Salt and Light (5th Sunday, Year A)

  This past week I was blessed to spend a few days hiking in Utah, exploring two national parks I hadn’t visited before: Canyonlands and Arches. One of those days, a priest-friend and I hiked in the remote Needles section of Canyonlands, a magnificent ten-mile journey through an otherworldly landscape of towering sandstone formations. Every turn revealed a new view, somehow better than the last, as we wandered through winding canyons and narrow rock passages.

Every so often we had to stop…not because we were tired, but because we needed to take it all in. The views stretched for miles, vast and overwhelming in their beauty. What struck me just as much was the silence. This time of year the parks are nearly empty. On our final day of hiking, we saw fewer than a dozen people the entire day. The silence was so deep it almost hurt your ears.

Standing there, surrounded by that raw beauty, I found myself saying out loud more than once, “God, you are good. Your work is beautiful!” I don’t know how you could have any other response when something like that is laid out before you. Creation practically demands your attention and it points to something beyond itself, to the One who designed and made it!

But nature isn’t the only thing that teaches us about God.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells us that we are the light of the world and the salt of the earth. People should be able to look at us…how we live, how we speak, how we treat others…and learn something true, something good, something beautiful about who God is. Our lives are meant to point beyond themselves, the same way creation does.

Fortunately, we already know how to do this. We proclaim what matters to us all the time. We wear clothing with the logos of our favorite teams, brands, or slogans that say something about who we are. Our cars have decals from places we’ve traveled, stick figures or illustrations of our families, causes we support, and even politicians we believe in. Without saying a word, our lives constantly communicate what we value, what we love, and what we stand for.

Jesus is saying that faith should be no different.

That’s why the second reading from St. Paul fits so beautifully with today’s Gospel. Writing to the Corinthians, Paul reminds them that when he first came to them, he didn’t rely on clever arguments, polished speeches, or sophisticated philosophy. This was significant because Corinth loved all of those things.

But Paul says, “I did not come with sublimity of words or of wisdom.” Instead, he came with a “demonstration of Spirit and power.” In other words, he let God do the convincing through the consistent and natural actions of his daily life and presence with the people of that city. The Gospel spread not because Paul was impressive, but because God was present and clear to see in the words and actions of St. Paul…changing hearts, healing lives, performing works that made God impossible to ignore.

And here’s the key connection: for most people today, their first real encounter with God won’t be through a theology book, a catechism, or even the Bible. It will be through a Christian. Through someone they know. Someone they work with. Someone in their family. Jesus knows this. That’s why He says that people should see our good deeds and give glory not to us, but to our heavenly Father.

This calling isn’t reserved for priests, religious sisters, or scholars. God truly wants (and expects) every baptized person to use their life, their relationships, and their daily experiences as a way of making Him known, loved, and adored. That’s an incredible responsibility… and a sign of remarkable trust.

So Jesus says plainly: you are salt. You are light. And this calling can’t be ignored. Either our lives reveal something of God’s goodness, beauty, and truth…or we hide it. Salt that loses its flavor and light that’s hidden away quickly lose their purpose. As Jesus warns, they become good for nothing.

“Just so,” He says, “your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father.”

The question, then, is whether we’ve first allowed ourselves to encounter the beauty, goodness, and truth of God. We can’t teach something we don’t know or believe. For me, that encounter has come many times through the splendor of nature and through the goodness of friends and family. For others, it may come through the birth of a child, caring for a loved one, forming a family, or recognizing God’s quiet wisdom in a decisive moment.

Once we’ve encountered God ourselves, we’re called, like Paul, to let our lives speak. God could have chosen another way, …….but He didn’t. He chose to rely on you and me to teach others about Him. He trusts that our words, our patience, our forgiveness, and our love might become a “demonstration of Spirit and power” for someone else.

So the final question this weekend is simple but challenging: What is your life teaching right now? Who is it revealing?

Someone is counting on us to learn about God’s goodness, truth, and beauty.Are we being salt?Are we being light?

