Homilies & Thoughts

At the edge of the Jordan, there is a line of ordinary people stepping down into the water—tired, hopeful, carrying secrets, searching for a new beginning. John stands there, calling hearts to turn back to God. Then Jesus arrives. Not as a spectator. Not as a judge. He walks into the same river, into the same current, into the same place where sinners are admitting they need mercy.

John recoils, because he recognizes the truth: Jesus has no sin to wash away. He has no stain that needs cleansing. Yet Jesus does not keep himself at a safe distance from the human condition. He chooses nearness. He chooses solidarity. He chooses to take on the weight of humanity—not because he is forced, but because love is never afraid to step into another person’s burden.

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.