Homilies

If you grew up in a world where faith was stitched into your bloodline—your clan, your language, your land—this story would sound almost unbelievable.

A caravan arrives from the east: learned men, court advisers, readers of the skies. Not Israelites. Not worshipers of the God of Abraham. Astrologers—outsiders—men whose practices many in Jerusalem would have distrusted or dismissed. And yet they come with aching purpose, asking for a Jewish king they have never met, guided by a sign they can barely explain. Their whole journey can be summed up in one sentence: “We saw his star at its rising and have come to do him homage.” That line is the shock of Epiphany.

2026 began with the same homily I preached at the beginning of 2025. I have changed assignments since then, so it was new to my current parish. It is not my most well crafted homily, by any means, but it is one of my favorites. May the Mother of God bless you all this new year.

A house can be holy and still be hurried. Picture Joseph waking in the dark, heart pounding, listening to a message that feels like both mercy and emergency. There is no time for long conversations, no time to tidy loose ends. A child is lifted, a mother gathers what she can, and a family slips into the night—because God has chosen to save the Savior by sending him away.

The startling part is where they go: Egypt. Not the postcard Egypt of museums and pyramids, but the Egypt that lives in Israel’s memory: the place of slavery, the furnace of temptation, the land from which they once begged to be freed. It had become a symbol for everything that crushes and corrupts. And yet the angel says, “Rise, take the child and his mother, flee to Egypt, and stay there until I tell you.”