Cheering for the Underdog (4th Sunday, Year A)

  Each year, around this time, people tend to talk about the Super Bowl. Who’s going to win. Who has the better quarterback. Who’s hosting the party. And of course, who we’re cheering for. Usually that’s not too hard, because most years there is a team with a great story or who no one thought would be there. People tend to cheer for the underdog. The long shot. The cinderella story. But this year, it’s a little different. Both teams are strong. Both are successful with 14 wins. Both have been there before. No real underdog…which, at least for me, makes it harder to care who wins. And that got me thinking: why do we usually root for the underdog in the first place?

In the ancient world, people didn’t generally think that way. In Jesus’ time, and long before him, strength and success were everything. The powerful were admired. The wealthy were respected. The winners were celebrated. The poor were often invisible. The lowly were expected to stay in their place. And that’s why the readings today are so striking…because every one of them pushes back against that way of thinking.

In the first reading, the prophet Zephaniah speaks to a people who feel small, defeated, and discouraged. And he says: “Seek the Lord, you humble of the earth… a people humble and lowly.” Not the powerful. Not the elite. God’s hope will rise from those who have learned to depend on Him. Then in the second reading, St. Paul reminds the Corinthians (and us) to take an honest look around. “Consider your own calling,” he says. Not many of you were wise. Not many were powerful. Not many were of noble birth. In other words: God didn’t build the Church with all-stars. He built it with ordinary people. People who knew their need for God. Because, St Paul says, God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong, so that no one might boast except in the Lord.

And then we come to the Gospel. Jesus begins his public ministry and his very first sermon with blessings instead of commandments. “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” “Blessed are the meek.” “Blessed are those who mourn.” “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.” Jesus looks out at a crowd filled with people who feel small and insignificant and he tells them they matter. Not later. Not if they succeed. Not if they climb higher. But even now.

That’s important, because the Beatitudes are not instructions. Jesus isn’t saying, “Go out and try to be poor or sad.” He’s saying that when life places us there…when we are humbled, struggling, grieving, uncertain…God is not far away. In fact, He is closer than ever. The world keeps its own list of champions: the successful, the impressive, the people who seem to have it all together. But Scripture today makes it very clear: God keeps a different list.

And that raises a question we probably don’t ask ourselves very often. Which list are we trying to get onto? Where would we rather be found? In the world’s circle of champions… or on the Lord’s list of the blessed? Because the two lists rarely look the same. One is built on achievement and domination. The other on trust and service. One on strength. The other on dependence. One on achieving 1st place. The other on letting God lead.

Most of us spend our lives trying not to look weak. We don’t like admitting we need help. We don’t like being vulnerable. We don’t like feeling small. And yet, Scripture keeps telling us that those very places…the ones we try to avoid… are often where God does His best work. Not because weakness is good in itself, but because it makes room for grace. So as we prepare to watch a game full of champions next week, the Gospel invites us to ask a deeper question: what kind of life are we really striving for? Are we trying to be impressive… or faithful? Are we chasing recognition… or trust? Because in God’s kingdom, the scoreboard is different. And the ones Jesus calls “blessed” are often the very people the world would never think to cheer for. “Blessed are they,” he says. When he looks at us and our life, will he find us on his list?

The Richness of the Lamb (2nd Sunday of OT, Year A)

  The Christmas season is now over, but today’s Gospel drops us right back where we left off. Once again, we meet John the Baptist. This time, though, we hear him through the Gospel of John. Just before today’s passage, the priests and Levites have come out from Jerusalem to see the strange man with a wild appearance that everyone is talking about. This group of religious leaders asks John a simple question: Who are you? Are you the Messiah? No. Are you Elijah? No. Are you one of the prophets? No.

So finally they ask, Well then, what do you have to say for yourself?

John answers with one line that sums up his whole life, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: make straight the way of the Lord.” And then he adds, “There is one coming after me whose sandal strap I am not worthy to untie.”

When John sees Jesus coming toward him, he points him out and gives Jesus a name no one expected.

