Epiphany

We have all heard the humor surrounding the Wise men who arrived late – if they had been wise women they would have arrived on time, brought a casserole, cleaned the stable and had Jesus enrolled in a college savings plan before leaving.

As we begin this year of 2026, I would like to use this gospel story of following the star to reflect on our parish’s journey of faith. You have heard often about “Divine Renovation” – a book being used by Catholic parishes around the world to give new direction to parish life. I can honestly say that embracing “Divine Renovation” in this parish has been an epiphany for me. When I arrived 16 years ago, I could not have imagined the shape of my ministry, the experiences we would share, the struggles and joys, the faith and the doubts, or the ways my own life would be transformed by “Divine Renovation.”

Coming here in 2010, I was aware of the shrinking number of priests in the diocese, the changes in demographics here in the North Country and the level of parishioner involvement. The future was very uncertain. In prayer, I was asking God for guidance – I was looking for a star. And in many ways, Divine Renovation has been that star – not just for me, but for us as a parish.

I have learned that epiphanies are not so much “Aha, I finally understand” moments as they are “Aha, this has hold of me” moments. Something rises within us, awakens a longing, and calls us forward. Once that happens, we do not always know where it is taking us – we just know we cannot stay where we are. That has been true for us as a parish.

When we began this journey four years ago, we did not have a map. But we had a star. We had a sense that God was calling us to renewal – to be a parish that helps people encounter Jesus, grow as disciples, and live out the mission together.

Over time, that star has taken shape. It looks like a new leadership team, women and men who pray, listen, discern, and serve with generosity and courage. It looks like a clear vision statement that gives us direction and keeps us focused when decisions are difficult or change feels uncomfortable. It looks like a stronger prayer ministry because we have come to understand that renewal does not begin with programs, but with prayer – people lifting one another up, trusting God to act, and creating space for the Holy Spirit to work.

It looks like strengthened hospitality and fellowship, because a parish is not just a place you attend, it is a community where you are known, welcomed, and missed when you are not there.

It looks like something very concrete and very human: a meal train for parishioners in need – because following the star always leads us toward compassion, care and love made visible.

And now, it even looks like a new early childhood center in our school, a sign of hope, growth, and investment in the youngest among us – planting seeds of faith and belonging long before children can name them.

In your pew you will find a sheet listing all the fruits of Divine Renovation over this past year. Renovation or renewal – none of this happened overnight. None of it was perfectly planned. We did not always know where the star was leading. There were moments when we said, “I don’t know what we are doing,” or “This is new,” or “This is hard,” or “This is a little scary.”

And yet we kept following the star. That is exactly what the wise men did in today’s gospel. They did not know the destination when they set out. They could not see Bethlehem or the child. But something had claimed them, and they trusted the star enough to move. Over 180 parishioners did something like that by trusting enough to experience Alpha and that trust opened the treasure chest of their lives.

Fr. Mallon, in his book, “Divine Renovation” states, “The greatest joy in the world is to know, to experience, being used by the Lord to make a difference in someone’s life or in the world. Everyone wins.”

That is what Epiphany is about – not seeing the whole journey but trusting what guides us one step at a time. We may not see everything that lies ahead for our parish, but we know the star we are following is Jesus Christ, calling us to prayer, to hospitality, to service, to mission, and to deeper discipleship.

So the question Epiphany asks us today is not just a personal one – it is a communal one: Will we keep following the star together? Will we trust the vision that guides us? Will we continue to invest in prayer, welcome, care for one another, and the next generation? Will we open the treasure chest of our time, our gifts, and our hearts? That is the star I want to follow with you. What about you?

Holy Family

Here’s a “heads up” or a “spoiler alert”: Christmas happens in the real world. Not just in candlelight and carols. Not only on a silent night. And not safely away in a manger. Because today’s Gospel tells us  “Herod is going to search for the child and destroy him.” “Get up,” the angel says to Joseph, “take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt.”

This a not a lullaby – a joyful Christmas carol. This is fear in the middle of the night. I can imagine Mary and Joseph terrified, running with a crying baby. That is real. And that is where Christmas happens.

Matthew’s Gospel shows us the world into which Jesus is born – the world of King Herod. It is part of the Christmas story we prefer to forget. No one sends Christmas cards with Herod on them. No one wants their child to be Herod in the Christmas pageant. Yet, Herod represents the fear, cruelty, abuse of power, and violence of the world. This child threatens everything Herod depends on. And fear always lashes out. Other children become expendable. Collateral damage – then and still today.

Joseph wakes Mary: “We have to go.” And suddenly the Holy Family becomes a refugee family.

Not much has changed. The Herods of the world still drive families from their homes. Parents still risk everything for their children.

A few years ago, someone told me they received a Christmas card wishing for “migrant-free” New Year. I thought, Wasn’t Jesus a migrant baby? What if the first Christmas had been migrant-free? What if Herod had succeeded? Why not wish for a Herod-free New Year? But the world is not free of Herods. Violence, even during Christmas, reminds us of that.

