Homily for OT III [A] Isaiah 8:23—9:3; 1 Corinthians 1:10–13, 17; Matthew 4:12–23

In today’s liturgy, we hear a familiar refrain echo twice through Scripture—first in Isaiah’s prophecy and then again in Matthew’s Gospel: “Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali, the way to the sea, beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles: the people who sit in darkness have seen a great light; on those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death, light has arisen.”

In Isaiah, these words are a promise. In Matthew, they become a fulfillment. The prophecy and its realization meet in Jesus Christ—the true light breaking into human darkness.

The “land of Zebulun” and “land of Naphtali” were regions in the northern part of Galilee, near the Sea of Galilee. One of their cities, Capernaum, became the center of Jesus’ public ministry. It was there that the people first experienced the Light Himself. Four fishermen—Simon Peter and Andrew, James and John—heard Him call, “Follow me,” and their response was immediate. They left their nets, their boats, and their familiar lives to follow Him and become “fishers of men.” In that moment, the light that dawned in Galilee began to spread across the world. 

But although the Light has come, darkness remains in many corners of human life. Some walk in darkness through no fault of their own, while others choose it—preferring not to see or to know what truth asks of them. The prophet’s words still speak to us: there are people “sitting” in darkness, content to remain there.

We can think of three kinds of darkness that shadow our society today.

The first is the darkness surrounding respect for life. This past week, the annual March for Life took place. Some may wonder why it still matters now that Roe v. Wade has been overturned. But the issue is far from resolved. The decision simply returned the question to the states; it did not affirm the dignity of every human life. Many still prefer not to think about what happens in abortion clinics or how deeply women and families are wounded by this tragedy. The truth is difficult and painful—but turning away from it keeps us in the dark.

A second darkness is the cruelty of human trafficking—one of the largest criminal industries in the world, generating over $150 billion annually. Much of it is fueled by a culture that thrives on exploitation and the distortion of human love. Yet many refuse to face this truth. It is easier not to think about what is hidden behind our screens, easier to look away. But those who walk with Christ cannot remain indifferent; His light exposes injustice and calls us to defend the dignity of every person.

A third, all-too-familiar darkness is the scourge of drug addiction. Hundreds of thousands in our nation lose their lives each year to overdose—a staggering destruction that touches every level of society. Families grieve, communities weaken, and hope fades. Yet even here, many hide behind excuses rather than confronting the despair beneath the surface.

As disciples of Jesus, we are called to bring His light into these very places. The world’s pain does not ask for condemnation but for compassion illuminated by truth. Some people are thrust into darkness through circumstances beyond their control—loneliness, poverty, or lack of support. These sufferings are real shadows that cry out for light. When we offer practical help, a listening ear, or simple kindness, we help them glimpse the light of Christ.

We can either be silent witnesses to a world darkened by sin and despair, or we can shine Christ’s light and allow it to transform everything it touches. In His light, our vision is renewed. What once looked hopeless begins to reveal possibility. In that light, our own stories change—from heartbreak to healing, and from darkness into dawn.   

The contrast is striking: the world is beautiful for those who live in the light; it is bleak for those who remain in darkness. As followers of Christ, we cannot keep the light to ourselves. Like the first disciples, we are sent to tell others that Jesus is alive, that He loves them, and that He calls them into His marvelous light.

Our discipleship is never meant to be private. The word Mass comes from the Latin missio, meaning “sending.” Each time we gather for the Eucharist, we are strengthened and then sent to be light-bearers, extending Christ’s mission of healing and reconciliation into the world.

Repent, for the Kingdom of heaven is at hand,” Jesus proclaimed. To repent is to turn away from the shadows and move toward the light that frees us. Each of us is personally summoned to leave behind anything that darkens the heart and follow Christ fully.

If anyone among us still walks in darkness—caught in guilt, bitterness, or fear—do not grow comfortable in the dark. The Lord does not want us simply to see His light; He wants us to become His light, reflecting Him through our words, our choices, and our compassion.

Discipleship means walking daily with Christ, allowing His radiance to dispel the shadows within us and around us. We are the people who once sat in darkness, but upon us a great light has shone. May we follow that Light wherever it leads, carrying it into every corner of our world until all creation glows with the brightness of Christ.

Lord Jesus, let Your light scatter the darkness of our hearts and the shadows of our world. Grant us the courage to answer Your call and the grace to be Your reflection to all we meet. Amen

 OT II [A] Homily: Readings: Isaiah 49:3, 5–6; 1 Corinthians 1:1–3; John 1:29–34

John the Baptist has been a constant presence in our liturgy for several weeks, and he appears again in today’s Gospel. John is about as far from a celebrity as one can get. He was not interested in saying, “Look at me,” but rather in proclaiming, “Look at him—look at Jesus.” He declares in today’s Gospel, “It was to reveal him to Israel that I came baptizing with water.”

