Homilies & Thoughts

Joseph falls asleep with a decision already made. He has weighed the options, tried to keep his conscience clean, tried to do the least damage. He is a righteous man, and that righteousness does not make the situation simple. It makes it heavier.

Then God interrupts his careful plan—not with thunder, not with certainty, but with a dream. And the angel speaks a sentence that is almost startling, because the Gospel does not use the word “fear” until the angel names it: “Do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home.”

Two images of the Resurrection—one traditional, one contemporary—reveal more than artistic taste. A Renaissance anachronism quietly proclaims the Incarnation: Christ rose for every age, not only first-century Jerusalem. But when modern soldiers and concrete appear around the empty tomb, many of us flinch. Why? This reflection explores that discomfort, exposing how easily we confine faith to the past, and invites us to see the risen Lord as present here and now—judging, redeeming, and remaking our world.

Most of us spend our lives building walls. Not stone walls, usually. Although we certainly know fences, locks, and passwords. We build personal walls. We retreat into routine and hide inside busyness; we reassure ourselves, “I’ve got it handled.” That is how life stays manageable, predictable, and even pleasant. And if we’re not careful, God is treated the same way—tidy and familiar, safely kept at arm’s length.

Then Advent arrives like a cold wind at the gate. Jesus praises John the Baptist, and he asks the crowd one question: “What did you go out to the desert to see?” The word we hear as “desert” is better understood as “wilderness.” And the wilderness is not a scenic backdrop. It is outside the city’s protection, beyond the lamps and the watchmen. It is where you are exposed—to the elements, to hunger, to danger, to uncertainty, to your own limits.