Herod is as much a part of the Christmas story as angels and shepherds. Christmas happens in Herod’s world. And thank God it does – because that is where we most need the Christ Child to be born.

Today’s Gospel spoils our sentimental illusions about Christmas.  It connects the birth of Jesus to the tears of children, the fears of parents, and the pain of the world. I am not trying to ruin Christmas – but to make it more real. I would rather be singing “Silent night, all is calm, all is bright.” But is it?

Maybe we should be singing “We shall Overcome” as a Christmas hymn. That is the “good news of great joy.” That is why Herod is afraid. This birth begins a revolution – not of weapons or power, but of hearts.

So, the question is simple: What needs overcoming? In your life? In our nation? In our world?  Is it fear of those who are different? Or is it anger, resentment, or despair? Is it the need to be right or in control? Is it revenge or indifference? Is it privilege, power or position? Or maybe the way we judge or dehumanize people? These are the marks of Herod’s world – and sometimes of our own hearts. Every time we deny them, excuse them, or live comfortably with them, we make no room for the Christ Child who comes to overcome. That is not who I want to be. And I don’t think it is who you want to be.

This may not be an easy homily to hear. It has not been easy to preach. If it unsettles you, that is okay – it should. Christmas is not meant to soothe us into complacency.

I don’t want to settle for just a Merry Christmas anymore. I hope you don’t either. We need something more. We need an Overcoming Christmas – one we live, not just sing about.

So, I wonder: What is Christ asking you to overcome this year? “O Come, all ye faithful” – but don’t just adore. Overcome.

Christmas 2025

“She gave birth, wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger.” St. Luke tells it so simply, matter-of-factly. No dramatic music. No spotlight. It sounds like any birth, like many births happening in hospitals and homes around the world tonight. And yet the angel calls this moment “good news of great joy.” A Savior. A Messiah. The Lord.

But look at him. He cannot walk. He can’t talk. He cannot feed or care for himself. He cannot fix our problems or explain our questions. So, what exactly does this child bring us? Why would God choose to come among us like this – small, helpless, vulnerable.?

To answer that, let’s think about another child. Think back to the first time someone looked into your eyes as a newborn. What do you think they saw? Your parents, or whoever held you – what were they gazing at? They did not see a resume. They did not see mistakes or failures. They did not see everything you would one day get wrong.

They saw hopes and dreams. They saw possibility. They saw beauty that had nothing to do with appearance. They saw holiness before you ever did anything “holy.” They saw a miracle – God’s life alive in you.

Every one of us knows that look. Because we have seen it too. Go back and look at a baby picture of yourself. Look past what your life is right now and return to the beginning. It is all there – the innocence, the love, the promise.

And if it’s hard to see it in yourself, then remember the first time you looked into the face of your child or grandchild. Or the last baby you saw baptized. Or even a child you did not know – a baby in a stroller at the grocery store, a toddler on a playground. Something about that face stopped you. Held you. Softened you.

Why?

It is about more than cuteness. More than sentimentality. More than memories. In that gaze, we catch a glimpse of something bigger than a baby. We are standing in the presence of a revelation. We are being reminded of something we have forgotten. In that small face we are seeing Emmanuel – God with us.

That is why God came as a baby. Because in that child we see not only who God is – but who we are meant to be. In the face of the Christ Child, we recognize our own deepest truth:  goodness, beauty, love, holiness, possibility. The life God dreamed into us from the very beginning.

So, tonight is not only about remembering what happened long ago in Bethlehem. In some mysterious way, the Christ Child shows us who we truly are, who we can become, and what our life is really about. This holy child shows us our own reflection and offers us a new beginning. And who among us does not need that? Who has not wished for a chance to begin again – not just to do better, but to be different? Tonight is a festival of re-creation.

This is the child of peace – let us not be violent or anxious.

This is the child of love – let us not hate or harden our hearts.

This is the child of compassion -let us not be indifferent.

This is the child of gentleness – let us not be harsh.

This is the child of joy – let us not live as though hope is gone.

Tonight, divinity is wrapped in humanity. Let us be wrapped in divinity. Tonight, we behold the child. Let us become what we see. A child is born for us this night. Let us claim our new beginning.

So, the question is simple: What will we do with this gift? Your life is before you, and God’s dreams for you are deep and wide. So go – pull out that baby picture.  Gaze into the face of a child. Look int the eyes of the Christ Child – and remember who God has always known you to be.  Amen

The Fourth Sunday of Advent

What do you make of today’s gospel? It is a beautiful story – but does it make sense to you? I’ll be honest: sometimes it does not make sense to me. It feels too easy. Too clean. Too simple. Mary is a virgin, engaged to Joseph, and she’s pregnant by the Holy Spirit. Joseph plans to dismiss her quietly. An angel appears in a dream and tells him not to be afraid. Jospeh wakes up, does what the angel says, and Jesus is born.