Many people went out to the wilderness to see John; he had his own followers and considerable influence. Yet John consistently deflected attention away from himself toward the One who, as he says, “ranks before me because he existed before me.” His opening words remain his most powerful—“Look, there is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” In essence, he invites everyone: “Look at him; go to him; follow him.”

In contrast, our culture often urges us to say, “Look at me, be like me.” Yet John’s voice continues to echo through the centuries, calling us instead to look toward Jesus—to go to him and become like him. His words, “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world,” echo in every Eucharist. Just before Communion, the priest lifts up the consecrated host and repeats those same words. At that moment, we are invited, with the eyes of faith, to behold the Lord. Then we come forward to receive him, responding “Amen” as our personal act of faith. The Eucharist is the moment when we do all that John calls us to do: look upon the Lord, go to him, recognize him, and receive him.

John gives Jesus a startling title—“the Lamb of God.” He does not call him “Messiah,” though he is; nor “King of Kings,” though he is that as well. John chooses “Lamb,” because for him this captures Jesus’ mission—to take away the sins of the world. The lamb is the meekest of creatures. John could have spoken of the “Lion of Judah,” but he points instead to the lamb, linking Jesus to Isaiah’s Suffering Servant who was “like a lamb led to the slaughter” (Is 53:7). At the same time, John’s title looks forward to the Book of Revelation, where the Lamb who was slain now reigns in glory.

Calling Jesus “the Lamb of God” draws our focus to his sacrifice, which opens God’s plan of salvation. Even his name, Jesus, means “Yahweh saves.” The Word became flesh not simply to teach us wisdom or inspire us morally, but to save us—to restore God’s own life within humanity. Since the beginning, humankind has forfeited that divine life by rejecting God. The sin of Adam was the refusal to depend on God, the illusion that we could be “like God” on our own. Jesus comes as the Lamb who bears this sin, reconciling us to the Father and restoring the life we lost.

John’s entire life pointed beyond himself. His mission was to lead others to recognize Jesus as “the Chosen One of God.” He even directed his own disciples toward Jesus, humbly declaring, “He must increase; I must decrease.” Great as John was, he shaped his life around making way for someone greater.

We can all think of people who, at crucial moments, have pointed us in the right direction—teachers, parents, mentors, friends—those who helped us see what we could not yet see for ourselves. Good guides do not force us; they invite us. John did not command his followers to abandon him and join Jesus. He simply said, “Look, there is the Lamb of God.” Those who point us toward truth do so out of compassion and insight, not control. Their respect for our freedom echoes God’s own respect for human choice. Not everyone John pointed toward Jesus became a disciple, but he still invited faithfully.

Today we give thanks for the John the Baptist figures in our own lives—those who, through word and example, pointed us toward the light of Christ and remained patient even when we failed to follow. At the same time, we remember that the Lord calls each of us to be a John the Baptist for others. Our baptism gives us that vocation: to bear witness to Jesus and to help others find him.

None of us journeys to God alone. God works through people to guide us, and he uses us to guide others. We depend on this mutual support to stay on the path that leads to Christ. We can either help others walk that path or, tragically, be a stumbling block to them. Jesus reserved some of his harshest words for those who led others astray—those who, as he said, “put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me.” To guide others toward Christ is to participate in the very mission of the Gospel; to lead them away is to oppose it.

Faith is deeply personal, but it is never meant to be private. Genuine faith always faces outward; it seeks to witness, serve, and love. Jesus told his disciples, “Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” The prophet Isaiah, in today’s first reading, experienced a similar awakening when God expanded his mission. Isaiah thought his call was limited to Israel, but God told him, “It is too little for you to be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob. I will make you a light to the nations so that my salvation may reach the ends of the earth.” God’s vision is always larger than ours—always reaching beyond what we expect.

Today’s Gospel, then, leads us into a deeper understanding of the Eucharist and of who Jesus truly is. Each time we come to communion, we approach not just a symbol or a sacred ritual, but the living Christ—the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. We behold him, receive him, and carry him within us, so that through us his light might touch the lives of others.

Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who takes away the sin of the world.

 

 

 

 

 

Pray for those of our loved ones who have wandered from the practice of the Catholic faith, walking far from Christ and his sacraments.​ Obtain for them, Lord, a true conversion of heart, a hunger for truth,
and a living desire for the Holy Eucharist and the mercy of God in confession. We pray to the Lord.