He doesn’t say, “Here comes the Messiah.”
He doesn’t say, “Here is the King of Kings.”
He says, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.”

That title tells us everything Jesus came to do.

John the Baptist was the son of a temple priest. He grew up surrounded by sacrifice, blood, altars, and offerings. When he calls Jesus the Lamb of God, he’s not being poetic or sentimental. He’s being very precise.

For us, a lamb sounds gentle and sweet; something fluffy and harmless. For John’s Jewish audience, the image was much heavier. When they heard “lamb,” several powerful images would have come flooding into their minds all at once.

First, there was the lamb of atonement. On the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), the high priest placed his hands on the animal and symbolically transferred the sins of the people onto it. It was then sent into the wilderness where it would suffer and die. The lamb suffered so the people could be forgiven.

Then there was the daily lamb. Every single morning and every single evening, a lamb was sacrificed in the Temple…day after day, year after year…to keep the people in right relationship with God.

They also would have thought of the Passover lamb, whose blood saved their ancestors in Egypt from death and marked the moment when God set them free from slavery.

They would have remembered the lamb of the prophets, especially Isaiah’s image of the servant who would be “like a lamb led to the slaughter”; the one who would suffer not for his own sins, but for the sins of others.

Finally, there was the lamb of victory. In Jewish history, great leaders and kings were sometimes described as “horned lambs”; figures who looked gentle but carried God’s power to conquer and save.

When John points to Jesus and calls him the Lamb of God, he’s saying: All of that…every sacrifice, every prophecy, every hope finds its fulfillment in him.

That’s why those words still echo at every Mass. After the sign of peace, we sing or say, “Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.” Not long after that, the priest holds up the consecrated host and proclaims John’s words again: “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.”

In those two moments, we profess who Jesus is and why he came. He is the one who steps into a broken world and takes our sin upon himself.

For many generations, forgiveness came through repeated sacrifices in the Temple. But when Jesus arrives, all of that stops. He takes the place of every lamb that came before him. He stands where we should have stood. Our guilt is placed on him, and he freely accepts the cost so that we might have life.

The powerful symbol of the Lamb helps us understand something important: sin is not a small thing. It’s not harmless. It’s not just a mistake we shrug off or us failing to be our best self. Sin brings real destruction and real suffering. The price of sin is death. The only reason we have hope…the only reason we stand forgiven…is because Jesus took that price and punishment upon himself.

The Lamb of God is gentle and innocent. But he is also strong. Brave. Willing to suffer out of love. His meekness is not weakness…it is power restrained for our sake.

So as we echo John the Baptist’s words today, just moments before receiving Holy Communion, let’s pause and really mean them. Let us thank Jesus for being our sacrificial lamb. Let us never make light of sin, knowing what it cost. And above all, let us rejoice because we have been saved by the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world!

You Are Pleasing to God!! (Baptism of the Lord, 2026)

  Some people see the world in a very different way. Tim Burton, the director of films like Edward Scissorhands, Beetlejuice, and The Nightmare Before Christmas, is one of them. When I watch his movies, I often wonder how his mind works to create such off-the-wall films. Yet Burton once said that nothing he ever imagined on-screen compared to the shock and wonder of a real-life experience: the birth of his first child. He described it this way: “You really can’t prepare for it. It’s the most natural thing in the world, yet somehow the most shocking.”

Nothing on this earth compares with the birth of a baby. Each child carries a dignity, value, and potential beyond measure. Babies embody hope and promise. Scripture tells us that we are created in the image and likeness of God; that we can participate in the creation of a human person whose soul is destined for eternity should leave us humbled and amazed.

That natural moment of birth, with all its power and mystery, rightly astonishes us. Today’s feast, the Baptism of the Lord, points us to something just as real and just as transformative. It reminds us that something extraordinary happens not only at physical birth, but at spiritual birth as well.

