Into This Moment comes the Word

 

Readings 123125 

You heard that the antichrist was coming,
but the truth is that many antichrists have already appeared—
small shadows that bend what is true,
quiet movements that pull the heart away from Christ.

And when we look around,
we can see how easily this happens.
Over the past decade, our culture has shifted in deep and rapid ways.
Social media and digital technology shape
how we speak, think, and even relate.
Views on work, family, and identity keep changing.
Political polarization grows louder.
And slowly, almost without noticing,
these begin to take the place of Christ
in the quiet spaces of the heart.

Into this moment,
John speaks with a steady, urgent voice:
“Children, it is the last hour.”
Not to frighten us,
but to remind us that every age carries its own shadows—
subtle distortions of truth,
small denials of Christ,
gentle drifts away from the light.

And in the face of these shadows,
the Gospel leads us back to the beginning:

In the beginning was the Word…
and the Word was God.

Before confusion, before sin,
before the noise of the world,
there was the Word—
steady, eternal, radiant.

This Word is the light of the human race,
a light no darkness has ever overcome.

To all who receive Him,
He gives the power to become children of God—
not spectators,
not distant admirers,
but children who belong to the Father.

In a world of competing voices
and shifting foundations,
We are called back to the One Light that never fades.

The last hour is not a threat—
it is an invitation.

An invitation to cling to Christ,
to walk as His children,
and to let His light shine through us.

Prayer

Lord Jesus, Word made flesh,
shine Your light into the shadows of my heart.
Where truth bends, straighten me.
Where my love drifts, draw me back.
In a world of many voices,
let Yours be the one I follow.
Make me a child of the Father,
steady in Your grace,
faithful in Your truth,
and radiant with Your light
that no darkness can overcome.
Amen.

When the Heart Learns to Kneel

 

Readings 123025 

This week, as I was leaving the orthopedic surgeon’s office, I overheard a man say,
“I used to be Catholic, but my knee got so bad, I became Baptist so I didn’t have to kneel anymore.”

I don’t know if he was joking
or if that was his truth.
But it stayed with me.

Because kneeling has never really been about the knees.
It has always been about the heart—
a heart that bends before God even when the body can’t,
a heart that remembers who the Lord is
and who we are not.

Scripture warns us not to love the world or the things of the world—
not because creation is evil,
but because the world is loud.
It dazzles us with what feels good for a moment
but leaves us empty in the end.
That kind of love slowly stiffens the soul
until it can no longer kneel,
even if the knees still work.

Then we meet Anna—
an elderly widow who never left the temple.
Her body was worn by years,
but her heart stayed bowed before God.
Day and night she prayed, fasted, waited.
And when the Child finally came,
she recognized Him at once.
A lifetime of inner kneeling
had trained her eyes to see what others missed.

And Jesus—
growing up quietly in Nazareth,
becoming strong, filled with wisdom,
wrapped in the favor of God.
No noise.
No spectacle.
Just steady growth in the hidden places.

All of this leads us to one simple truth:
God is not measuring how well our knees bend,
but how willing our hearts are to bow.
To loosen our grip on the world’s distractions.
To stay faithful in the ordinary.
To keep watch like Anna.
To grow quietly like Jesus.

And just so it’s clear—
the Church does not require anyone to kneel
if they are physically unable.
There is no sin, no fault, no loss of reverence
when age, injury, disability, or pain
asks the body to remain seated or standing.
God sees the heart long before He sees the posture.

Because holiness isn’t found in how much we can do,
but in how much room we make
for God to work in us.

Prayer

Lord, teach my heart to kneel before You,
even when my body cannot.
Quiet the noise of the world
and loosen its grip on my soul.

Give me the steady faith of Anna,
the hidden strength of Jesus in Nazareth,
and the grace to recognize Your presence
when it comes softly into my life.

Bend my heart toward You,
shape my days with Your wisdom,
and make room within me
for Your holy work to unfold.

Amen.

Unmoved, Even in the Storm

 

Readings 122925

This time of year brings its own quiet ritual.
The cold fronts roll in, the wind picks up,
and sure enough, I find myself outside again,
straightening the nativity scene.

Mary and Joseph are tipped over.
The magi lie scattered, as if they lost their footing on the journey.
Even the camel, the ox, and the sheep—faithful as they are—
end up on their sides.

But the Baby Jesus never moves.
Not once.
He stays right where He is,
steady in the manger,
as if the storm has no authority over Him at all.

And every time I bend down to set the others back in place,
I catch that little plastic Jesus smiling up at me.
It’s simple. Almost silly.
But it hits me the same way every year:
everything else gets knocked down,
but Christ remains unmoved.

Maybe that’s the point.

God doesn’t force Himself on us.
He doesn’t demand obedience like a tyrant.
He invites.
He offers.
He waits for us to freely accept His gift,
and to follow His commands—not out of fear,
but out of love.

Still, Scripture doesn’t let us settle for cheap grace.
It speaks plainly:
Not everyone who claims the name of Christ
lives as a child of God.
The measure of knowing Jesus isn’t in our words,
but in our obedience.

“Whoever says, ‘I know him,’
but does not keep his commandments
is a liar, and the truth is not in him.”
Hard words.
But honest ones.

And yet, even in that challenge,
there is peace.
Because when we look at Christ—
steady, unshaken, smiling up at us even in the wind—
we see the One who fulfills every promise God ever made.
The One Simeon held in his arms
and recognized instantly as salvation itself:

“Lord, now let your servant go in peace;
your word has been fulfilled.
My own eyes have seen the salvation
which you prepared in the sight of every people,
a light to reveal You to the nations
and the glory of Your people Israel.”

That same light still shines.
That same peace still stands firm
when everything else blows over.
And that same Jesus—unmoved in the manger—
reminds us that storms may scatter the pieces of our lives,
but they cannot touch the One who holds it all together.

Prayer

Lord Jesus,
when the winds of life knock everything else down,
You remain steady.
Keep my heart rooted in You.
Teach me to choose Your ways with honesty and love.
Let Your light guide me,
and Your peace rest upon me,
now and always.
Amen.