an important truth for us. God’s grace always precedes our actions. We do have free will. We must make choices and decisions. But we never act alone.

If we desire to pray, that desire itself is already a gift of grace. If we feel called to forgive or to serve in a new way, that call is already God at work within us. The Immaculate Conception teaches us that we are not saving ourselves by sheer effort. God’s grace always leads and supports us. As we begin this new year, that is a powerful and hopeful message.

The third Marian dogma is the Assumption of Our Lady, defined by Pope Pius XII in 1950. The Assumption teaches that when Mary came to the end of her earthly life, she was taken into heaven body and soul. She already experiences what we all hope for when Christ comes again and the dead are raised.

This dogma is especially meaningful when we remember when it was proclaimed. The world had just endured two devastating world wars. Human dignity, and especially the dignity of the human body, had been terribly violated. The Assumption teaches us that our bodies matter. It teaches us that death does not end our relationships of love with God and with one another.

We do not look forward to eternal life as disembodied spirits floating on clouds. We believe, as we profess in the Creed, in the resurrection of the body. Mary already shares fully in this gift of Christ. She shows us our destiny.

As we begin this new year, then, let us certainly make resolutions. But let us also focus on relationships. Our relationship with God. Our relationship with one another. And especially our relationship with Our Lady. Her mission is always the same, to bring Christ into the world. True devotion to Mary always leads us closer to Jesus.

As we begin this new year, let us trust in the grace of God that comes before us. And like Our Lady, let us say yes more deeply to God’s plan for our lives.

Holiness on the Run

 Holy Family, 2025

The Gospel shows that the Holy Family was not spared hardship but knew fear, displacement, and struggle from the very beginning. Their holiness did not come from a perfect or peaceful life, but from God’s faithful presence with them in the midst of uncertainty and danger. This feast reminds us that holiness in our own families is found not in perfection, but in choosing love, forgiveness, and service each day, even when family life is messy and difficult.

Flight into Egypt, Giotto

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The image of the Holy Family is something that we revere in many forms of art. We have our nativity scenes. We see the Holy Family depicted in stained glass windows and in famous paintings. Oftentimes, the Holy Family becomes a family that we admire from a distance. They can seem quite separate from our own experience. They are this holy family, unlike any other family.

At times, when we think of the Holy Family, we can even end up judging our own families and perhaps feeling a bit guilty about them, because they are imperfect or a bit broken. And yet, when we heard the opening prayer of Mass today, we were reminded that the Holy Family is a family we are called to imitate. For this reason, the Holy Family should not feel distant from us. In fact, in today’s Gospel, when we look closely at the Holy Family, we see that they have much more in common with families throughout the world today than we might expect.

When we truly reflect on this feast of the Holy Family, we begin to see that it has something real to teach us. It offers a hopeful message about our own families and about the closeness of the Holy Family to us. When we listen carefully to today’s Gospel, we discover that the Holy Family was not a family that experienced perfection or lived a serene, trouble free life. Far from it.

The Holy Family experienced stress, difficulty, and challenge. After the great celebration of Christmas, today’s Gospel feels almost like a shock. We have just celebrated with joy the birth of Jesus, and now we hear Joseph being told, “Take the child and his mother and flee to Egypt.” The Holy Family, as we encounter them today, is in great distress. Herod is seeking to destroy this child. They are fleeing for their lives. They are undergoing real danger and uncertainty.

The Holy Family, then, is not free from hardship. They live through moments of fear and stress. In a very real sense, they are refugees. Because of this, the Holy Family is very close to families who struggle, both in dramatic ways and in quieter ones.

The Holy Family we see in today’s Gospel were forced to flee. According to the United Nations, by the end of 2025, approximately 117 million people worldwide will have been forcibly displaced. Many refugees today are forced to flee in ways very similar to the Holy Family. According to UNICEF, more than 400 million children globally live in poverty and are deprived of at least two essential needs, such as food, clean water, or sanitation.

There are many families who struggle in ways like the Holy Family did. And even families who are not facing such dramatic crises still struggle. They struggle economically. They struggle with relationships. They struggle with illness, mental health, and the daily challenges of raising children. All families struggle, and the Holy Family was no exception.

