Christmas Dawn: Is 9:1-6; Tit 2:11-14; Lk 2:1-14 

A young boy walks into a pet shop after seeing a sign: “Puppies for Sale.” The owner whistles, and five tiny balls of fur come tumbling down the aisle, full of life and energy. But one puppy lags behind, hobbling, doing its best to keep up. The boy doesn’t hesitate. He points to the limping puppy and says, “I want that one.”

The owner, trying to be kind, explains that this puppy was born with a hip deformity. He’ll always limp. He’ll never run and play like the others. “You don’t want to buy that one,” he says. “I’ll even give him to you for free.”

The boy reaches down, pulls up his pant leg, and reveals a heavy metal leg brace supporting a badly twisted leg. He looks up and says softly, “I don’t run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands.”

That boy didn’t choose the strongest, fastest, most perfect puppy. He chose the one who was broken, because he knew what it meant to be broken. He chose the one who needed someone who understood.

And that, brothers and sisters, is exactly what God did at Christmas.

In Jesus, God didn’t come as a powerful emperor, a flawless athlete, or a perfect, untouched being. He came as a helpless infant, born in a stable, laid in a feeding trough. He came into a world of pain, of weakness, of disability and disease. He came not to avoid our brokenness, but to enter into it.

The Word became flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14). That means God took on our humanity in all its fragility: our aches, our limitations, our loneliness, our shame. He didn’t come to fix us from a distance; he came to live with us, to walk with us, to limp with us, if need be.

Think of the people Jesus sought out: the blind, the lame, the lepers, the outcasts, the sinners. He didn’t say, “You’re not good enough; I’ll wait until you’re perfect.” He said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matt 11:28)

In that stable, God is saying: “I see you. I know your pain. I know your limp. I know the brace you wear, whether it’s metal on your leg or sorrow in your heart, illness in your body, or loneliness in your life. I am here. I am with you. And I love you as you are.”

Christmas is not a holiday for the perfect. It is a feast for the broken, the struggling, the ones who feel they don’t measure up. It is for the child with the brace, the parent with the sick child, the elder with failing strength, the one grieving, the one who feels left behind.

God didn’t send a Savior who looks down on weakness. He sent a Savior who shares it. He sent Emmanuel: God with us.

As the first reading from Isaiah says to the Israelites, God comes to His people to redeem them, and they will be frequented by the Lord and they will not be abandoned.

According to Luke, the birth of Jesus takes place on the margins, on the edge of the human community. It was perhaps an appropriate beginning for someone who would die a marginalized figure, enduring the Roman death of crucifixion, which is normally reserved for criminals and slaves. Between his birth and his death, during his public ministry, Jesus spoke of himself as the Son of Man who has nowhere to lay his head.

The wood of the manger and the wood of the cross both speak to us of God’s desire to embrace us in his love. They both proclaim that God’s light shines in our darkness and God’s deeply personal love for each one of us never dies away. We are sent from this feast to reflect something of the light of this love to each other.

The shepherds were despised in their time, often excluded from temple worship and regarded as “unclean.” Yet, they were the first to receive the angelic message and the first to adore the Savior. The irony is divine: those who tended the temple lambs came to adore the true “Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” Their humble hearts recognized in the manger the presence of God Himself.

The Gospel says they “went in haste” to Bethlehem. Having encountered Christ, they returned to their fields “glorifying and praising God.” Their daily routine did not change—but they did. Their joy overflowed into proclamation. They became the first missionaries of Christmas. So too, we are called to move from hearing the Good News to becoming it—living proof that God’s love still walks among His people.

God is still speaking to us. Perhaps not through an angel’s song, but through moments of conscience, inspiration, and quiet conviction. How often have we heard a voice within urging us to forgive, to speak kindly, to act justly—and ignored it? The same Spirit who stirred the shepherds speaks today in the silence of our hearts. The question is: will we listen? Will we respond with Mary’s trust, the shepherds’ obedience, or the Magi’s perseverance?

The Liturgy today invites us to walk the shepherds’ path—from hearing to seeing to living the light. They began as listeners in the night, became witnesses at the manger, and ended as bringers of light back into the world. That is our pilgrimage as well.

The child Jesus, the adult Jesus, the crucified and risen Jesus, is God’s gracious Word to us, a Word that assures us that we are profoundly loved, that we are of infinite value, and that we have an eternal destiny. God’s word to us in Jesus also encourages us to believe that, because we are so greatly graced, we are capable of great things, capable, indeed, of a love which is a genuine reflection of God’s own love.

