Category Archives: Musings

Discerning the Light

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In today’s Gospel, Matthew deliberately situates the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry in a very particular place: “The land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali… Galilee of the Gentiles.” This is not just geography. There is a meaning: Galilee was not Jerusalem. It was distant from the Temple, religiously mixed, politically suspect, and culturally porous. It lay along trade routes on“the way to the sea” where ideas, goods, and beliefs constantly crossed paths. For many in Judea, Galilee represented religious compromise and spiritual danger. And yet, Matthew tells us, this is precisely where the light appears.

Isaiah’s prophecy is fulfilled not in the center of religious certainty, but on the margins among those who “sat in darkness,” among people accustomed to sorting truth from error, faith from superstition, hope from disappointment. Jesus does not wait for people to come to the light; he enters the shadows and shines there. And that context matters when we hear the first line of Jesus’ preaching: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”

Repentance is an invitation to reorient oneself toward the light and turn away from whatever false illuminations have been guiding one’s steps.

That brings us naturally to the First Letter of John, which offers a sober warning to precisely the kind of community living in a “Galilee of the Gentiles” world: “…do not trust every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they belong to God.” John is writing to believers who are not persecuted from outside so much as confused from within. False teachers claim inspiration, insight, even spiritual authority. Not every voice that speaks confidently speaks from God. Not every enthusiasm is born of the Spirit. Notice John’s test is not mystical or emotional. It is profoundly Christological and practical. Does this spirit confess Jesus Christ come in the flesh? Does it lead to obedience, love, and fidelity to what has been handed on? In other words, does this spirit draw us into the light — or does it merely glitter in the dark?

This is where the two readings meet. Light clarifies, but it also exposes. The Light of Christ reveals competing claims, rival voices, and false paths. In our day we live amid many spirits coming from many directions. Think about all the self-help books, podcasts, social media and more – they are a modern form of “spirits” but are they of Christ. 

But even in the life of everyday practicing Catholics. Our faith has the same stream of advice from books, videos, social media, podcasts and more. People ask me about the sources all the time. Some are amazing and help shine the light of Christ onto the path we are walking. Others, well… It seems to me they broadcast a spirit of fear masquerading as prudence, anger disguised as righteousness, or their view presented as authenticity. Intense and loud do not equate to truth or authority. Neither does novelty offer genuine insight. Discernment is needed

John reminds us that discernment is not optional. It is a daily discipline of faith. And Matthew shows us that discernment begins by staying close to Jesus, the Light Himself, who teaches, heals, and proclaims the Kingdom not from a distance, but by walking among the people right there in the messiness of life. Jesus entered the ordinary and human in order to redeem it.

What’s the good word: remain in the light, but do not be naïve. Be open to the Spirit, but not uncritical. Follow Jesus into Galilee that is a real and complex life. Test what you hear. Does it speak with the Church? True light does not confuse or divide. It lights the way to peace in Christ.

Image credit: Pexels, CC-0

The Fear of Herod Versus the Faith of Mary

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Reflections on Matthew 2:13-23
Alyce M. McKenzie

In her book Amazing Grace: a Vocabulary of Faith, contemporary Christian author Kathleen Norris contrasts the fear of Herod with the faith of Mary and Joseph.

Everything Herod does, he does out of fear. Fear can be a useful defense mechanism, but when a person is always on the defensive, like Herod, it becomes debilitating and self-defeating. To me, Herod symbolizes the terrible destruction that fearful people can leave in their wake if their fear is unacknowledged, if they have power but can only use it in furtive, pathetic, and futile attempts at self-preservation (Norris, 225).

The tradition of Herod’s “slaughter of the innocents” (Mt. 2:16-18), offers an account of the tragic consequences of such defensive, self-preserving, paranoid fear. This brand of insecurity never leads to anything good. Ironically it most often backfires, shrinking rather than enhancing the one who fears. Herod is a case study that proves the truth of the first half of Proverbs 29:25: “The fear of others lays a snare, but the one who trusts in God rests secure.”

