Reflecting on Matthew 1: 18-24

It’s Advent in Cycle A. That’s Matthew’s cycle, which means we’re going to read a lot about St. Joseph. Matthew loves St. Joseph — don’t we all? —and gives us many stories about him that, if not for him, would never have been recorded.

It’s only Matthew who knows that when Joseph first heard of Mary’s pregnancy, he was thinking about divorcing her quietly  (1:19). Do you remember the story from John’s gospel about the woman caught in adultery (8:1-11)? That would have been Mary’s fate, the self-righteous mob grabbing their stones to murder her.

But St. Joseph decided to divorce her quietly. My great friend Father Pat Dolan asks if that was what Jesus was remembering when he set free the poor woman caught in adultery. Did Joseph and Mary tell Jesus the story of his miraculous conception as he was growing up? Was he simply displaying the mercy he learned from them?

Here’s what Matthew records Jesus saying, over and over: I desire mercy, not sacrifice (9:13). Right off the bat, in Matthew’s first chapter, St. Joseph teaches us the meaning of mercy when he decides not to expose his betrothed to public disgrace.

Do you remember that great dreamer from the book of Genesis whose name was also Joseph? When he was locked up in Pharaoh’s dungeon, the Lord showed him mercy (39:21). And it was through that mercy that he was put in a position to save the world from famine.

The two Josephs, separated by 1,600 years, show us the meaning of the word “mercy.” This Advent, let somebody off the hook. Mercy can save the world once again.

What mercy will you show to someone this season?

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on Matthew 11: 2-11

Can you imagine? Jesus said there was no one greater than John the Baptist, and yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he. Oh, take us to your kingdom, Jesus!

What will the kingdom of heaven be like? I think we have glimmers. Can you remember those magical Christmases of your youth? I can. The tinsel, those beautiful, bubbly lights on the tree, singing carols by candlelight. So many memories.

And, oh, the reunions! Our beloved dead will be radiantly alive, strong, and young again. There will be so much joy and laughter that we’ll wonder how heaven can hold it all. Every hard thing will be forgotten, and forgiven. This is what the kingdom of heaven will be like.  Seriously. Imagine it.

There will be no death there. No illness. Everyone we knew and loved will be young again, healthy again, delighting in play with those with whom they may have been estranged in this life.

And about that. There will be rapturous homecomings with those who distanced themselves from us. There will be joyous tears, and healing conversations about the reasons for the estrangement. Everyone will listen to the other, without defensiveness or anger. And we will feel our hearts break with compassion for those who stayed away, as we realize, maybe for the first time, the pain they experienced in all those long years of isolation.

All your favorite saints are waiting to greet you. All the mysteries that confounded you in life will be unraveled and revealed. Those who were unhoused in this life will open their warm homes to you. Soon, and very soon, we are going to see the King.

What is your greatest longing for the kingdom of heaven?

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on Isaiah 11:1-10

There are so many ways to waste time on the internet these days, but I can’t stop myself from lingering over those heart-warming videos of those inter-species animals playing and cuddling up together.

Here’s a cat and dog opening a door, a bear and tiger snuggling, and a beautiful bird swimming with a dolphin. What speaks to us, I think, in these anomalies of nature is that the animals seem to delight in getting to know each other, to investigate each other’s fur and size and wingspan, without fear of betrayal or attack.

It’s that peaceable kingdom, that idyllic and lovely playground where animals frolic instead of preying on each other, which Isaiah promises. Imagine it. Despite everything we have ever thought, the most terrifying of tigers is actually meant to snuggle contentedly with the sheep in the pasture. Why? Because the tiger is not hungry, and is not hunting among the defenseless lambs for food for her cubs. Take hunger out of the equation, and the Peaceable Kingdom has already arrived.

Some memory extraction might be required. Eagles and fish will need to rethink their relationship. Tigers might need to unlearn what they’ve known for thousands of years. But oh, what a fun education that would be.

Are humans smart enough to attend this school? Can the most recent―and by far most predatory― arrivals in Earth’s long history miraculously pull together and save ourselves? Can we, finally, learn to work together to open the locked door, to find comfort in each other, to delight in swimming the seas together? As Advent always asks, “If not now, when? If not us, who?”

How are you helping to bring about the Peaceable Kingdom?