God did not choose to spare the Holy Family from difficulty. So what, then, makes this family holy? Why do we call them the Holy Family?

What we see in today’s Gospel is that what makes them holy is not the absence of suffering, but the presence of God. God is always with them, supporting them and strengthening them. During Christmas, we celebrate the incarnation. We celebrate that Jesus is Emmanuel, God with us. It is fitting, then, that right after Christmas we celebrate the Feast of the Holy Family, because it reminds us that one of the primary ways God chooses to be present to us is through family life.

All families struggle. All families experience difficulty. But it is precisely along that journey that God walks with us. It is within our families that God cares for us and looks after us. We can think of God our Father, just as he was the Father of Jesus, as a parent who keeps watch over their child during the night.

You can imagine a child lying in bed, perhaps sick or afraid, and a parent sitting quietly nearby in a darkened room, keeping watch, making sure the child is all right, never leaving their side. God the Father is like this with us. He journeys with us. He watches over us. He cares for us and never abandons us.

The Holy Family was not spared from hardship, and neither are our families. God never promised to take away every trial, but he does promise to be with us and to strengthen us. Because of this, we are invited to rethink what holiness in family life truly means.

Holiness is not an end prize or a final achievement. Holiness is found along the journey, in choosing to love, to serve, and to sacrifice day by day. The Holy Family, especially as we encounter them in Matthew’s Gospel, is far from the idealized images we sometimes imagine, where everything is peaceful and free from difficulty. They experienced real trials.

We know little about the early years of Jesus’ life, but we know that he fled into Egypt. We know of the painful moment when he was lost in the temple as a child. There were undoubtedly many challenges along the way. Yet it was through their loving care for one another that holiness was revealed.

The same is true for us. Holiness in family life is not something we receive at the end of the journey. We experience God’s grace and God’s holiness when we commit ourselves to the messiness of family life, to its trials and challenges. We experience holiness when we choose to apologize after making mistakes, when we choose once again to forgive, when we choose again and again to serve, to clean up, to go the extra mile for one another.

It is in those daily acts of love and service that true holiness is found. The Holy Family, then, should never make us feel discouraged about our own families. Many families today are simply hanging on, struggling to get by. These families, too, are holy, because God is present with them.

In today’s Gospel, we learn that holiness in family life is found when we choose to love, even in the midst of difficulty and trial. It is then that families become holy. It is then that we grow in the love of Christ, with Mary and Joseph as our companions.

Let us pray today in gratitude for our families. And let us pray especially for families who are struggling, as the Holy Family once did, that we may all live the holiness of family life, sustained by God who is always with us.

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:

Read homily here:

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.

Listen to homily here:

Read homily:

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.

Seeing the World Anew

 1 Sunday Advent

Advent invites us to open our eyes to the deeper reality that Jesus—Emmanuel—is already present in our midst. It trains our vision so we don’t miss the many ways Christ arrives in our daily lives through Scripture, the sacraments, and the love of others. This season calls us to awaken, stay alert, and recognize the world as “crammed with heaven,” alive with God’s presence.

Listen to Homily here:

Advent can be a difficult season to celebrate. It can be hard to know exactly what we are doing during this time. Of course, we know that Advent comes before Christmas and that we are marking off the weeks before Christmas arrives. But it can still feel difficult to wait for Christmas when, all around us, the celebrations already seem to have begun. Christmas decorations are everywhere, advertisements are everywhere, and the celebration of Christmas doesn’t seem like something we are waiting for at all.

Yet Advent is a very important season in our Church—a joyful season, a season of expectation. In Advent we are really trying to train ourselves spiritually. Because Advent begins the liturgical year, it is the Church’s way of inviting us to see the world differently. Each year we are asked to train our vision in a particular way. Advent is all about becoming aware of how Jesus Christ—Emmanuel, God-with-us—is present in our midst.

As we will hear throughout this season, the prophet Isaiah, whom we heard in the first reading today, calls the Messiah “Emmanuel,” which means God with us. At Christmas we celebrate this central mystery of our faith: the incarnation, the truth that God became a human being. And Advent is the season in which we remind ourselves that the incarnation truly happened, and that it makes a difference in our lives.