In the process of fearing others, sadly, the one who fears seeks to douse the light of other lives and often appears to succeed. We could make a long list of the sufferings inflicted on others by those who in the past and today are both powerful and paranoid. We hold to the faith that such fear cannot douse the light of the world we celebrate at Christmas. This passage forces us to stay real—paranoid insecurity is a persistent force.

Norris points out that Herod’s fear is the epitome of what Jung calls “the shadow.” Herod demonstrates where such fear can lead when it does not come to light but remains in the dark depths of the unconscious. Ironically, Herod appears in the Christian liturgical year when the gospel is read on the Epiphany, a feast of light (Norris, 226).

Norris tells of preaching about Herod on Epiphany Sunday in a small country church in a poor area of the Hawaiian Island of Oahu. It was an area of the island that tourists were warned to stay away from, an area where those who served the tourist industry as maids and tour bus drivers could afford to live. The church had much to fear: alcoholism, drug addiction, rising property costs, and crime. The residents came to church for hope.

In her sermon Norris pointed out that the sages who traveled so far to find Jesus were drawn to him as a sign of hope. This church, Norris told her congregation, is a sign of hope for the community. Its programs, its thrift store have become important community centers, signs of hope. The church represented, said Norris, “a lessening of fear’s shadowy power, an increase in the available light.” She continued to say that that’s what Christ’s coming celebrates: his light shed abroad into our lives. She ended her sermon by encouraging the congregation, like the ancient wise men, not return to Herod but find another way. She encouraged them to “leave Herod in his palace, surrounded by flatterers, all alone with his fear” (Norris, 226).

There is the fear of Herod and there is the fear of the Lord exemplified by Mary and Joseph which, we are promised, is the beginning of knowledge and wisdom (Pr. 1:7). When we open our doors, even just a crack, to allow the fear of the Lord to enter in, we have taken the first step in a lifelong process of exchanging the fear of Herod for the faith of Mary and Joseph.

The fear of the Lord is the Bible’s code word for a full-bodied faith that includes trembling before the mystery of a Transcendent God and trusting in the tenderness and faithfulness of an imminent God. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of our being able to say, with Mary, “Here am I, a servant of the Lord. Let it be to me according to your word” (Lk. 1:38). It is the source of Joseph’s wordless obedience (Mt. 1:24) and Jesus’ words from the cross in Luke: “Into thy hands I commit my spirit” (Lk. 23:46). The fear of the Lord opens us to the comfort and stamina God offers even in times of undeserved and profound suffering. The fear of the Lord is the impulse that shuts our self-righteous lips when we look upon the suffering or mistakes of others. It impels us, rather than to retreat in cold judgment, to reach out with comforting, capable hearts and hands.

When we put aside our paranoid, self-centered fears and embrace the fear of the Lord, we face the reality of an unknown future with the good news that we are accompanied by a God who never abandons us. The shadows of fear are illuminated by the light—Immanuel, God with us!

Image credit: Stained glass window, Sts. Joseph & Paul Catholic Church, Owensboro KY | PD

The Costs of Christmas

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Yesterday the Church sang of angels, shepherds, light, and joy. Quite jarringly, today we are shown stones, hatred, and death. On the very day after Christmas, the Church places before us St. Stephen, the first martyr. This is not accidental. It is profoundly intentional. Because Christmas is not only about a child in a manger; it is about a life that will be given, and about what happens when that life truly takes root in human hearts.

In the first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, Stephen stands before the Sanhedrin, accused, threatened, misunderstood. Yet we are told: “Stephen, filled with the Holy Spirit, looked up intently to heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God” (Acts 7:55).

Stephen does not defend himself. He does not bargain. He does not save his life by silence. Instead, he remains faithful to what God has revealed, even when that fidelity leads directly to his death. This is obedience of faith in its most costly form: trusting God not only when obedience brings blessing, but when it brings suffering.

