Tag: Faith

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🔎 Lens: Before You Do Anything

Jesus didn’t need baptism. John knew it. “I need to be baptized by you, and yet you are coming to me?”

But Jesus insists: “Allow it now, for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.”

Pope Francis, in his 2020 homily on this feast, notes something critical: Jesus begins his public ministry not with a miracle, not with teaching, not with gathering disciples—but by joining sinners in the waters of repentance.

He doesn’t start from a position of superiority. He starts from solidarity.

The Father’s voice comes before Jesus does anything. “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.” Not will be pleased once Jesus performs, achieves, proves himself. Is pleased. Present tense. Prior to action.

St. Gregory Nazianzen reminds us that Christ’s baptism sanctifies the waters—he doesn’t receive cleansing; he gives it. But he still steps into the river. He still submits to the ritual meant for sinners.

The Catechism (CCC 536) says Christ’s baptism “prefigures our own baptism” and manifests “the mystery of the first regeneration: our Baptism.”

Here’s the uncomfortable truth tucked inside this feast: Your belovedness precedes your productivity.

The Father doesn’t say “This is my Son who will heal the sick, feed the multitudes, raise the dead, and die on a cross—therefore I’m pleased.” He says “This is my beloved Son” while Jesus is standing waist-deep in the Jordan, having done nothing yet.

We live in Herod’s court, in the scribes’ calculations, in the world’s ledger: Prove yourself first. Then you’ll be loved.

But the Kingdom works backward: Loved first. Then sent.

Reflection Prompts

1. Where in your life are you still trying to earn what you’ve already been given? What would change if you believed you were beloved before you did anything?
2. Jesus joined sinners in the river—not to distance himself, but to stand with them. Where are you avoiding solidarity because you’re afraid it’ll compromise your standing?
3. The Father speaks before Jesus begins his mission. What does it mean that your identity is established before your activity? How does that shift the way you approach this week?
4. John hesitated—”I need to be baptized by you.” Jesus said, “Allow it now.” Where is God asking you to “allow” something that feels backward or unnecessary?

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🔎 Lens: See, Set out, Workship

The Magi weren’t just following a star. They were following a question that required them to leave everything familiar behind.

Pope Francis, in his 2019 Epiphany homily, identifies three verbs that define their journey: see, set out, worship.

First, they saw. Not just with their eyes—they recognized significance in what they observed. The star wasn’t just astronomical data. It was an invitation written across the heavens.

But seeing wasn’t enough. They set out. This is where most of us falter. As Francis notes, “There are many who see but do not set out, as if the fact of being in possession of the truth were enough… comfortable in their own presumed religious knowledge.”

The scribes in Jerusalem saw too. They knew Micah 5:2 by heart. They told Herod exactly where the Messiah would be born. But they didn’t go. They stayed in the palace, close to power, close to certainty, close to what they already understood.

The Magi had no Scripture, no prophecy, no theological training. But they had something the scribes lacked: the willingness to risk the journey.

St. John Chrysostom observed that the Magi’s journey wasn’t just geographical—it was a complete disruption of their certainty. They left behind safety, credibility, the assumption that their existing knowledge was sufficient.

Finally, they worshipped. Not polite reverence. The Greek word—proskynēsan—means total, undignified submission. Faces in the dirt. Surrender.

And they brought gifts that cost them something. Not leftovers. Not surplus. Gold, frankincense, myrrh—what was most precious.

Pope Francis presses the uncomfortable truth: “To believe means… primarily a relationship, an encounter.” You can know the doctrine. You can attend Mass. You can quote the Catechism. And still miss the encounter.

We live in Herod’s palace more often than we’d like to admit. We see—we know the doctrine, the answers, where Christ should be—but we don’t set out. Familiarity masquerades as faithfulness. Proximity to truth doesn’t guarantee response to truth.

The Magi went home by another route. They couldn’t return the way they came.

Neither can you, if you actually fall on your face before Him.

Reflection Prompts

1. Where in your life are you close to the truth but not responding to the truth? Where have you stayed in Jerusalem when the star is pointing to Bethlehem?
2. The Magi brought gifts that cost them something. What would it look like to bring Christ something that actually requires sacrifice—not just what’s convenient or leftover?
3. The Magi didn’t just see the star—they set out toward it. What have you seen (recognized as true, important, an invitation from God) but haven’t actually moved toward?
4. Worship meant prostration—undignified, total surrender. Where in your life are you offering Christ polite reverence instead of actual submission?

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🔎 Lens: Holiness doesn’t exempt you from the hard parts

The Holy Family wasn’t holy because their life was easy. They were holy because they remained faithful when it got hard.

Matthew’s Gospel gives us no manger scene today. No shepherds. No peaceful tableau. Instead: a midnight escape. A terrified father waking his wife. A journey of over 1,200 miles on foot—fleeing a king who wanted their child dead.

Pope Francis, in his homily on the Holy Family, said it plainly: “Joseph, Mary and Jesus experienced the tragic fate of refugees, which is marked by fear, uncertainty and unease. Unfortunately, in our own time, millions of families can identify with this sad reality.”

The Holy Family became refugees. Displaced. Vulnerable. Far from home, in a foreign land, with no guarantee of safety or provision. This is the family the Church holds up as our model.

Not because they avoided suffering. Because they trusted God through it.

St. Paul, in today’s second reading, doesn’t give the Holy Family a pass on the hard work of family life. He tells the Colossians—and us—to “put on heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving one another” (Colossians 3:12-13).

Even the holiest families need compassion. Even Mary and Joseph had to bear with each other. Holiness doesn’t mean conflict-free. It means choosing love when it costs something.

Reflection Prompts

1. Where in your family life right now are you waiting for things to “calm down” before you can be faithful? What if God is asking you to trust Him in the chaos, not after it?
2. The Holy Family became refugees—displaced, vulnerable, far from home. Have you ever felt spiritually displaced? Where do you need God to meet you as “refuge” right now?
3. Colossians says to “bear with one another and forgive one another.” Who in your family (immediate or extended) do you need to bear with this week? What would it look like to choose patience instead of withdrawal?
4. Joseph acted on incomplete information. Where is God asking you to move forward even though you don’t have the whole picture? What’s one step you can take this week in trust?

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