Tria Via

Tag: Pray

  • Fourth Sunday of Advent (Year A)

    Jump to: Lens | Reflection Prompts | Weekly Practice

    First Reading: Isaiah 7: 10-14
    Psalm: 24: 1-2, 3-4, 5-6
    Second Reading: Romans 1: 1-7

    Gospel: Matthew 1: 18-24

    This is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about.
    When his mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph,
    but before they lived together,
    she was found with child through the Holy Spirit.
    Joseph her husband, since he was a righteous man,
    yet unwilling to expose her to shame,
    decided to divorce her quietly.
    Such was his intention when, behold,
    the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said,
    “Joseph, son of David,
    do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home.
    For it is through the Holy Spirit
    that this child has been conceived in her.
    She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus,
    because he will save his people from their sins.”
    All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet:
    Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,
    and they shall name him Emmanuel,
    which means “God is with us.”
    When Joseph awoke,
    he did as the angel of the Lord had commanded him
    and took his wife into his home.

    Anchor Verse

    “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home.” – Matthew 1: 20

    burning candles on creative wreath holder
    Photo by Bastian Riccardi on Pexels.com

    🔎 Lens: The Obedience No One Sees

    We’re four days from Christmas. The tree is up. The presents are wrapped. The pageant has been rehearsed. And the Church gives us… Joseph.

    Not Mary’s fiat. Not the angel’s announcement to shepherds. Not even the birth itself yet. Just Joseph—a man who wakes up from a dream and decides to stay.

    Pope Francis, in his 2013 homily on the Holy Family, said this about Joseph: “He is a strong and courageous man, a worker, but in his heart we see great tenderness, which is not the virtue of the weak but rather a sign of strength of spirit and a capacity for concern, for compassion, for genuine openness to others.”

    Joseph had every legal right to divorce Mary quietly. The text says he was “a righteous man, yet unwilling to expose her to shame.” Righteous—meaning he kept the Law. And the Law was clear about a betrothed woman found pregnant. But Joseph chose mercy over vindication.

    Then the dream comes. And here’s what often gets missed: the angel doesn’t explain why this is happening to Joseph. There’s no theological dissertation on the Incarnation. Just: “Do not be afraid. Take her as your wife. Name the child Emmanuel.”

    St. Bernard of Clairvaux wrote that Joseph’s faith was not less than Mary’s, just different. Mary said yes to carrying Christ. Joseph said yes to protecting that carrying—to shouldering the social shame, the questions, the whispers. To loving a child who wasn’t biologically his but was eternally his to steward.

    The Catechism calls Joseph the “guardian of the Redeemer” (CCC 437, 497). Not the Redeemer. Not the one who births salvation. The one who stays. The one who builds the crib. The one who gets up in the middle of the night when Herod’s soldiers are coming.

    The obedience no one sees. The faithfulness without fanfare.

    Reflection Prompts

    1. Joseph was “a righteous man, yet unwilling to expose her to shame.” Where in your life are you being asked to choose mercy over being right? To protect someone’s dignity even when you have every reason not to?
    2. The angel says, “Do not be afraid.” What would it look like for you to obey something God is asking before you fully understand why he’s asking it?
    3. Joseph’s obedience was quiet—no Magnificat, no angelic choir, just waking up and doing what he was told. What act of obedience in your life feels invisible or unappreciated right now? Can you do it anyway?
    4. Emmanuel means “God with us.” Where is God asking you to be with someone this week—not to fix them, not to teach them, just to stay?

    Weekly Practice

    At Mass

    Listen for Joseph’s silence.

    He doesn’t speak once in Matthew’s Gospel. Not a single recorded word. And yet his obedience shapes everything.

    During the Gospel reading, when you hear about Joseph waking from the dream and doing as the angel commanded, notice: What does your obedience look like? The kind no one sees. The kind that doesn’t get applause.

    Don’t analyze it. Just notice what comes to mind.

    After Mass

    This week, do one act of obedience that no one will notice.

    Not the kind of obedience that gets you credit. Not the kind that makes you look good. The kind Joseph did—quiet, costly, faithful.

    Examples:

    • Apologize when no one’s forcing you to
    • Keep a commitment when it would be easy to bail
    • Pray for someone who’s hurt you—actually pray, not just think about praying
    • Do the task you’ve been avoiding because no one’s checking
    • Stay in the conversation when you’d rather leave

    You won’t get recognition. You might not even feel good about it. But you’ll be doing what Joseph did: saying yes in the dark, trusting that obedience matters even when no one’s watching.

    If you’ve been walking with Tria Via for 8 weeks, consider pausing for this reflection.