At the beginning of his public ministry, Jesus stepped into the waters of the Jordan and allowed John to baptize him. It was a risky moment. It could have appeared that Jesus was subordinate to John, or that he needed repentance. Neither was true. But Jesus accepted that risk because he knew how central baptism would be to God’s plan of salvation. Baptism would not be merely a symbol…it would become a true new birth.

The early Christians wrestled with this question: Why would the sinless Christ submit to a baptism meant for sinners? The Church Fathers, especially St. Augustine, answered clearly: Jesus was baptized not for his own sake, but for ours. The waters did not change him; he changed the waters, so that they might give life to us.

My own family has been blessed with many babies, including a brand-new niece born just this past Thursday. Being around infants has a remarkable effect on people. It softens us. That’s one reason I always want families with young children to feel welcome here…because their presence blesses the entire community.

Even science confirms what parents have always known. When people hold a newborn, their bodies change. Hormones shift. Men experience lower testosterone and increased oxytocin and prolactin, becoming less aggressive and more attentive. Women experience hormonal surges that awaken a powerful protective instinct. Holding a baby literally rewires the heart and mind toward love, care, and self-giving.

People can sit for hours holding a child, simply gazing at them in peace and wonder. The smallest things…a tiny smile, a soft sound…bring immense joy. Parents delight in their babies not for what they do, but simply for who they are.

What we do instinctively for babies, God does perfectly for each of us. You might say God spends all eternity gazing upon his children, and his attention is never divided. Because of baptism, God has spoken to each of us the same words he spoke to Jesus in the Jordan:
“You are my beloved son.”
“You are my beloved daughter.”
“With you I am well pleased.”

We do not earn the Father’s love. It is given freely, fully, and unconditionally. There is nothing we can do to make God love us more…and nothing we can do to make him love us less. And yet how often we live as though his love depends on our performance, as though we must somehow deserve it.

No wonder we are hard on ourselves. No wonder guilt, fear, and shame creep in when we fall short.

So consider this: What would change in your life if you truly believed that God’s love for you is unconditional? How might it affect the way you face failure….or the way you treat others, knowing that the same God who delights in you delights in them as well?

Imagine the freedom of knowing, deep in your bones, that no success or failure could ever separate you from the love of God.

How powerful it must have been for Jesus to rise from the waters and hear his Father’s voice. And if you have never heard that voice, know this: God speaks those same words over you every day. You exist because God is actively loving you, thinking of you, rejoicing in you, and never turning away.

That is why he sent his Son: to reveal the depth of the Father’s love and to make us his children not in name only, but in truth.

When your faith is tested; by illness, financial strain, family struggles, or deep disappointment, remember this: in baptism, Jesus claimed you for his Father. Even if the people you should have been able to rely on have failed or walked away, God never will. He does not abandon. He does not grow tired of you. His love is not fragile, conditional, or temporary.

Because of Jesus, we are never orphaned. Because of baptism, we are always loved.

So today, give thanks for the Baptism of the Lord, which opened the waters of new life. Give thanks for the day of your own baptism, when God adopted you as his son or daughter. And live with the quiet confidence and grace that come from knowing who you are…and whose you are.

You are God’s beloved. And with you, he is well pleased.

The Gift of Self (Epiphany, 2026)

 Giving gifts is not an easy thing to do…at least not truly personal and meaningful gifts. It’s not just a matter of spending more money, although sometimes that helps. It’s not just about surprise or beautiful wrapping. And it’s not even primarily about what the gift is, whether an object, an experience, or words. What makes a gift truly good…what makes it memorable, is the combination of thoughtfulness, self-sacrifice, and love embodied in it. More often than not, the gift itself matters far less than the intention behind it.

Looking back on my childhood, I can admit I wasn’t very good at giving gifts, especially to my parents. Like many kids, we would ask what they wanted for their birthday or Christmas. And more often than not, the answer was something painfully simple: “Stop fighting with your siblings,” or “Just do your chores the first time I ask.”

