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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When God Rewrites the Calendar

 4 Sunday of Advent

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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