It’s a new year and each time January brings a mixture of hope and anxiety. We have hopes for 2026, but we carry unresolved worries, unanswered questions, and fears that did not politely stay behind in 2025. The readings for today come at the right time.

In the Gospel, the disciples are doing exactly what Jesus told them to do. He sent them ahead in the boat. And yet obedience has not spared them fear. They are exhausted, battered by the relentless wind and just can’t make any headway – sound familiar? Then they are confronted with something they cannot interpret: Jesus walking toward them on the sea. This is way out of their comfort zone; they think it is a ghost and are terrified. We know those moments when we are out of our comfort zone and the unexpected initiates a fear response. Fear distorts perception. Like the apostles, when we are afraid, even the saving presence of God might be perceived as threatening. What is meant to help us can feel like something that will overwhelm us.

At the start of 2026, maybe our fears are not as dramatic as the apostles – maybe they are. Great or small, the fear, the uneasiness we might sense is real:

• fear of instability in the economy, the end-of-January potential shutdown of the government, inflation, and more;
• fear of illness, aging, or decline – those small aches and pains that no longer resolve themselves;
• fear of loneliness, being misunderstood, or left behind –  our friends moving, passing away, or in their decline, no longer recognize us.
• Fear that a loved one has reached the end of their earthly life.
• …name the fear that lurks in your life. We all have them.

Like the disciples, we are rowing hard and making little headway, and we wonder what’s next.

It is into these moments that Jesus speaks – then and now: “Take courage. It is I. Do not be afraid.”

Those words, “It is I,” are not casual reassurance. In the Greek they echo the divine name — “I AM.” Jesus is not simply saying, “It’s okay.” He is saying, “God is here.” The One who comes toward them across the chaos is not a ghost, not an illusion, not a threat, but the living presence of God entering their fear. Notice that He does not shout instructions from a distance. He gets into the boat. And only then does the wind die down.

That is crucial for us. God does not usually remove our fears by eliminating all danger or uncertainty. He removes fear by sharing our vulnerability. Love steps into the boat. This is exactly what the Letter of John names so clearly: “There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear.”

Fear is sinful or a sign of weak faith. Love does mean never feeling afraid. Jesus tells us something more realistic and more hopeful: fear loses its power when we allow ourselves to be loved and when we choose to love in return. Think about it: fear makes us close us in on ourselves. We become defensive, cautious, and suspicious. Love does the opposite. Love opens us up and makes room for others. Love steps into the boat even when gale winds continue and the wave unrelenting. Love is what can make fear loosen its grip.

We don’t have to love perfectly or fearlessly. It is enough that we love faithfully. It is in the active decision to love that we become free and more easily live a life of patience, generosity, forgiveness, and hope. Our vision clears and we recognize Christ in our midst and in others.

Maybe a prayer for our mornings might be, “Lord, get in the boat with me. Still the storms or at least give me the courage to not need to control, but to love freely. Your presence is stronger than my fear.”

Christ stilling the storm on the Sea of Galilee | Ludolf Bakhuizen | 1695 | Indianapolis Museum of Art | PD

Hear, O Israel! The LORD is our God, the LORD alone! Therefore, you shall love the LORD, our God, with your whole heart, and with your whole being, and with your whole strength. Take to heart these words which I command you today. Keep repeating them to your children. Recite them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you get up. (Dt 6:4-7)

Image credit: Jetpack AI Assistant generated art, Jan 2, 2026

The first reading for Gaudete Sunday is taken from Isaiah 35: “The desert and the parched land will exult; the steppe will rejoice and bloom. They will bloom with abundant flowers, and rejoice with joyful song.” It is a message of radiant hope, but this chapter does not arise in a peaceful moment. Its beauty comes precisely because it follows a very dark and threatening context.

Isaiah 34 is a chapter of devastation and judgment carrying one of the most severe judgment oracles in the entire book. It describes:

• God’s judgment upon Edom, a symbol of all nations hostile to God.
• Land turned into a burning pitch.
• Streams turned into tar.
• A wilderness inhabited only by wild animals and demons.
• A world of chaos, desolation, and hopelessness.

Isaiah 34 begins with: “Draw near, O nations, to hear… He will hand them over to slaughter.” It ends with a picture of a land emptied and cursed. Isaiah 34 is the image of the world ruined by sin, human violence, and divine judgment.

Isaiah 35 is the surprise of reversal: hope rising from devastation. Against the backdrop of that scorched, cursed wasteland, Isaiah suddenly proclaims: “The desert and the parched land will exult; the steppe will rejoice and bloom.” This is not sentimental poetry. It is a proclamation that God’s mercy has the final word, not desolation. The land that looked dead will come back to life. People who felt abandoned will be restored. Judgment is not the end; renewal is. God transforms the desert created by human sin into a garden created by divine grace.

The historical setting is that Jerusalem and all of Judah is under the threat of Assyrian domination. Chapters 28–39 reflect the time when the Assyrian Empire is expanding southward, already having conquered the 10 northern tribes. In the south, people feel helpless, afraid, and uncertain whether God will save them. The political and religious leadership has a track record of leadership failure. As a result Jerusalem seems vulnerable and the people are disheartened and spiritually weak. Chapters 28–33 are a series of oracles of woe, warnings against foreign alliances instead of trusting in God, and rebukes for spiritual blindness of leaders and people alike. 

The crisis is quite real and existential. Assyrian invasion and victory means exile, destruction, and the end of the nation. Into this atmosphere of anxiety and judgment comes the promise of chapter 35 which mirrors the structure often seen in Isaiah: pending judgment but with the promise of hope and delivery. Isaiah 35 is a deliberate contrast to the darkness that precedes it.

Because it follows a vision of utter ruin, Isaiah 35 is proclaiming:

• God can bring joy from sorrow.
• God can create life where everything seems dead.
• No desert—literal or spiritual—is beyond God’s power to transform.
• Exile and fear will not have the last word.
• The journey home (35:8–10) is guaranteed by God’s own mercy.

Isaiah 35 is both a climax of hope after chapters of threat, and a transition toward the great consolation of Isaiah 40: “Comfort, give comfort to my people.” Against the backdrop of despair, God announces an unexpected future filled with joy, healing, return, and redemption. That is why Isaiah 35 is chosen for the Third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete Sunday: because in the middle of the darkness and weariness of life, God makes the desert bloom.

Image credit: Prophet Isaiah, Mosaic, Right of Lunette, South Wall of Presbytery, Basilica of San Vitale | PD-US | scripture image from Canva CC-0