When I heard that, my heart would sink. I was willing to give almost any other gift, but not that one. Because it wasn’t the gift I wanted to give. And maybe you’ve experienced that too: giving a gift that was more about you than the person receiving it, or receiving a gift that didn’t really feel like a blessing because it missed the mark entirely.

As my parents and our family have gotten older, this truth has become even clearer. What matters most to them now isn’t money or expensive presents. What they ask for, again and again, is time: visits, shared meals, simply being together. That kind of gift often means more than anything flashy, because it is the gift of self. And it can feel more costly than money, because only we can give it. No one else can take our place.

Which brings us to the Epiphany.

More beautiful and pleasing to God than the gold, frankincense, and myrrh of the Magi was the simple fact that they brought themselves. These were wealthy and powerful men. They could have sent servants with their gifts. Instead, they personally made a long and difficult journey…months of travel, uncertainty, and risk; so they could place their gifts before the Christ Child with their own hands and see him with their own eyes.

That is the deeper beauty of their offerings. The gold, frankincense, and myrrh mattered because they expressed something greater: love, reverence, humility, and worship. They were outward signs of an inward offering: placing Christ before themselves. Whenever we encounter the living God, the proper response is worship and adoration, not because God needs it, but because worship changes us and restores right relationship with God and one another.

So how does this apply to our lives?

The same principle still holds. God doesn’t need anything from us. If there were something he lacked, he could create it. But there IS something he desires, something only we can give. God wants our love and friendship. He created us with free will, which means love must be chosen. It cannot be forced… even by God. And when we freely choose him, it brings him such great joy!

Take some time this weekend to reflect on the blessings in your life. Try to name one good thing in your life that cannot be traced back to God. Every breath, every joy, every moment of love has its source in him. Practicing gratitude gets us in the right mindset to think about what we can give him in return

One final thought. God has shown us what gifts he loves most. Like any good parent, he wants time with his children, and he delights when his family gathers for a meal. That is why Sunday Mass matters…not as an obligation to check off, but as a gift we freely give.

Too often we ask the wrong questions: “What do I get out of Mass?” or “How late can I arrive and still have it count?”But those are the questions of consumers, not gift-givers. Good gifts are never about minimum effort. They are about presence, attention, and love.

When we come to Mass faithfully, week after week, we give God something he desires deeply: our time, our attention, our hearts. And that gift does not leave us empty. It forms us. Sunday after Sunday, worship teaches us how to become better gift-givers everywhere else in life…more patient, more generous, more willing to show up even when it’s inconvenient.

Our gathering here may look ordinary, but when it is offered thoughtfully, sacrificially, and lovingly, it becomes one of the most precious gifts we can give. Like the Wise Men, we come ourselves. We don’t send substitutes. We bring what we have, our joys, our struggles, our time, our love, and we place them before Christ.

May this Mass, and every Mass we attend, gladden the heart of God. And may our faithful presence here shape us into people who know how to give good gifts by offering not just what we have, but who we are.

God Leans In (Christmas, 2025)

  First of all, on behalf of the priests, deacons, and parish staff of Incarnate Word, let me wish each of you a very blessed and merry Christmas. It seems that every year the need grows for the hope and joy which come from celebrating our Savior’s birth. I pray these holy days renew your hearts and your homes in a deeper way as we celebrate the fulfillment of God’s promise to save humanity from sin and death.

There is a well-worn saying about weather here in the Midwest I'm sure you’ve heard many times before. It goes something like if you don't like the weather, just wait a minute. This year, the weather continues it's unpredictable nature with near record highs today and tomorrow. Then on Monday, we'll be dealing with temperatures in the teens! This unpredictable weather reminds me of a story about a weather forecaster in soviet Russia who was named Rudolf. He was famous because unlike most weatherman, this little Communist was nearly always right about his predictions and had a perfect record of forecasting when it was going to rain. One morning, with clear skies for all to see, Rudolf warned on the early news that a violent storm was coming and the town should prepare. All through the day, people told him he had finally lost his touch and he was going to look like a fool when his forecast was proven wrong. Even when he got home, his wife told him to accept defeat and the end of a remarkable run of predictions. There were still no clouds, it had been the most beautiful day ever, and no sign of rain on the radar. Still, Rudolf insisted; it would rain. 

