Lord, You made yourself like us, in your mercy grant that we become more like You.
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Category Archives: Musings
The Fear of Herod Versus the Faith of Mary
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
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
“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
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
Thank you…
…to the anonymous donor who graciously donated a year’s fees to host and maintain FriarMusings. You are very much appreciated. God bless and Merry Christmas.
A disturbance in the Force
If last week you noticed a disturbance in the Force akin to Obi Wan Kenobi, fear not because it was only a five-millionths of a second skip in time as some of the nation’s atomic clocks experience a glitch in the matrix. No worries, we’re OK.
The Ancestors of Jesus
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
Isaiah During the Night
By tradition and familiar naming, each Christmas eve, Catholic churches and communities celebrate a “Midnight Mass.” Technically the title of the Mass in the Roman Missal is “Mass During the Night” and by rule may not start before 10 pm and must be finished by 2 am. Hence the question, “what time is Midnight Mass” is actually a good question. But that aside, the first reading at the Midnight Mass is from the Prophet Isaiah.
The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shone.
You have brought them abundant joy and great rejoicing, as they rejoice before you as at the harvest, as people make merry when dividing spoils. For the yoke that burdened them, the pole on their shoulder, and the rod of their taskmaster you have smashed, as on the day of Midian. For every boot that tramped in battle, every cloak rolled in blood, will be burned as fuel for flames. 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. His dominion is vast and forever peaceful, from David’s throne, and over his kingdom, which he confirms and sustains by judgment and justice, both now and forever. The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this! (Isaiah 9:1-6)
In formatting the reading (above) I intentionally separated the first verse from the remainder of the reading in order to draw your attention to this question: who are the people who walked in darkness that now see a great light? For that answer we need only turn back one chapter – Isaiah 8.
The bulk of chapter 8 is words of judgment for King Ahaz who has chosen to align himself with the Assyrians rather than God and to ignore the signs of God’s presence (see Isaiah 7:14: “Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign; the young woman, pregnant and about to bear a son, shall name him Emmanuel. ” ) Ahaz has good reasons to fear the Assyrians. Assyria is in the process of taking over the world as it was known then and Israel (the northern tribes) had already fallen – and fallen into hard times. Isaiah describes what a traveler through the North lands would witness: “he will pass through it hard-pressed and hungry, and when hungry, shall become enraged, and curse king and gods. He will look upward, and will gaze at the earth, but will see only distress and darkness, oppressive gloom, murky, without light.” (8:21-22)
King Ahaz was right to fear Assyria, but he should have had better reasons to trust in the Lord.
In Isaiah 8:23, the Prophet proclaims the promise of salvation under a new king, one not like Ahaz, but one worthy as a successor to the line of King David. The prophet writes: “There is no gloom where there had been distress. Where once he degraded the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, now he has glorified the way of the Sea, the land across the Jordan, Galilee of the Nations.” (Isa 8:23) Zebulun and Naphtali are in the north, under Assyrian rule. In other words, the opening verse of our Midnight Mass reading is to the people of the North living under the crushing oppression of Assyria: The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shone. (Isa 9:1)
This sets the stage for a dramatic shift in imagery and mood that comes in verse 2. Out of the depths of oppression, depression, war, and separation from God, all symbolized by the presence of darkness, comes assurance. The following verses signal the promise of a new king, a coronation hymn of sorts, one who will come from the royal Davidic line, who will bring light and life and hope to a suffering people.
“His dominion is vast and forever peaceful, from David’s throne, and over his kingdom, which he confirms and sustains by judgment and justice, both now and forever.” (Isa 9:6)
It is a prophetic promise of a future reality that will be made possible because of God’s never ending love for God’s people. The reading is a statement of faith, trust, and gratitude for what the Lord has already done. Grounded in this certainty makes the words of promise and future hope believable. While it appears that the powers of this world have a firm hold, God’s power will have the final victory.
Situating Isaiah in its political, historical, and geographical context might better witness to its meaning for Christians beyond the level of foretelling or prophesy as we tend to think about it, especially when it comes to the expectations of the coming Christ. In other words, what might happen when Isaiah is not only heard as proof of the fulfillment of God’s promises about the coming of the Messiah but as testimony as to the faithfulness of God – a characteristic that is at the heart of who God is? Then we can be more deeply aware that God is not just about future plans but present promises here and now. In the midst of that which creates despair and darkness, God’s light shines as that which is the fulfillment of all that we need and everything that we wish could be.
On Christmas Eve, when candles burn bright to witness God’s light that shines in all of our darkness, we are reminded that this is not just a claim for tonight, or because of Jesus, but points to the nature of who God is and always has been. When the candles are extinguished, the lights put away, and the decorations stored until next year, this promise is indeed what we will need to journey into the days and years ahead.
Image credit: Prophet Isaiah, Mosaic, Right of Lunette, South Wall of Presbytery, Basilica of San Vitale | PD-US | scripture image from Canva CC-0
On their own land
The first reading today is from Jeremiah, the prophet to the nation during times of crisis in the final days of the kingdom of Judah. The prophet was given the daunting task of prophecy to Jerusalem who was at the end of a “death spiral” of horrible leadership under the kings of Judah, the descendants of King David. In the midst of his oracles against and city, king and people, the prophet proclaims: “Behold, the days are coming, says the LORD, when I will raise up a righteous shoot to David; As king he shall reign and govern wisely.” (Jer 23:5).
Here is the season of Advent we hear and understand Jeremiah as speaking of “the days” being some 580 years later long after the crisis of the Babylonian Empire and the coming Exile. We hear the trace of the messianic prophecy of Jesus – the “righteous shoot” that will bloom from the stump of Jesse (cf. Isaiah 40). In Jeremiah’s day, I suspect the people knew their days were numbered as none would be able to stand against the power of Nebuchadnezzar and his Babylonian armies. They were sure to be dispossessed of the land and their inheritance. But to them Jeremiah says that the children of Israel “…shall again live on their own soil.” (Jer 23:8). Even if dispossessed, they would return to claim their inheritance.
In our days, the Righteous King has already come, bringing the Kingdom of God to those who claim their inheritance – and so it has been for more than 2000 years… There are certainly days when here in the United States we can feel like the faithful remnant of Jerusalem in Jeremiah’s day. According to Pew Research landscape studies, Christianity has been declining in America. In 2007, 80% of people identified as Christian; by 2024 that number had decreased to 62% of the population. By 2024 only 45% of young adults identified as Christian. In that same period between 2007 and 2024, the share of U.S. adults identifying as Catholic declined 21%.
As I read Jeremiah and consider the Pew Studies, one can be disheartened that, as a people, we are being “dispossessed” of our inheritance of faith. But at the same time, I am encouraged. All across the United States, Catholic parishes are experiencing a phenomenon of increased numbers of people in the OCIA programs, the means by which people come into the Catholic faith as adults. It is a movement in which I hear the echo of Jeremiah: “they shall again live on their own soil.” (Jer 23:8)
My unscientific sampling of Catholic parishes points to a doubling of the numbers of participants in OCIA just from last year with a marked increase in the numbers of adults seeking the Sacrament of Baptism. A statistical blip? Time will tell. A renewal of faith? I certainly hope so. Time will tell. But it strikes me that we need to be people that are not satisfied that the Messiah has come but even if we are but a faithful remnant, to be aware that the promise of the Messiah and the Kingdom are everlasting and we are called to witness to those signs among us.
Jeremiah | detail of Sistine Chapel | Michelangelo | PD-US | Pexels CC-0
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