At the start of Advent each year, the Church often encourages us to read a letter from Saint Bernard of Clairvaux. He describes Advent as the season of “comings” or “arrivals.” He says that during Advent we remember several arrivals of Jesus. We remember, of course, the first coming of Jesus—his birth two thousand years ago. During Advent we also prepare ourselves for the final coming of Jesus, when Christ will return to judge the living and the dead. But Saint Bernard adds something very important. He says that during Advent we are invited to become aware of the many ways Christ arrives in our lives each day.

Because of the incarnation, Jesus is present to us daily, but we sometimes miss it. Christ, Emmanuel, arrives in the sacraments, in the Word of God, in the love we show to others, and in the love and service we receive from others. Advent reminds us that the incarnation is true, real, and transformative. Jesus is Emmanuel, and for that reason he is always present in our lives. We need this season because we often miss the presence of Emmanuel—miss the ways that Jesus comes to us. We can go through life blinded to that deeper reality, the reality of God-with-us, which is so central to our Christian faith. Advent invites us to open our eyes, to see differently, to awaken to that deeper truth.

While thinking about this, I was reminded of a movie—now almost a classic—from the late 1990s called The Truman Show. Many of you have seen it. In it, Jim Carrey plays a man who was raised since infancy on a television set. His entire life is filmed and broadcast, episode after episode, and everyone knows it except him. Everyone he meets on the set is an actor. He thinks the set is the real world. Eventually, however, he begins to see the truth. His eyes are opened, he realizes he’s been living inside a false world, and he longs to discover what is real. He experiences a change of perspective.

Advent is meant to bring about something similar in our own lives. It helps us recognize the deeper reality that Jesus is truly present among us. Like Truman, we can get caught up in our daily routine—good things like work, school, chores, and responsibilities—and we may fail to notice how Christ is present in our midst. We need this season to open our eyes to the truth of the incarnation.

Advent, then, is about seeing the world as it truly is. Because of the incarnation, the real question is not “Is Jesus present among us?” but “How is Jesus present among us?” Christ comes to us in various ways—through the sacraments, through Scripture, through the love of others—yet at times we miss him. This is why the readings at the beginning of Advent call us to be vigilant, to keep our eyes open, to stay awake. In today’s Gospel, Jesus speaks of the people in the days of Noah who did not realize that God was acting in their lives until it was too late.

At this start of Advent, then, let us pray that we may truly see how Christ is present among us—Emmanuel, always entering our lives.

There is a short stanza by the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning, from her longer 1856 poem Aurora Leigh, that speaks beautifully about this awareness of God’s presence. In it, she refers to Moses at the burning bush—the moment when Moses recognized that God was truly present before him. She encourages us not to walk past the presence of God in our own lives.

The stanza reads:

Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees takes off his shoes.
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

The King Who Wears a Cross

 Christ the King

Christ the King reveals that true kingship is not about power or domination but about self-giving love, shown most clearly in Jesus whose throne is the cross. Scripture teaches that human kings often fall into injustice, but God’s rule brings freedom, dignity, and peace. This feast invites us to place our hope in Christ’s reign and to help build his kingdom through lives marked by justice, service, and love.

The earliest crucifixion in a manuscript (Syriac Rabbula Gospels, 586 AD)

Listen to homily here:

The other day, for the first time, I received a loonie with the image of King Charles on it. Up until that point, I had only seen ones with Queen Elizabeth. It reminded me that this feast we celebrate today, Christ the King, although it might seem like a theme that feels dated, is actually very relevant. We still, after all, technically have a king in Canada. The theme of kingship comes up from time to time. You might have heard about the No King’s Protest in the United States over the summer, demonstrations against what people saw as rising authoritarianism. So this theme of kingship that we reflect on today, even if it seems old, continues to speak to us.