The story of Stephen’s martyrdom is a lesson in seeing what others cannot see. While his accusers see a blasphemer, Stephen sees heaven opened. While stones are raised against him, Stephen entrusts his spirit to Christ: “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” (Acts 7:59) And like his Master, he prays: “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” (Acts 7:60)

Stephen’s death mirrors Christ’s death, because the obedience of faith always conforms us to Jesus.

But why the day after Christmas? I think the Church places the Feast of St. Stephen immediately after Christmas teaches us a hard but necessary truth: if Christmas is real, it will change how we live and it may cost us something. Christmas proclaims that God has entered the world. St. Stephen shows us what happens when that truth is lived without compromise:

Love becomes dangerous.
Truth becomes costly.
Faith becomes visible.

The Gospel becomes a warning as Jesus tells His disciples: “You will be hated by all because of my name, but whoever endures to the end will be saved.” (Mt 10:22) Stephen is the first to prove that these words are not symbolic. The obedience of faith does not promise safety. It promises Christ’s presence.

I suspect most of us are challenged by Stephen’s obedience of faith and our own. Most of us will not face stones or martyrdom. But this feast day celebration invites us to examine the quieter ways we resist obedience to the faith:

When faith costs social approval
When truth creates tension
When forgiveness feels unjust
When fidelity requires sacrifice

Stephen teaches us that obedience of faith is not about heroic gestures but rather it is about faithfulness to Christ, even when the outcome is uncertain or painful.

The world sees Stephen’s death as a failure. The Church sees it as a birth. Stephen dies while heaven stands open. The child born yesterday is already reigning. And one of those who watches Stephen die will one day become St. Paul, apostle to the nations. The obedience of faith may look like loss in the moment, but God never wastes it.

On this day after Christmas, the Church reminds us that the manger leads to the cross. The cross leads to glory. And no matter the cost, obedience of faith leads to life.

Image credit: The Stoning of Stephen | Rembrandt, 1625 | Musée des Beaux-Arts de Lyon | PD-US

Joy in the days after

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 “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice! The Lord is near.”  Such were the words on the Third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete Sunday.  Perhaps we should rephrase the words: “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice! The Lord is here.”  All of Advent we have been waiting and praying for the coming joy of Christmas. On this night the angels proclaim the message of “good news of great joy;” for unto us has born a child, Emmanuel, who is Christ, Lord and Savior. This good news of great joy is for all the people of God. 

The Church’s liturgical seasons of Advent, Christmas and Ordinary Time are shaped to lead us to the experience of joy. In a way it matches a pattern of life of which we are intuitively aware because we are people that live among patterns shaping our lives. It might be simply described simply as three “seasons” similar to the Church’s liturgical seasons. The first season is “Preparation” for an event. It is a season which carries along with it a sense of anticipation. Next comes the “day” itself, when anticipation is realized in an occasion of great joy. And then comes the time after the event and that season where we move on into life but we want to hold on to the joy of the day. Like Christmas: “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice! The Lord is [here].” 

The joy of Christmas is here; all around us, before, behind us, surrounding us.  How do we appropriate it? How do we grab some and put it in our pocket for later? How can we bottle it? How can we capture the joy which pervades this night. And once we have it, keep it safe, and share the joy?

There are lots of events in our life that have that same pattern of anticipation, preparation, and finally the day comes:

  • Your first day of high school
  • Moving into the dorm at college
  • Your first job after college
  • Getting married
  • Your first home
  • Your first child (…second child and more until you have at least four and then you can have your own swimming relay team!)
  • Your children’s first day of school, high school, college… and so the cycle continues.

Parents and grandparents look back and remember the joy.

As a community of faith we have anticipated and prepared for this evening – and here we are at Christmas. Not just us and not just now – but every year. And it has been this way since before the time of Jesus. The Prophet Isaiah, more than 2,500 years ago, looked forward to this day of “abundant joy and great rejoicing” when he prophesied:“For a child is born to us, a son is given us; upon his shoulder dominion rests. They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace.”  And the people of God waited and anticipated – through the days and nights, joys and sorrows, and all that makes up the cauldron of this life. They had faith that the day would come.