  • Third Sunday of Advent (Year A)

    Jump to: Lens | Reflection Prompts | Weekly Practice

    First Reading: Isaiah 35: 1-6a, 10
    Psalm: 146: 6-7, 8-9, 9-10
    Second Reading: James 5: 7-10

    Gospel: Matthew 11: 2-11

    When John the Baptist heard in prison of the works of the Christ,
    he sent his disciples to Jesus with this question,
    “Are you the one who is to come,
    or should we look for another?”
    Jesus said to them in reply,
    “Go and tell John what you hear and see:
    the blind regain their sight,
    the lame walk,
    lepers are cleansed,
    the deaf hear,
    the dead are raised,
    and the poor have the good news proclaimed to them.
    And blessed is the one who takes no offense at me.”

    As they were going off,
    Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John,
    “What did you go out to the desert to see?
    A reed swayed by the wind?
    Then what did you go out to see?
    Someone dressed in fine clothing?
    Those who wear fine clothing are in royal palaces.
    Then why did you go out?  To see a prophet?
    Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet.
    This is the one about whom it is written:
    Behold, I am sending my messenger ahead of you;
    he will prepare your way before you.
    Amen, I say to you,
    among those born of women
    there has been none greater than John the Baptist;
    yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.”

    Anchor Verse

    “Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?” – Matthew 11: 3

    christmas wreath with candles on table
    Photo by Bastian Riccardi on Pexels.com

    🔎 Lens: When the Wait Gets Harder Than Expected

    This is Gaudete Sunday—”Rejoice Sunday”—when the priest wears rose vestments and we light the pink candle. The readings tell us to rejoice because the Lord is near.

    But here’s what the Gospel gives us: John the Baptist, sitting in prison, sending his disciples to ask Jesus a question that sounds an awful lot like doubt.

    Are you the one? Or should we keep looking?

    Pope Benedict XVI, in his 2011 Angelus address for this Sunday, didn’t shy away from the discomfort: “Even John the Baptist, the greatest prophet, had to travel the journey of faith.” John had announced Jesus. He’d baptized him. He’d seen the Spirit descend. And now, from a prison cell, he’s asking: Are you actually the Messiah, or did I get it wrong?

    St. Augustine addressed this question directly in his sermons: John wasn’t doubting for himself—he was asking for his disciples. But even if that’s true, the question itself reveals something we need to hear: Sometimes the wait gets harder, not easier. Sometimes following Christ leads you not to triumph, but to a prison cell. Sometimes you do everything right and it still doesn’t look like you thought it would.

    The Catechism reminds us that hope is not optimism (CCC 1817-1821). Hope is a theological virtue—a gift that allows us to trust God even when circumstances scream otherwise. It’s not “everything will work out the way I want.” It’s “God is faithful, even when I can’t see how.”

    Jesus’ answer to John is telling. He doesn’t say, “Yes, I’m the Messiah, and I’ll get you out of prison now.” He says: Look at what’s happening. The blind see. The lame walk. Lepers are cleansed. The dead are raised. The poor have good news proclaimed to them.

    In other words: The Kingdom is here. Just not the way we expected.

    Reflection Prompts

    1. John asked, “Are you the one, or should we look for another?” What version of Jesus have you been waiting for that hasn’t shown up? The one who fixes your circumstances? The one who vindicates you publicly? The one who makes obedience feel easier?
    2. Jesus points to what’s actually happening (healing, restoration, good news to the poor) rather than what John might have hoped for (political revolution, immediate justice). Where in your life is God doing something real that you’ve missed because you’re focused on what isn’t happening?
    3. “Blessed is the one who takes no offense at me,” Jesus says. What about following Christ—or the way he’s working in your life right now—are you tempted to take offense at?
    4. James says, “Be patient… strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand.” What needs strengthening in you right now—not fixing, but strengthening—so you can keep waiting well?

    Weekly Practice

    At Mass

    This is Gaudete Sunday—rejoice. But don’t perform joy if you’re not feeling it.

    During the Responsorial Psalm (“Lord, come and save us”), notice what you’re actually hoping God will save you from right now. Not theologically. Concretely.

    The job situation? The relationship that’s stuck? The interior emptiness that won’t go away no matter how many devotions you try?

    Name it silently. Then listen to Jesus’ answer: Look at what’s happening.

    Not what you wish was happening. What is happening. Even if it’s small. Even if it’s not the rescue you wanted.

    After Mass

    Make a list this week—physical pen and paper, not mental—of signs that the Kingdom is actually here.

    Not the big, dramatic ones. The quiet ones. The ones you almost missed because they don’t look like triumph.

    Examples:

    • Someone showed you unexpected kindness
    • You chose patience when you wanted to snap
    • A conversation opened up that had been closed
    • You noticed beauty you usually rush past
    • You told the truth when lying would’ve been easier

    Aim for five things by the end of the week. Not five “blessings” in the generic sense. Five specific signs that the blind see, the lame walk, the dead are raised—even if it’s just your own cold heart softening by one degree.

    On Friday, read your list. Then say out loud: “The Lord is near.”

