EPIPHANY OF THE LORD: Is 60:1-6; Eph 3:2-3a, 5-6; Mt 2:1-12 

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany, a word that means manifestation or showing forth. It marks that moment when the light of Christ bursts out of the humble stable in Bethlehem and shines upon the entire world. At the heart of this mystery are the Magi—mysterious travelers who remind us that seeking God is the most noble journey a person can undertake.

Who Were the Magi? Tradition calls them wise men, priests, and kings. In truth, they were likely all three. The word magi originally referred to Persian priests, scholars who studied the stars and sought wisdom in the movements of the heavens. They were the scientists and philosophers of their age—men who believed that creation itself bore the fingerprints of God.

Their arrival in Jerusalem caused great commotion. Only influential men could obtain an audience with a jealous ruler like Herod. Though tradition gives them the names Balthasar, Melchior, and Gaspar—and assumes there were three because of the gifts they offered—the Gospel leaves their exact identity a mystery. What matters most is their wisdom. In Scripture, wisdom is not mere knowledge but the ability to recognize God's will and the courage to act upon it.

The Magi came seeking “the newborn King of the Jews.” Naturally, they stopped first at the royal palace, for Herod held that title granted by Rome. They expected that a royal birth would take place in a royal household. Yet this encounter created deep tension. Herod was troubled, and with him, all Jerusalem. He feared a rival to his throne—but the Child he dreaded was not a political contender. He was the Lord of heaven and earth, a King whose power would be revealed in love and sacrifice.

It is striking that the title King of the Jews appears in Matthew’s Gospel only twice—here, at the cradle, and later, at the Cross. The King sought by the Magi as an infant is the same King who will one day hang upon a Cross for the salvation of humankind.

The story of the Magi reveals two essential movements of faith: attentiveness and action. They noticed the star because they were looking up. In our modern world, we are often "curved in on ourselves," our eyes fixed downward on our screens, our problems, or our schedules. We often miss the "stars" God places in our path—those moments of grace, beauty, or sudden conviction that call us toward something greater.

The Magi saw the star—and they followed it. They left behind comfort, wealth, and security to pursue a light that led them into the unknown. They remind us that to meet Christ, we must be willing to leave behind our familiar landscapes and venture into deeper trust.

When the Magi arrived at the humble dwelling in Bethlehem, they did something truly extraordinary. They fell to their knees and did homage. To do homage is to bow completely—to surrender heart and will in the presence of greatness. Before offering their gifts, they offered themselves. Their posture speaks of total openness before the mystery of God.

This gesture continues today whenever we genuflect before the Blessed Sacrament. It is a confession of faith written in the body: “You are God, and I am yours.” Only after they adored did the Magi present their gifts—gold, frankincense, and myrrh—each a sign of the Child’s mission:

Gold for His kingship—He is the true ruler of hearts and nations.

Frankincense for His divinity—rising like prayer, a sign that this Child is God-with-us.

Myrrh for His humanity and sacrifice—a burial perfume foretelling the gift of His life for the world.

From the cradle to the Cross, His kingship is a kingship of love.

The most transformative moment in the story comes after they met the Child. Warned in a dream not to return to Herod, the Magi “went home by another way.” This line holds the whole meaning of Epiphany: once you have encountered the living God, you cannot return the same way.

Faith changes our direction. To meet Christ is to be redirected—to travel a new route with new priorities, new eyes, and a new heart. We cannot return to our old “Herods”: our rivalries, fears, grudges, or complacency. God’s light points the way toward forgiveness, generosity, and peace.

As we step into a new year, we, too, are invited to travel with the Magi. Their story is the pattern for every believer’s life—a continual seeking of Christ’s presence. The journey of faith often begins with curiosity but must end in worship. It leads us beyond our narrow boundaries into the vastness of God’s plan.

Isaiah’s prophecy today reminds us that this light is not meant for one nation alone: “Nations shall walk by your light, and kings by your shining radiance.” The Epiphany proclaims that Christ belongs to all peoples. Saint Paul echoes this in Ephesians, rejoicing that the Gentiles “are coheirs, members of the same body.” The Magi’s pilgrimage is the first chapter of this great revelation—that God’s mercy has no borders.

As we reflect on the strenuous journey of the magi today, let’s see what we can offer to the Baby in the manger? Each of us has something to lay before the Christ Child:
our gold—our talents and time offered for His kingdom;
our frankincense—our prayers and praise that rise like incense to heaven; our myrrh—our sorrows and sacrifices united with His for the redemption of the world.