May we, Lord, like the shepherds, respond in worship, glorifying You for all that You have done. Help us to share the hope of Christmas with the world around us, and to live in the light of Your love each and every day. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

 Advent IV: A: Readings: Isaiah 7:10–14; Romans 1:1–7; Matthew 1:18–24

Brothers and sisters, as we come to this Fourth Sunday of Advent, the candles on our wreath burn brightly—one more than last week—and our excitement grows for the coming of Christmas. But the Church reminds us that Advent is not only about preparing decorations or gifts. It’s a time of deep longing, of waiting for the Lord to enter our world and our hearts. In these last days before Christmas, the liturgy gives us one simple and powerful word to hold onto: Emmanuel—God with us.

Our first reading takes us to Jerusalem in a time of political terror. King Ahaz sees enemies on every side, and his courage collapses. He looks for human solutions—a military alliance, perhaps, or a treaty with a powerful neighbor. Isaiah steps forward with a message from God: “Ask for a sign.” But Ahaz refuses, cloaking his fear in fake piety. “I will not tempt the Lord!” he says. The truth is he doesn’t want a divine sign; God’s power would upset his plans.

So Isaiah declares that God Himself will give a sign—whether Ahaz asks for it or not. “The virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel.” It’s a word for the ages. God will not leave His people in anxiety or exile. He will enter history, take on flesh, and dwell with us. That ancient promise is the heartbeat of Advent: even when human faith fails, divine faithfulness remains.

How many of us, like Ahaz, find ourselves pressed by fear? We sometimes seek our own alliances—security through possessions, status, or control. Yet Advent whispers a different assurance: You are not alone. Trust the One who comes to be with you.

The Fulfillment in Christ

St. Paul opens his Letter to the Romans by proclaiming what Isaiah could only promise: the gospel of God that was long foretold by the prophets has been fulfilled in Jesus Christ. The Son of God has taken on our human nature, not by our merit but by divine love.

Paul’s greeting also reminds us who we are: “called to belong to Jesus Christ … called to be holy.” That calling is at the core of the Advent journey. Holiness is not an achievement; it’s a response to the One who has come near. Because Emmanuel is with us, we can choose faithfulness over fear, compassion over control, generosity over grasping. God’s nearness transforms every ordinary moment—our work, our relationships, even our suffering—into potential meeting places with grace.

Joseph’s Quiet Faith

And then comes Joseph. Few figures in Scripture speak more eloquently by their silence. The Gospel tells us that Joseph was a “righteous man.” This doesn’t mean he was merely obedient to law; it means his heart was attuned to the will of God.

Joseph’s life falls apart when he learns that Mary, his betrothed, is with child. Imagine the hurt, the confusion, the sense of betrayal. Yet Joseph’s righteousness inclines him toward mercy. He plans to divorce her quietly to spare her shame.

At that moment of decision, God intervenes. In a dream, the angel tells him: “Do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home.” The child is conceived by the Holy Spirit. He will save his people from their sins. And Joseph wakes up and obeys. No long argument, no hesitation. Joseph’s faith is not loud, but it is steadfast. He trusts that God’s strange plan is somehow better than his own understanding.

Joseph stands as a model for us when life doesn’t unfold the way we imagined. Faith often invites us to act not because we have all the answers, but because we trust the One who calls. Think how much poorer the history of salvation would be if Joseph had ignored that message in the night. The salvation of the world arrived not through dramatic triumph, but through the quiet “yes” of a humble carpenter who believed God meant what He said.

God With Us—Still

When Matthew quotes Isaiah’s ancient prophecy—“They shall name him Emmanuel”—he’s showing that the story has come full circle. The God who promised to be with us has indeed done so, not as an idea or a power, but as a person.

Christmas is not just a commemoration; it’s a continuation. Emmanuel is still here—in the brokenness of families, in the quiet strength of caregivers, in acts of forgiveness that heal old wounds. The same God who entered the world in Mary’s womb now seeks entrance into every human heart. Like Joseph, we are asked to welcome Him—even when His coming rearranges our plans. The humble faith that says yes to God—one small step at a time—becomes the doorway through which Christ is born again into our world.

As we prepare to celebrate His birth, we could ask ourselves: Where do I still need to invite Emmanuel in? Into my worries? My family? A relationship that needs healing? Into the noise of my schedule? Advent’s promise is that when we let Him in, He brings peace—not always the peace of perfect circumstances, but the peace of God’s presence.

 

Closing Reflection

As Christmas draws near, let us make space for silence, like Joseph, and for trust, like Mary. Let us dare to believe Isaiah’s sign, rejoice in Paul’s gospel, and respond with the obedience of faith.