    Not because everything’s fixed. Because he’s faithful.

    If you’ve been walking with Tria Via for 8 weeks, consider pausing for this reflection.

  • Second Sunday of Advent (Year A)

    Jump to: Lens | Reflection Prompts | Weekly Practice

    First Reading: Isaiah 11: 1-10
    Psalm: 72: 1-2, 7-8, 12-13, 17
    Second Reading: Romans 15: 4-9

    Gospel: Matthew 3: 1-12

    John the Baptist appeared, preaching in the desert of Judea
    and saying, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!”
    It was of him that the prophet Isaiah had spoken when he said:
    A voice of one crying out in the desert,
    Prepare the way of the Lord,
    make straight his paths.
    John wore clothing made of camel’s hair
    and had a leather belt around his waist.
    His food was locusts and wild honey.
    At that time Jerusalem, all Judea,
    and the whole region around the Jordan
    were going out to him
    and were being baptized by him in the Jordan River
    as they acknowledged their sins.

    When he saw many of the Pharisees and Sadducees
    coming to his baptism, he said to them, “You brood of vipers!
    Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?
    Produce good fruit as evidence of your repentance.
    And do not presume to say to yourselves,
    ‘We have Abraham as our father.’
    For I tell you,
    God can raise up children to Abraham from these stones.
    Even now the ax lies at the root of the trees.
    Therefore every tree that does not bear good fruit
    will be cut down and thrown into the fire.
    I am baptizing you with water, for repentance,
    but the one who is coming after me is mightier than I.
    I am not worthy to carry his sandals.
    He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.
    His winnowing fan is in his hand.
    He will clear his threshing floor
    and gather his wheat into his barn,
    but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

    Anchor Verse

    “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” – Matthew 3: 2

    wax candles and decorations
    Photo by Georg Manfred Heinlein on Pexels.com

    🔎 Lens: The Wilderness Before the Welcome

    Pope Francis, in his 2019 Angelus address for the Second Sunday of Advent, said something most of us would rather not hear: “John the Baptist does not offer consolation, but truth. And sometimes the truth hurts.”

    John shows up in the wilderness wearing camel hair, eating locusts, and announcing that the comfortable religious establishment needs to repent just as much as the obvious sinners. This isn’t the warm Advent we prefer—the one with candlelight and carols. This is the Advent that names what’s actually wrong.

    The Catechism (CCC 1430) defines repentance as metanoia—not just feeling sorry, but a radical reorientation of one’s entire life toward God. It’s the Greek word for “change your mind,” but it means more than updating an opinion. It means turning around. Facing a different direction. Walking a different way.

    St. John Chrysostom wrote that repentance is not about wallowing in past failures, but about choosing a new future. “Have you sinned? Enter the sanctuary and repent… Do not despair,” he urged. But he also knew this: you can’t enter the sanctuary while pretending you don’t need it.

    John the Baptist stands in the wilderness and says: The King is coming. Make the road ready. And the first work of preparation isn’t decoration—it’s demolition. The obstacles have to go.

    Reflection Prompts

    1. John calls the religious leaders “brood of vipers” because they showed up for the ritual without the repentance. Where in your spiritual life are you going through motions without actually changing?
    2. “Produce fruit in keeping with repentance.” What would the fruit of repentance look like in your life right now? Not what you’d feel or say, but what would actually be different?
    3. What are you still clutching that keeps your hands too full to receive what God wants to give you this Advent? Name it specifically.
    4. John prepared the way by making rough places smooth and crooked paths straight. What’s one “crooked path” in your own life—a pattern, a rationalization, a compromise—that needs straightening before you can receive Christ well?

    Weekly Practice

    At Mass

    During the Confiteor (the “I confess to almighty God…”), don’t rush through it.

    When you say “through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault,” pause for three seconds after.

    In that pause, don’t list every sin you’ve ever committed. Just notice: Is there one specific thing—one pattern, one relationship, one habit—that you’ve been avoiding naming?

    You don’t have to fix it right now. Just let yourself notice it. That’s the beginning of repentance: seeing clearly.

    After Mass

    Pick one small area where you know something needs to change.

    Not the biggest, most dramatic sin. Not the thing you’ve struggled with for decades. Just one small, specific thing where you’ve been going through motions instead of actually changing.

    Examples:

    • You say you want to be more patient, but you still snap at interruptions
    • You say family matters, but you still prioritize email over dinner conversation
    • You say you trust God, but you still lie awake catastrophizing

    This week, when you catch yourself in that pattern, stop mid-action. You don’t have to have the perfect response. Just stop. Name it out loud: “I’m doing it again.”

    Then take one different action. Even a tiny one.

    That’s repentance. Not a complete transformation. Just turning around. Even for a moment.

    If you’ve been walking with Tria Via for 8 weeks, consider pausing for this reflection.