The Epiphany reminds us that the light of Christ is not a private flame to warm a few hearts—it is a blazing fire meant to illumine the whole world.

So let us, like the Magi, keep our eyes lifted to God’s signs, follow wherever His light leads, and return home transformed—walking always by another way, the way of faith, humility, and love.

 

 

 

 

 

Mary, Mother of God: Luke 2:16-21

Today, as the world marks the beginning of a new secular year, the Church invites us to celebrate one of the greatest feasts of the Blessed Virgin Mary. This coincidence is not merely a matter of the calendar; it is a profound theological statement. As we stand at the threshold of a new year, we look to Mary, the Theotokos (God-bearer), who stood at the threshold of a new age for all humanity.

Mary: The First Disciple and Mother

In recent decades, the Church has deepened its appreciation for Mary as the "first disciple"—the one who models what it means to follow Jesus with perfect fidelity. However, today’s feast focuses on a role even more fundamental: her biological and spiritual motherhood. Before Mary became a disciple of Jesus, he was a disciple of hers. In the quiet home of Nazareth, it was through Mary and Joseph that Jesus was initiated into the religious traditions of his people. He learned the psalms from her lips and the stories of the Covenant from her heart.

Even more essentially, Mary provided the very "yes" that allowed the Word to become flesh. She was the flesh and blood from which the human body of Jesus was formed. As St. Paul reminds us in today’s second reading, Jesus was "born of a woman." This phrase is not a minor detail; it is the anchor of our salvation. It means that God’s first dwelling on earth was not a temple made of stone, but the womb of a woman.

A Dogma of Faith: Theotokos

The title "Mother of God" is among Mary’s most exalted, but its origin is rooted in a deep truth about Jesus himself. In AD 431, the Council of Ephesus formally affirmed that Mary is truly the Mother of God. Later, in AD 451, the Council of Chalcedon affirmed this as a dogma of the Church.

This declaration was as much about the Son as it was about the Mother. To call Mary the Mother of God is to insist that Jesus is not two separate persons—one human and one divine—but one Person with two natures. Because Jesus is truly God and truly man, Mary is not just the mother of a great prophet or a holy man; she is the mother of the Second Person of the Holy Trinity. As Elizabeth cried out in greeting, "Why is this granted me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?" (Lk 1:43).

The Heart of a Contemplative

Despite these high titles, the Gospel of Luke brings us back to a simple, humble scene in Bethlehem. We see Mary, Joseph, and the infant lying in a manger. There is no palace, no army, only the visit of lowly shepherds. Here, we encounter Mary as a contemplative. Luke tells us that "Mary treasured all these words, pondering them in her heart" (Lk 2:19).

What was she pondering? She was weighing the extraordinary promises of the angels against the vulnerability of her newborn child. This child was entirely dependent on her for survival. Without her motherly care and Joseph’s protection, the Word made flesh would have had no earthly future. Mary’s identity was forever woven into the identity of the Savior. She was the mother of Emmanuel—God-with-us.

Jesus himself eventually expanded this definition of motherhood. He declared, "My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and put it into practice" (Luke 8:21). Mary is the preeminent example of this. She did not just bear Christ physically; she conceived him in her heart through faith long before she conceived him in her womb. By listening to the Word and putting it into practice, she shows us how we, too, can "give birth" to Christ’s presence in our own lives and in the world today.

The Covenant and the Name

Today’s Gospel also mentions the circumcision of the Lord. In the Jewish tradition, circumcision was the physical sign of a covenant relationship with God—a promise that God would be a caring Father and the person would live as a member of God's holy people. By submitting Jesus to this rite, Mary and Joseph showed their total obedience to God’s law.

At this ceremony, the child was given the name Jesus, a name chosen by God and delivered by an angel. This name, meaning "God saves," defines his entire mission. As we begin a new year, we do so under the protection of this Name and the intercession of the Mother who first whispered it.

Entering the New Year with Hope

The feast of Mary’s motherhood is the most appropriate way to begin the secular year. It reminds us that we do not face the unknown future alone. Because of the "new age" ushered in by Mary’s Son, we have been adopted as sons and daughters of God. The Spirit of the Son has been poured into our hearts, allowing us to cry out, "Abba, Father!"

As we look toward the months ahead, we likely have resolutions to keep and challenges to face. Following through on these resolutions is not down to our willpower alone. We have been "greatly graced" through Mary’s Son. His power is available to us every day to enable us to make new beginnings.

Mary is the only person in Scripture present at every major juncture of Jesus’ life, from the wooden manger to the wooden Cross. She remains present to us now, always pointing away from herself and toward her Son, saying: "Look, here is your Savior."