When we look at the Old Testament, the theme of kingship is very prominent. The question of whether Israel should have a king, and whether a king is good or bad, is presented as a mixed picture. Today we heard from the Second Book of Samuel about David finally being established as king over Israel in Hebron. But before this moment, we see the idea of kingship developing gradually among the people. This becomes clear in the Book of Judges. Before all of this, Israel had been in Egypt, enslaved by a foreign power. Pharaoh was considered both god and king and ruled over the people. God, through Moses, liberated Israel, formed them as his own people, and led them through the wilderness to the Promised Land.

Once they entered the land, the people began to ask how they should be governed and how they should live together. In the Book of Judges, the idea of having a king is sometimes presented as a solution to the disorder and moral challenges the people faced. The suggestion appears that perhaps things would be better if they had a king. Eventually, in the Book of Samuel, the people explicitly ask for one. Just before Saul appears, the people call on God and say, give us a king so we can be like the other nations. This happens in 1 Samuel 8.

God grants their request, but he also warns them. He explains that a king will have authority over them and may abuse it. As 1 Samuel 8 says, the king will take their sons for labour, take the best of their produce, and take their daughters to serve in his court. The idea of having a king, then, is complicated. There will be benefits, but also serious risks.

King David is often remembered as the greatest of Israel’s kings, but even he fell short. He had personal flaws, family turmoil, and moments when he did not govern well. When we look across the Old Testament, kingship is shown to be imperfect. Kings often bring with them injustice and the temptation to place themselves above others.

Ultimately, the Scriptures show that God alone is meant to be king over the people. To place too much authority in the hands of one person is dangerous, because it can diminish the dignity that belongs to every human being. By the end of the Books of Kings, God is revealed as the true king. God was the one who freed Israel from Egypt, and Israel was meant to belong to him. In the Biblical story, the exile to Babylon, when the Temple and Jerusalem were destroyed, is blamed on the kings who were unfaithful and disobedient. After the monarchy collapsed, the people longed for a Messiah, one who would be the true and final king, one who would bring peace and justice, one who would even be God himself. This is the king we recognize in Jesus.

In the Gospel today, we see what a completely different kind of king Jesus is. We heard the scene of Jesus on the cross with the inscription INRI, Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews. But when we look at Christ our king, he is nothing like the kings described in the Old Testament. Instead of taking from the people or using them for his own purposes, Jesus gives himself entirely out of love. He is a king who serves, even to the point of death. His throne is the cross. Throughout Scripture, God is slowly revealed as king, and in Jesus this kingship becomes visible in a new way. Jesus overturns our expectations. Instead of dominating or enriching himself, he lays down his life for each one of us.

This feast of Christ the King reminds us that Jesus alone is our king. The historical context helps make this clear. The feast was established by Pope Pius XI in 1925. Think of what the world was like then. The First World War had ended. Europe was scarred by destruction and grief. Nations were unstable. What concerned Pius XI most was the rise of totalitarianism, fascism, and communism, political systems claiming absolute authority and taking away human dignity, just as Pharaoh once did. He established this feast to remind Christians that Christ is our true king, that Jesus is the one who rules us and brings life, and that at the end of time, as Paul says, Christ will be all in all. We await the fullness of this kingdom, but we are called to work toward it.

This feast is both a source of hope and a challenge. It gives hope because it reminds us that in the end Christ will rule over all, and this king is not one we fear. He is the king who loves us, who gives his life for us, who brings justice and lasting peace. At the same time, it is a challenge, because even before Christ’s kingdom is fully realized, each of us is called to help build it through our actions, our choices, and our commitment to justice and peace.

At baptism, we are reminded in a powerful way that Christ is king over us. You may have seen in movies how people who serve a king often wear the king’s emblem or symbol. Soldiers might carry the coat of arms of their ruler. In extreme cases, slaves were branded with the mark of their master. At baptism, the priest or deacon marks the person with the sign of the cross and says, I mark you with the sign of the cross of Christ our Saviour. This is the sign that we belong to Christ our king. Each time we make the sign of the cross, especially with holy water at the entrance of the church, we remind ourselves of our baptism and of Christ’s kingship in our lives.

Today’s feast invites us to take a long view of history and of the world. In the end, Jesus Christ will rule over all. This is our hope, and it is also our responsibility. Let us commit ourselves again to living in a way that builds the kingdom Christ calls us to build.