In every joy and every struggle, the same truth endures: God is with us. He is Emmanuel in the manger, Emmanuel in the Eucharist, Emmanuel in the moments when we dare to love.

And that, dear friends, is the heart of Advent’s promise and Christmas’s gift: not a distant God, but a God who draws near; not a sign from heaven, but heaven come to dwell with us.

 

 Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary

       Our celebration today is the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary. This can easily be confused with the conception of Jesus within Mary begun at the Annunciation, which we celebrate on March 25th. One of the causes of the confusion is the Gospel reading for today, which is the Gospel reading of the Annunciation. The reading says that Mary will conceive through the overshadowing of the Holy Spirit.

Why does the Church present this reading on the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception? The reason is for the first words of the reading, the words of the Archangel Gabriel: “Hail Mary, Full of Grace, the Lord is with you.” We repeat these words so often when we say the Hail Mary. We repeat them at least 53 times a day when we say the rosary. Perhaps the words of Gabriel have lost a bit of their impact on us merely due to their repetition.

If we look at these words closely, we can come to a better understanding of the Immaculate Conception. There is no question of whom Gabriel is addressing, he says “Hail Mary.” His words cannot be confused with a normal greeting. He is not saying hello. He is using a term reserved for people in the highest ranks of society. People would say, “Hail King, Hail, Caesar.” They would not say, “Hail, Joseph the Carpenter.” Perhaps that is why Mary pondered what sort of a greeting this might be. In her eyes, she is a common, everyday daughter of Israel. Why should the angel address her with a term of such dignity?

It is the angel’s next words that explain why this gospel is used today. He calls her “Full of Grace.” What does that mean to be full of Grace? Grace can be seen as that which leads to union with God, or that which is spiritual union with God. Being full of Grace would mean that in her soul Mary had the fullness of union with God. She was always in sanctifying Grace, from the first moment of her conception. The term “Full of Grace” is not used for any other figure in the Bible. It would be redundant to use it to refer to Jesus because He is the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, so of course, He has complete spiritual union with God. John the Baptist was called the greatest of the prophets by Jesus Himself, but John the Baptist was not full of Grace. He came to a complete spiritual union with God when he died for the Truth of God. Moses, Elijah, Deborah, Ruth, and all the greats of the Old Testament were men and women of God, but they did not have God dwelling in them. Mary did. She always had a union with God. She was always in sanctifying grace.

You and I were given sanctifying Grace at our baptism. God dwells in us. That is why Jesus said that the least born into the Kingdom of Heaven is greater than even John the Baptist, at least before the Baptist died for the Truth of God.

So, the angel declares, “Hail Mary, Full of Grace, the Lord is with you. Lord here refers to Yahweh. God is with her. He dwells within her even before she conceived the physical body of the Son in her womb.

But why? Why was Mary conceived without sin? She was conceived without sin so the Eternal Word of God could come to physical life within her and through her. Mankind had turned away from God from the very beginning of creation, as the first reading from Genesis explained. How could the Holy of Holies dwell in the womb of a creature that was not in spiritual union with God? How could the Holy of Holies dwell within someone who carried mankind’s rejection of God? The rejection of God had to be eliminated. Sanctifying Grace had to be restored. Jesus would do this for all of us on the Cross, sacrificing His Life so we could have Eternal Life. Mary would not have to have the rejection of God eliminated. She would always be in Sanctifying Grace. Theologians would use the term prevenient Grace. The gift of Jesus’ Death would be anticipated for her. You find this word used in the prayer over the gifts. Mary’s reception of prevenient Grace is really defined in the opening prayer for today’s Mass:

O God, who by the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin prepared a worthy dwelling for your Son, grant, we pray, that, as you preserved her from every stain by virtue of the Death of your Son, which you foresaw, we too might be cleansed and admitted into your presence.”

What does all this mean to us, though? Why do we celebrate this feast? Is it just to honor Mary? Yes, but it is more than this. Is it to honor the Son by honoring His mother? Yes, Jesus is honored when we honor his mother. Still our celebration is more than that. We celebrate this feast to pray for Mary’s intercession with her Son for us.

Back to the Hail Mary. After the angel’s greeting, and after her kinswoman Elizabeth’s proclamation, “Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of our womb, Jesus.” We come to the second part of the Hail Mary, our prayer to Mary to intercede for us with her Son, to pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.