When Mary gave birth, it was a new beginning for the entire universe. Today, let us make our own new beginning in the power and strength of the Holy Spirit.

 

 

THE HOLY FAMILY OF JESUS, MARY & JOSEPH (Sirach 3:2-6, 12-14, Colossians 3:12-21, Matthew 2:13-15, 19-23).

 The Holy Family: A School of Love and Obedience

Today, on the Feast of the Holy Family, the Church invites us to look at the quiet, ordinary life of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph in Nazareth. This is not a feast of miracles or sermons on a mountain, but of a family at home: a carpenter at his bench, a mother tending the house, a child growing in wisdom and grace. In this simple life, God reveals something profound: holiness is not found only in grand gestures, but in daily love, fidelity, and obedience to God’s will.

In the first reading, Sirach reminds us that honoring father and mother is a way of honoring God. He speaks of the blessing that comes to those who respect their parents, and of the peace that fills a home where love and reverence are lived. This is not just ancient wisdom; it is a reflection of the very life of the Holy Family. In Nazareth, Jesus “was obedient to them” (Luke 2:51). He, the Son of God, submitted Himself to Mary and Joseph, not because He needed to, but because He wanted to show us how to live in right relationship—with God and with one another.

A Family That Faced Real Trials

We sometimes romanticize the Holy Family, imagining them always peaceful and serene. But today’s Gospel reminds us that their life was far from easy. An angel warns Joseph: “Rise, take the child and his mother, flee to Egypt, and stay there until I tell you” (Mt 2:13). In an instant, this family becomes refugees, fleeing under cover of night to a foreign land, far from home and safety. Later, they return to Nazareth, only to live under the shadow of Herod’s violence and the suspicion of a small town.

They knew fear, displacement, and the ache of a missing child when Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem at age twelve. Yet through it all, they remained faithful. Joseph protected and provided, Mary pondered all things in her heart, and Jesus grew in obedience and love. In their home, prayer, work, and mutual care formed the rhythm of life. That is the model for every Christian family: not a life without problems, but a life where problems are faced together, in trust and in prayer.

 

The Domestic Church

The Church calls the Christian family a “domestic church” — a little church in the home. In our homes, God wants to be present just as He was in Nazareth. He wants to be honored in the way we speak to one another, in how we forgive when we hurt each other, in how we care for the young, the old, and the sick.

Paul’s words in the second reading are a practical guide for this domestic church: “Put on heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving one another” (Col 3:12–13). These are not abstract virtues; they are the daily bread of family life. They are lived in the small things: a kind word when someone is tired, patience when a child spills milk, forgiveness after a harsh tone, and the quiet decision to choose love again and again.

Sirach’s call to honor parents is not a one‑way duty. It is part of a web of mutual respect: children honoring parents, parents loving and guiding children, and all members of the household treating one another with justice and care. When that happens, the home becomes a school of virtue, where faith is caught more than taught.

A Call to Renew Our Families

Today’s feast is not only a celebration; it is a call. A call to renew our families in the image of the Holy Family. For those who are parents: How do you lead your home in prayer and virtue? Do you make time to pray together, even if only a short grace before meals or a Hail Mary at night? Do you model patience, forgiveness, and trust in God, especially when things go wrong?

For children and young people: How do you honor your parents and siblings, even when it’s hard? Honoring parents does not mean blind obedience, but it does mean respect, gratitude, and a willingness to listen and to apologize when you’ve hurt someone. It means choosing to build up your family, not tear it down with sarcasm, anger, or silence.

For those who are single, widowed, or without a family of their own: How can you be a source of peace and love in the families around you? You can be a listening ear, a helping hand, a prayerful presence. You can help build up the domestic church wherever you are welcomed.

Nazareth in Our Homes

The Holy Family is not a distant ideal; they are our companions and intercessors. They know the joys and struggles of family life. They pray for us, that our homes may be places where Christ is loved, where His Word is heard, and where love is not just spoken, but lived.

At the end of his life, Jesus entrusted Mary to John and John to Mary, creating a new family of faith. In the same way, every Christian family is called to be a sign of God’s love in the world. Let us ask the Holy Family to help us build homes where:

Prayer is regular and sincere,

Work is done with dignity and joy,

Children are raised in faith and freedom,

The elderly and vulnerable are honored,

And love is patient, kind, and forgiving.

May the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph teach us to live simply, love deeply, and walk faithfully with God, so that our homes, like Nazareth, may become a dwelling place of the Lord.

 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.