That’s it.

No arguments. No tears. No fear. No confusion. No anger. No struggle. No words at all from Mary and Joseph.

Who lives in that kind of world? Because I don’t. And I suspect you don’t either.

My doubts about this gospel are not about God. I believe in the Spirit’s creative power. I believe God speaks through dreams and messengers. And I am not troubled by Mary’s virginity – I understand it as a theological truth pointing to God’s initiative. What troubles me is that the story feels sanitized. It reads like a Hallmark version of something that must have been painfully messy.

Where is Mary the frightened young woman? Where is Jospeh with his broken heart? Where are the questions, the misunderstanding, the shame, the fear?

So, let’s read between the lines. What if the story really went like this?

Joseph comes home and discovers Mary is pregnant. His heart breaks. He does not understand. He is angry, confused, ashamed. He asks, “Mary, what have you done?” She insists she is innocent but cannot explain how this happened. People talk. Rumors spread. Nothing make sense. It’s a mess!

Joseph does not know who to believe or what to do. And so, overwhelmed, he plans to dismiss her quietly. That version sounds more real to me. Because I’ve known that kind of messiness in my life. Haven’t you? Messiness in relationships, Messiness in faith. Messiness in trying to trust God when nothing adds up.

Matthew gives us the theological truth. But maybe he leaves out the mess because we already know it too well. Because if we are honest, we do the same thing: we edit our own stories, we sanitize our lives, we quietly dismiss what is painful, confusing, or shameful.

Joseph wakes up, and the gospel says, “He did as the angel of the Lord commanded him.” That one sentence carries enormous weight. Joseph chooses trust over certainty. He chooses presence over escape. He chooses to stay.

And because Joseph stays, Jesus is born into that household, into that imperfect situation, into that complicated family.

Matthew tells us that Jesus will be called Emmanuel – God with us. Not God with us once everything is figured out. Not God with us once life is clean and orderly. But God with us right in the middle of confusion, risk, and unfinished stories.

Advent is a season of preparation, but the preparation God desires is not perfection. It is honesty. It is naming the mess instead of hiding it. It is choosing not to dismiss our lives quietly, but to stay present and trust that God is already there. Because if Jesus is not born into the messiness of our lives, then what difference does his birth really make?

I suspect you are here today for the same reason I am. Life is not always clean. Faith is not always simple. And sometimes our best efforts still leave us with a mess. What if Emmanuel – God with us – begins right there? It did for Mary and Joseph. Why not for us?

The Third Sunday of Advent

What happened to John the Baptist? You remember last week in the gospel, John was strong and certain – a voice crying out in the wilderness. He preached repentance, he warned of the “wrath to come,” the ax at the root of the trees, and unquenchable fire. There was no hesitation. John the Baptist knew exactly what the kingdom should look like.

But today? Today the Baptist is in prison. Today he has a question. “Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?” Last week there was confidence. This week, doubt. What changed?

Maybe this: John’s vision was so focused, so singular- wrath, ax, fire – that he could not see anything else God might be doing. His expectations became blinders. He was looking for a Messiah of judgement…and missed the Messiah of compassion standing right in front of him.

Jesus’ response is gentle, not critical: “The blind see, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor receive good news.” In other words, “John, take off your blinders.” God is bigger than you imagined.”

I understand the Baptist – maybe you do too. It is easy for us to put on blinders without even realizing it. Sometimes we focus so intensely on one thing – a worry, a problem, a cause, a project, a fear – that it narrows our whole world. We see only what is wrong. Only what we expect. Only what we fear. And like John, we end up imprisoned in our own thinking.   Blinders come in many forms:

*The darkness of violence or injustice that makes us believe nothing will ever change.

*Feelings of being overwhelmed that hide the small good we can do. * Past guilt that will not let us imagine forgiveness. * Grief that steals our ability to notice joy. * Expectations of how Jesus should act that make us miss how he is acting. * Busyness and exhaustion that keep us from seeing the people who love us.

Every one of these can be a prison. Every one of these keep us from seeing God at work.

So what blinders are you wearing today? What is narrowing your vision? What is keeping you from noticing the Christ who is already in your life?

And here is the good news Jesus gives to John – and to us:

*If you feel in the dark, the blind receive sight. * If you feel powerless, the lame walk. * If you feel ashamed or unworthy, lepers are cleansed. * If you can’t hear God anymore, the deaf hear. * If you think nothing can change, the dead are raised. * If you need hope, the poor receive good news.

Jesus is painting a picture of life without blinders- a life where grace is larger than our fears, where God is doing far more than we have allowed ourselves to imagine.

John asks, “Are you the one who is to come?” Jesus answers not with arguments but with evidence of a world being reborn.

Today the same answer is given to us.

So, what about you? Are you ready to lay aside the blinders? Are you ready to see again? Because the Messiah is here – doing more than we expected, more than we imagined, more than our blinders ever allowed us to see.

Is he the One?

Yes.

But we must open our eyes.