Homilies & Thoughts

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.

Before sunrise on a December morning, an ordinary man walked the road toward mass on the hill of Tepeyac. He was not a governor, not a soldier, not a spokesman for a cause. Juan Diego was simply faithful—poor, overlooked, living in a world torn open by conquest, suspicion, and fear.

That is precisely where Our Lady chose to appear.

Guadalupe does not arrive as a badge for one side. She comes as Mother—Madre de Dios—for a wounded, divided society. Her presence says: you are not merely rivals, classes, or camps. You are children. One Mother, many peoples. She speaks to Juan Diego in a way he can receive, and she sends him back into the conflict with a task larger than himself.

By candlelight, these four Advent reflections trace a path from wakefulness to repentance, from fragile faith to renewed trust. Beginning with Jesus’ warning to stay awake, they move through John’s call to bear fruit, Christ’s assurance that grace is truly at work, and the quiet courage of Joseph. Together they invite us to let God enter ordinary life, weakness, and uncertainty, so the light of Emmanuel can be born anew.