And then, out of the dark night sky, there shown above shepherds in the fields, the glory of the Lord and angels who proclaimed good news of great joy: “For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Christ and Lord.”  And then the heaven exploded in an angelic chorus.

Think of the anticipation those shepherds felt as they hurried into Bethlehem to witness what the angels proclaimed. Think of the anticipation of Mary and Joseph. The joy of the world focused on a manger is a backwater town of Bethlehem.

Be it on the grand scale of the history of Redemption, the celebration of one year’s Christmas, or so many events of our life – there is the pattern of anticipation all pointing towards “the day”- be it Christmas, the first day of college, your wedding day, and so much more.

And comes the day after Christmas, the second day of college, the end of the honeymoon and the start of building a life together.

Here at Christmas we are again asked to recall the words of St. Paul to Titus: “The grace of God has appeared, saving all and training us to reject godless ways and worldly desires and to live temperately, justly, and devoutly in this age.” And to carry those words and these memories into the cauldron of life, to face the next day. Likewise, to recall: 

  • Your first day of college – to remember what you hoped to achieve and to renew your efforts toward that goal. 
  • Your wedding day – to remember the covenant vows you exchanged and go back to the work of building a life together in love.  
  • The moment you child your child in your arms – all the promises you made – and to again strive to make those promises come true.

And Christmas – to remember the warm glow of this evening, the close comfort of friends and family, the good cheer, and to recall a Savior has been born to us, saving all, and asking us to be Christ for others. To renew our covenant with God in this Eucharist with our “Amen”, and then to go into the world to strive to make the promises of Christ come true for yourself, your loved ones, for friends, and for those you will meet in the days and years to come. 

With all the anticipation comes the day, and with the day, comes the day after. We are people of the day after but recall this day in memory and rejoicing, for to us a Savior has been born!

Merry Christmas.

The Days of Promise

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I hope you have been following the readings here during the final week of Advent. These have been the gospel readings:

  • Friday: the “annunciation” of the birth of Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist
  • Saturday: the Annunciation to the Blessed Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus
  • Sunday: the story of Joseph and the Word of God that came to him in a dream telling him to take Mary into his house and become the guardian of Jesus
  • Monday: as part of the Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth, the gospel is Mary’s exultant song of Hope: the Magnificat
  • Tuesday: the birth and naming of John the Baptist – “All who heard these things took them to heart, saying, “What, then, will this child be? For surely the hand of the Lord was with him.”
  • Today, Wednesday December 24th, we hear Zechariah’s song of praise known as the Benedictus.

God is doing what he promised. His word will come to pass. These events are “as he promised through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old.” The promise involves rescue: God will save his people from their enemies and from all who hate them. Such salvation reflects the mercy of God and the recollection of the covenant made with Abraham. In this way the hymn actually combines two sets of divine promises – those about David’s son and those made to Abraham. What God will do for his people he does through Messiah. The fresh fulfillment of both covenants begins with Jesus’ arrival.

But what is the goal of this salvation? Here is perhaps the most insightful part of the hymn. Zechariah is not retreating from life or looking only to a future reward in heaven. His heart’s desire is to serve God “without fear … in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.” This is the expression of an exemplary soul. The meaning of life comes in faithful service to a holy God. 

Such was the goal and purpose of Advent that we too might serve God without fear and in holiness all the days of our life. And to be reminded these are the days of promises fulfilled.

Image credit: Stained glass window, Sts. Joseph & Paul Catholic Church, Owensboro KY | PD

The Ancestors of Jesus

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There are four different Masses that rightly celebrate the Nativity of the Lord. They are the Vigil Mass (all the masses before 10 pm on Christmas Eve), Mass during the Night (“Midnight Mass”), Mass at Dawn, and Mass during the Day. Many parishes these days have several Vigil Masses. At our parish in Virginia we will have 6 vigil Masses. The vigil mass has two options for the Gospel reading.

The option that is most often selected is one that seems well suited to Christmas: “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…”(Matthew 1:18-25) The reading goes on to describe the angel’s message to Joseph to take Mary into his 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.”