We pray to Mary not just due to what she did, but for who she is. We pray to Mary not just to her accepting her role in the mystery of our salvation; we pray to Mary because she remains full of Grace. She remains in full union with God. In fact, due to who she is, the Immaculately Conceived One, she has the greatest power of intercession with her Son.

Let us look to Mary and ask her to help us keep taking the path of surrender she took. In the words of the Hail Mary, we pray, "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death." Amen.

 ADVENT II [A]: Is 11:1-10; Rom 15:4-9; Mt 3:1-12  

This Sunday, the second candle on our Advent wreath has been lit. We sense that the countdown to Christmas has begun in earnest. The gospel reading for this Sunday presents us with someone who seems a little out of place in the run-up to Christmas. His way of addressing respectable people as ‘Brood of vipers’ strikes a rather jarring note in this season of goodwill. By any standards, it is not what would be termed today ‘politically correct’ language. His basic message is ‘Repent’. He warns those who will not heed this message that they are like trees that fail to bear fruit and, therefore, are just about to be cut down.

The reading suggests that John was intolerant of complacency. His harshest words were for those who repeatedly declared, ‘We have Abraham for our father’, and were so content in that knowledge that they never looked seriously at their own lives. We know from experience that we are all prone to complacency. The awareness that we have done nothing seriously wrong can leave us content. We can drift along feeling reasonably pleased with ourselves most of the time. As an uncompromising man of the wilderness, John had no hesitation in challenging complacency. His voice continues to call out to us to look seriously at our lives and to ask ourselves what needs to change if our lives are to bear good fruit that is life-giving for others. John reminds us that we are not yet all that the Lord is calling us to be. He asks us to keep setting out on a journey, a journey of repentance and renewal.

We need to repent because the Kingdom of God is near. We need to prepare for the Lord who is coming. John confirmed that the One who was coming was infinitely greater than himself. “You think, I'm something,” John says to those people from Jerusalem and all of Judea. “I am not fit to loosen the straps of his sandals, let alone wash his feet. So prepare,” John says, “the Kingdom of God is near.” That was the main message of John. It was also the basic message of Jesus and of the disciples. We pray for this Kingdom to come every time we say the Our Father, thy Kingdom come.

If the Kingdom of God comes, what would change in the world, in our lives? The first reading from Isaiah says that the One to Come would not judge by appearance nor by hearsay. The rich would not have an advantage over the poor should they go to court. Right now, poor people often receive far greater sentences than the rich who can afford a good lawyer. Instead he will judge the poor with justice, and decide aright for the land's afflicted. He shall strike the ruthless with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall slay the wicked. Justice shall be the band around his waist, and faithfulness a belt upon his hips. Those people who are bullies in the way they treat others, those people who care only about themselves, will have to answer to the One Who Is to Come.

In a poetic way, Isaiah prophesies a time when there is no more killing, when even the animals no longer feed on each other, a time when little children no longer die. The baby shall play by the cobra's den, and the child shall lay his hand on the adder's lair.

 If this were the Kingdom of God, then accumulation of possessions would no longer be the goal of people’s lives. They would work hard for love, not for stuff. People would be satisfied with what they need, and not be concerned with what they want.

If the coming of the Kingdom of God is going to make radical changes to the world, and if we really want this, then the question that naturally follows is: what am I doing about it? What am I, what are you doing to bring about the change that results from the coming of the Kingdom? We, you are doing a great deal already. First, we are here to grow in our faith. We are here to ask the Lord to help us withstand the temptations of the world. Second, parents first, but all of us are engaged in raising children for God. Whether it’s teaching your 9-year-old to be truthful, making your home a holy place, a little church, or helping with religious education or some form of youth ministry, be it in the Church or on the sports field or in the arts, you are raising children for God. We spend a great deal of time and energy on our children, and it is all worth it if it helps them become that unique reflection of God they were created to bring to the world.

We are doing a great deal to make the Kingdom a reality, but we have so much more we can do and need to do. What can we do about the people who are homeless and who due to psychological issues, cannot hold a job? What can we do for families that have a chronically ill child or a child with mental or emotional needs? What can we do to further mutual understanding and respect in a society that has granted a degree of credence to its radical elements? There is much we have to do. Working for justice is the work of the Kingdom. It is first on Isaiah’s list of the work of the One Who Is to Come.

 

If we are to take Advent seriously, we have to take John the Baptist seriously and repent of our comfort with sin. This is the only way our society and the Church can be transformed.

Let’s pray today that the Lord may shake us out of our comfort zone and prepare us for the Coming of Christ and his Kingdom by repenting of our sins and renewing our lives through prayer, penance, and the sharing of our blessings with others.