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on Isaiah 2: 1-5

If you’ve visited the United Nations building in New York, you have no doubt been touched by the stunning bronze sculpture of a strong man, holding a hammer aloft, pounding his sword.

Beneath the sculpture is an inscription: They shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks; one nation shall not raise the sword against another, nor shall they train for war again (Isaiah 2:4).

And here’s the sad irony. The sculpture was donated to the U.S. by the then-USSR at the height of the Cold War. Think of all the terrible wars around the globe that have erupted since they donated it in 1959.

But Isaiah’s vision has found fulfillment in practical applications since WWII. Surplus armored vehicles were transformed into agricultural tractors. Nitrogen mustard, developed from mustard nerve gas, was key in developing the first chemotherapies. And, of course, the GPS originated in guidance software for long-range missiles.

Closer to home, the Guns to Gardens movement continues to gain momentum. Whenever a parish hosts one, there are lines around the block of grateful citizens, ready to safely dispose of the weapons they don’t want in their homes anymore. The guns are turned over to blacksmiths right there on site, who forge the leftover scraps into garden tools.

Even closer to home, this is the beautiful season of the year where we breathe in those Advent candles. Our eyes adjust to the darkened church, with the Advent candles luring our darkened souls into the Light. Our ears adjust to the minor keys of the stirring Advent carols.

Ah, Advent. Transform us, Jesus. Make use of the failings we gratefully leave behind.

What weaknesses have you seen transformed into good?

Kathy McGovern ©2025 

Reflecting on Matthew 1: 18-24

I’m confused. Is the child’s name to be Jesus—Yeshua, which means “God saves”— or is it to be Emmanuel, which means God with us? How can this Child have two distinct names? That’s a question that bothers the careful reader of today’s Gospel.

First, though, a fun distinction between how Luke and Matthew handle the Name. Luke, that great lover of Mary, says that SHE is going to name her Son. (1:31). HA! A woman naming her own child? Unheard of.

Matthew, writing to a Jewish audience, remembers this scene differently. His narrative of the birth of Jesus is told through the eyes of Joseph. That’s wonderful, since without Matthew’s account we’d know nothing about Joseph at all. And, of course, it is Joseph who shall name the Son. The father names the child, and Joseph will take on the role of the father of this miraculously conceived Child.

And how rich it is, in Matthew, that Jesus will have two names. He will come to save us. But he will also come to be with us. By giving him these two names, Matthew starts healing us right away. We need a savior. We need help in illness and death. We need help with our aging parents. We need a savior for our troubled children. But we need a God who is with us as we face these agonizing trials.

From the start, we know that Jesus will be with us. And at the very end, as Jesus is ascending to heaven, he says, “And lo, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (28:20).

A savior? Yes. Who is with us? Oh, yes. O come, O come, Emmanuel.

How do you sense that God is with you?

Kathy McGovern ©2022

Reflecting on Matthew 11: 2-11

I wonder why Jesus asked the crowd what they were expecting when they went out to the desert to meet John. It sounds like there must have been a lot of murmuring about him. Curious Jews had made the long trek out to the Jordan valley, just north of the Dead Sea, to see this famous preacher. It sounds like they might have been surprised, and disappointed, by the person they encountered.

It’s hard to imagine they might have been expecting “someone dressed in fine clothing.” Surely word had spread about the austere clothing and diet of this fiery preacher. More important, the desert territory where he made his home was long associated with the life of the great prophet Elijah, whose ascetical dress made him easily recognizable (2 Kings 1:8). His memory was still powerful in Israel, and certainly was invoked when people met the Baptist, whose dress, and diet, and locale was identical to him who had lived nearly a thousand years earlier.

He was also certainly not a “reed shaken by the wind.” This guy? He stood up to the Pharisees, and anyone who hoped that rigorous observance of the Law was more important than giving a cloak to the one was cold, and food to the one who was hungry (Luke 3:11). No, this Baptist stood up to Herod Antipas himself, and didn’t back down, even when in chains in Herod’s dungeon. And I’ll bet that when the soldiers came for him the night of Herod’s drunken birthday, his last words were his earlier words with Jesus, “that I may decrease, and he may increase” (John 3: 30).

That’s the man they encountered. That’s the man we encounter today.