Sure enough, a massive storm flooded the Communist town overnight. The next morning, Rudolf looked out the window and said, “See? I told you it was going to rain.” His wife sighed, “You were right again. But how are you always so accurate?” 

Rudolf smiled and said, “Because…Rudolf-the-Red…knows rain…., dear.”

Nothing like a good dad joke to put everyone in the Christmas spirit!!!

Speaking of dads, I had a fatherly moment a few weeks ago at one of our Sunday Masses. During the readings, I couldn’t help but notice how many people were coughing and sneezing, clearly fighting colds. It reminded me of growing up in a small house with all my siblings. Back then, I was pretty unsympathetic when one of them got sick. I didn’t want to catch what they had and honestly, I just found them kind of repulsive. I wanted them to stay away until they were healthy again like some sort of leper.

What always amazed me was how quickly and completely my parents stepped in. No hesitation. Even when things were messy or gross, they drew closer; cleaning us up, sitting with us, comforting us, making sure we were okay. The worse off the child was, the closer they seemed to get and the more gentle the treatment.

A few weeks ago, listening to all those coughs in church, I didn’t feel disgust or fear of getting sick. I felt compassion and concern…and a deep hope that people would feel better soon. Which just goes to show that, if nothing else, even I am growing a little as a spiritual father.

That beautiful image, a parent rushing in to care for a suffering child, is a powerful way to understand Christmas. Since the fall of Adam and Eve, humanity has been deeply wounded by sin and death. Despite God’s original design of glory and happiness for us, we rejected him and became sick beyond measure. Yet our heavenly Father never turned away. He was not discouraged, disgusted, or distant. Like a good parent, he leaned in even closer.

In the fullness of time, God sent his perfect and beloved Son, Jesus, to heal us and restore us to the glory he intended all along. In the most gentle and non-threatening way possible, the all-powerful King of heaven and earth became a tiny baby and lived among us, healing our human condition from the inside out. God entered fully into the mess of human life with a promise of everlasting healing. That is what we celebrate at Christmas: God so loved the world that he gave his only Son.

To know that we are loved that completely should fill us with hope and peace, no matter what our circumstances might be. There is no mistake that scares God away. No sin he cannot forgive if we are sorry. No mess he is unwilling to clean up if we call out to him. He is a good Father who loves each and every one of us without hesitation or limit.

And God’s closeness to us did not end on Christmas Day. Before returning to the Father, Jesus promised to remain with us always. In every Catholic church, he waits quietly in the tabernacle, present and ready to comfort us. Through the sacrament of Confession, he stands ready to forgive and heal. And at every celebration of the Eucharist, he comes even closer, offering himself as our food. It’s hard to imagine how God could possibly draw nearer to us than that; if he feels far away; its likely us who are keeping him at arm’s length.

My prayer for you this Christmas is that you experience renewed hope, no matter what darkness you may be facing. May the Father’s love overshadow you and help you realize he is closer than you think, and that he has been with you all along. May we live with confidence that we are cared for and being restored to spiritual health by a God who sees the goodness, beauty, and promise of what we can become through his grace and the gift of the sacraments.

I hope you have a truly blessed Christmas, and that you see clearly God’s love and care for you.
Amen.

Let God Change Your Plans (4th Sunday of Advent, Year A)

  For many people, these last few days before Christmas are full of frantic energy. Normally kind and reasonable people will run you over in the parking lot of malls, grocery stores, and the post office if you get in their way. Everyone has a list a mile long and only a short time to do it all, which can create a sort of tunnel vision. Our first reading from Isaiah takes place about 700 years before the birth of Jesus but exposes a similar, anxious spirit. 