 

 

 Baptism of the Lord [A]: Is 42:1-4, 6-7; Acts 10:34-38; Mt 3:13-17

In the church’s liturgical year, the feast of the Baptism of the Lord concludes the Christmas season. We move quickly from the birth of Jesus to his baptism—from the child hidden in Nazareth to the adult beginning his public mission. The Church invites us to shift our gaze from the crib to the Jordan, from the hidden years of private growth to the public moment when the Son steps forward to be revealed.

From the outset, we must recognize that this is not the same baptism we receive when we enter the Church, though they are deeply intertwined. John’s baptism was a penitential act, undertaken by those who acknowledged their sins and wished to turn their lives back to God. People went down into the Jordan confessing their failures and desiring a fresh start. We can imagine the scene: crowds lining up for a baptism of repentance, and among them stands the one who is sinless, the one whom John had foretold. Understandably, John tries to prevent Jesus, saying, “It is I who need baptism from you… and yet you come to me!” In this moment, John recognizes that Jesus has no need to be reoriented toward God, because he is God made man, the Holy One standing among sinners.   

So why does Jesus undergo a baptism he does not need? From a theological perspective, this should not surprise us. As St. Thomas Aquinas explains, God did not need to become incarnate to redeem humanity; he could have done so in another way. Yet God chose to dwell among us in the person of Jesus. This choice was not strictly necessary, but it was "fitting," revealing the humility and nearness of God.

Throughout Christ’s life, we see God’s desire to be in complete solidarity with humanity. By assuming a human nature, Christ takes on everything essential to being human in order to redeem and sanctify it from within. We are so accustomed to sin that we often think it is part of what it means to be human. When someone fails, we say, “He’s only human.” But theologically, sin is not natural to humanity; it is a distortion of it. Sin is like a hole in a sock—something that does not belong there, a tear in what God created good.   

All of us know what it is like to feel isolated because of our sins or ashamed of our thoughts and actions. Such experiences can distance us from others and lead us to believe that God would want nothing to do with us. We may be tempted to hide, to stay away from prayer, from the sacraments, and from the community of believers. Today’s feast reminds us that God knows us as we are and still chooses to associate himself with us. He stands in line with sinners; he steps into the water with them. He is among us to guide, heal, and redeem.   

Christ’s baptism also reminds us that, although we are sinners and deeply loved by God, we are called to repentance. Repentance is the gateway through which God’s divine life bears fruit in us. Jesus himself had no need to repent, yet by receiving a baptism of repentance—and by giving the Church the sacrament of Reconciliation as a fruit of his sacrifice on Calvary—he shows us the Christian way: it is a way of continual turning back to the Father whose love never ceases.   

In this act, he identifies himself with the broken and the burdened so completely that nothing truly human, except sin itself, is foreign to him. Matthew has already named him Emmanuel, God‑with‑us; in the Jordan, Emmanuel steps into the water with us. He will later share tables with tax collectors and finally be crucified between two criminals. He begins his public ministry as he will end it: standing with sinners so as to save them from within their condition.   

The baptism of Jesus in the Jordan is the pattern for all Christian baptisms. The same Holy Spirit who comes down on Jesus is poured out on each of the baptized. The words addressed to Jesus, “This is my beloved Son,” in some sense echo over every font: “This is my beloved son, this is my beloved daughter; my favour rests on this child.” In baptism, Christ draws us into his own relationship with the Father so that, with the Spirit of the Son in our hearts, we can cry out “Abba, Father” as he did. His God becomes our God; his Father becomes our Father; his inheritance of eternal life becomes our destiny.   

Because of this, baptism is not just a beautiful family occasion from the past or a date on a certificate. It is the foundation of our Christian identity and the source of our deepest dignity. Today is a good day to remember our baptism, to thank God for the grace first given then, and to pray for those—parents, godparents, and community—who brought us to the font. The more we remember our baptism, the more clearly we hear the Father’s quiet word in prayer: “You are my beloved,” even when our failures suggest otherwise.   

His baptism was the day when Jesus began to do the Father’s work in earnest. The day of our baptism had a similar significance. Baptism is not only a moment of grace; it is a moment when we are entrusted with a share in Christ’s mission. Having been anointed with the Spirit, we are sent to bring God’s justice and mercy to others. This means caring for the most vulnerable, making sure not to break the "bruised reed" or quench the "wavering flame," as Isaiah says of the Servant.

Most of us were given this calling at an age when we were too young to understand it. We spend our lives growing into what that early anointing really means. On this feast, the Church invites us to renew our baptismal promises: to reject whatever distorts God’s image in us and to believe again in the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Standing with Jesus in the Jordan, we ask for the grace to live as beloved sons and daughters, making our daily work, our relationships, and our service a true continuation of Christ’s mission in the world. May the Lord help us to renew in us the grace of baptism today.