Especially when one of the Vigil Masses is preceded by the Children’s Christmas Pageant this is a great choice and an easy one to be part of the evening’s homily.

The other option presents a few more challenges to listener and homilist alike: “The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham. Abraham became the father of Isaac, Isaac the father of Jacob,  Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers. Judah became the father of Perez and Zerah, whose mother was Tamar…” and on for a total of 25 verses (Matthew 1:1-25). It really is a great gospel, but…it just does not seem a good choice for what will undoubtedly be a Mass filled with families and lots of children. Still…

When we gather for Christmas Eve, most of us come already filled with excitement. Children can hardly wait for tomorrow morning. Families look forward to being together. Lights are shining in every corner of the church. In his gospel, before Matthew tells us about angels, shepherds, and the Baby in the manger, he begins with a long list of names. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob… Ruth, David… and on and on. I have never had the gumption to choose this gospel. I wonder that as I proclaimed the gospel and watched eyes wander, children get restless, and their foreheads wrinkle as people think: “why on earth is he reading that gospel? Where is Joseph, Mary and the baby Jesus?” – would I accelerate the reading to rush to the end as soon as possible… and then… and then what? Then, I have to preach. So, maybe I will just share my thoughts with you.

Why does the gospel start with a genealogy? Because Matthew wants to tell us something important about the story of Jesus, something that is a great message for Christmas: God keeps His promises. Always.

The genealogy is a description of God’s promise moving through history, through the almost 2,000 years that passed from Abraham to Jesus. In that stretch of time, the people of God paid were faithful and not-so-faithful. But God remained faithful and never forgot the promise. God never abandoned His people even when they abandoned Him. God remained faithful across centuries. That is exactly what St. Paul offers in the Vigil Mass’ second reading: “From his descendants God, according to his promise, has brought to Israel a savior, Jesus.” (Acts 13:23)

So before Matthew gets to the point when that promise becomes flesh — a Baby laid in a manger. Matthew wants us to be mindful that God works through ordinary—and imperfect—people. Look closely at the genealogy and you’ll notice that the list is filled with surprising people: Abraham sometimes doubted. Jacob was a trickster who cheated his brother out of his inheritance. David was a great king, but also a great sinner. Ruth was a foreigner. Rahab wasn’t even part of Israel at first. What does this tell us? It says God is willing to work with our flaws because God’s plan is bigger than our weaknesses. God can work through saints and sinners, kings and shepherds, parents and children. God isn’t put off by the messiness of human life. That’s good news for everyone. It is good news for the families and folks that feel they are too complicated, a little imperfect, unsure and struggling.  We all would fit right into the genealogy and the family of Jesus.

If the genealogy’s characters weren’t surprising enough, the biggest surprise is that God kept His promise by becoming one of us: “Behold, the virgin shall be with child and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means ‘God is with us.’” (Matthew 1:23) There was no flash of lightning or earthquakes. There was only a baby — small, vulnerable, needing to be held and fed. The promise was fulfilled gently, quietly, and in ways we never could have imagined.

The genealogy is a great gospel for Christmas because it is an invitation for us to trust, believe and remember that God is with us. No matter the year we’ve had, the worries we carry, the troubles we’ve seen, and the fears that grip us. No matter what. In the proclamation of the genealogy gospel, God whispers: “I am with you.”

He has been with his people for thousands of years and has kept the Promise, working through Jesus’ long and imperfect family line, and God is ready to work in all of our lives too. In the kindness we show, the forgiveness we offer, the prayers we whisper, and in the generosity with which we give.  In these things, we take our place in Jesus’ family. 

The Gospel reading of the genealogy of Jesus reminds us that as we gather around the manger, we gather not as strangers, but as members of the family God that has been forming since Abraham. The genealogy begins with Abraham and ends with a newborn child… but the story continues with each one of us.

It really is a great gospel. 

Image credit: Photograph | South dome of inner narthex at Chora Church, Istanbul, depicting the ancestors of Christ from Adam forward | Wiki Commons from José Luiz Bernardes Ribeiro | CC BY-SA 3.0