You might picture this scene a bit like The Lord of the Rings, when Gandalf finally confronts King Théoden in the throne room of Rohan. Théoden is a king, a descendant of greatness, but he no longer looks like one. His hall is dark, lifeless, and stripped of its former beauty. He sits slumped on the throne, paralyzed by fear and exhaustion, while Wormtongue whispers poisoned counsel into his ear; half-truths, manipulations, and advice that sounds reasonable but slowly drains the king of courage and hope. Théoden thinks he is being prudent, but in reality, he is being controlled by fear and foolishness.

This image helps us understand King Ahaz in our first reading. Like Théoden, Ahaz sits on a throne that should represent confidence in God’s promises, yet his kingdom feels dim and fragile. Voices swirl around him from political advisors, military strategists, foreign powers…all whispering solutions rooted in human conniving. Fear has narrowed his vision and made him rely on himself instead of God. Instead of ruling freely as a son of David, Ahaz is spiritually weakened, unable to imagine a future that doesn’t depend on armies, alliances, or payoffs. 

When Isaiah arrives, he is like a Gandalf figure, calling the king back to faith in God with the words of the first reading. His message is clear and unsettling: Don’t put your trust in armies, politics, wealth, or clever deals. These are human solutions, and they will fail. Even the Assyrians, fearsome as they are, are only human. They are no match for God. Isaiah urges the king to turn to the Lord and to dream big. “Ask for a sign from the Lord, your God; let it be deep as the netherworld, or high as the sky!”

In other words: Invite God into this. Let Him lead.

What does Ahaz do? In a moment that sounds humble but really isn’t, he responds, “I will not ask! I will not tempt the Lord!” What looks like piety is actually pride. Ahaz has already decided how this crisis will be handled and God’s plan interferes with his own. He’s afraid that trusting God would require letting go of control so he puts God on the back burner.

Isaiah’s frustration boils over: “Listen, O house of David! Is it not enough for you to weary people; must you also weary my God?” And then comes the astonishing promise: “The Lord himself will give you this sign: the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel.”

To Ahaz and his court, this must have sounded like madness. A virgin giving birth? A child who would somehow save God’s people? That seemed far less realistic than armies, treaties, and political strategy. Ahaz could only think in worldly terms, so God’s plan felt impossible. In effect, Ahaz says, “Thanks, God but I’ve got this handled.” His decision ends in disaster: betrayal, defeat, and immense suffering for his people.

That brings us to the Gospel… and to a very different response.

Matthew places before us another descendant of David: Joseph. Unlike Ahaz, Joseph has no throne, army, or power. He is simply described as a “righteous man”, which tells us everything.

Joseph also had his life planned out. He was engaged to Mary. His future was clear and respectable…until everything fell apart. Mary is found to be with child. Matthew gives us very few details, but we can easily imagine the confusion, heartbreak, and fear Joseph must have felt.

Then God intervenes, not dramatically but with a dream. An angel reveals the truth and asks Joseph to do something that will cost him dearly: trust God completely. Joseph doesn’t argue. He doesn’t demand proof. He doesn’t cling to his own plan. He wakes up and does exactly what the angel tells him. Matthew tells us about four dreams Joseph receives, each one requiring him to change course. Joseph’s righteousness isn’t flashy. It’s quiet obedience. Spiritual flexibility. A willingness to let God rewrite the script.

That’s the contrast Advent places before us today.

Ahaz and Joseph both receive an invitation from God. One refuses because he wants control and feels like only he can fix the problem. The other accepts because he trusts that God’s plan, however confusing or messy, is better than his own.

Advent asks us the same question: Which one will you be?

Like Ahaz, we can rely solely on our own strategies, keep God at arm’s length, and say, “Thanks God, I’ve got this handled.” Or, like Joseph, we can remain open, docile, and courageous enough to let God interrupt and re-write our plans.

As we enter these final days of Advent, may we ask St. Joseph to help us grow in righteousness: the kind that listens, trusts, and acts. May we be willing to set aside our plans and allow God to work in ways that surprise us. Like Joseph, may we become protectors of others and faithful partners in God’s saving work as we await the birth of Emmanuel: God with us.