Which prophets in your life would you go out to the desert to see?

Kathy McGovern ©2022

Reflecting on Matthew 3: 1-12

Boy, that John the Baptist could turn a phrase. Can you imagine being some of the Religious Elite of Jerusalem, making the long trip out to the desert to receive a baptism of repentance from the famous Elijah figure, and being greeted with, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?”

They might have heard of his austere diet, and his painful clothing of camel’s hair, but why was he choosing to single THEM out for verbal abuse? True, they’d been a little nervous lately about his warnings about good fruit as evidence of redemption, but they never dreamed, until this moment, that their perfect pedigree wasn’t enough to get the Baptist to show some respect.

I think of those Pharisees and Sadducees a lot. I can just see myself, lording it over the worshipers in the synagogue, because I had the good sense to be born in the right part of the world, from the right family, and at the right time in history.

And oh, what a shock to hear the Baptist say, “You! What are you doing out here? Did you finally realize that someone else might have something to teach the world about the One who is to come?’

The answer, gratefully, is YES. There is someone in every house, on every corner, who has life-changing things to teach me about Jesus. And I bless and thank, every day in prayer, those who came before me, radiating the Good News.

The Baptist has come to each of us, through parents, teachers, religious figures, and friends. Blessed be they forever. And blessed be we who recognize that the kingdom of God is at hand.

Who are the people who have drawn you closer to Christ?

Kathy McGovern ©2022

Reflecting on Isaiah 2: 1-5

When the war against Ukraine began on February 24^th of this year, some friends asked if I would write a prayer for the Ukrainians, every day until the war ended. “Sure,” I said, “It looks like it’s only going to last a couple of weeks.” And so I wrote a prayer every day. I subscribed to an extra New York Times edition that gives daily updates on the war.

And by Pentecost (June 5^th) I knew that I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t stare at that darkness one more day. I couldn’t make myself know about the war. I cried “Uncle,” and almost immediately the sadness began to lift.

I remembered that the other day, when a kind friend said, “Kathy, I want you to send LIGHT to Putin.” And I realized that the opposite had happened. The more light I tried to send, the darker my world became.

It’s Advent now, and the war is still raging. I let those Advent readings shine a flashlight into my heart, seeking out the darkness, and exhorting me to work towards the day when “nations shall not train for war again” (Is. 2:4).

The great scripture scholar John McKenzie, SJ, says this: “Paul advises the Romans to live now what they want forever.” That’s it exactly, isn’t it? Live right this minute what you want forever to look like. For Paul, that meant giving up the allure of darkness, of illicit sexual unions, of drunkenness. Live today how you want every day of eternity to be.

I want the war to end, today. I re-commit to daily prayer for this, because peace today is what I want for every day of eternity.

How are you living now what you want forever?

Kathy McGovern ©2022

Reflecting on Matthew 1:18-24

Well, we are full-tilt back in Matthew’s gospel, and we’ll stay here, except for three Sundays of the Christmas season, three Sundays in Lent, and most of the Sundays of Easter, right up to the Feast of Christ the King next November. That’s thirty-eight weeks of the gospel that begins with Advent and Christmas stories painted in charcoal and grey, and written in the gloomy key of B-flat minor.

That’s a dramatic change from the gospel we just completed, which begins with Luke’s Advent and Christmas stories using a palette of bright primary colors of reds, yellows and blues, and sung, I imagine, in A major. Luke loves to tell stories about Mary, and he knows far more about her than any of the other gospel writers. But it’s only Matthew who tells us about St. Joseph. He’s the only one, for example, who knows what Joseph was thinking when his betrothed “was found with child,” a child certainly not his.

He was going to divorce her quietly, even though Moses had said that when a man had relations with another man’s wife—which is how “betrothed” was understood—both the woman and man should be stoned (Lev. 20:10). But Joseph wasn’t going to do that, and this was BEFORE the angel came to him and announced that Mary’s child was conceived by the Holy Spirit! He was willing to go against Moses himself in order to do the merciful thing.

And there it is. That’s the glorious aria of Matthew’s gospel. Over and over, we will learn that mercy outbids justice every time. Go and learn the meaning of mercy, says Jesus.

Maybe he learned that at home, from Joseph.

How will you show mercy to someone in your life this Advent?

Kathy McGovern ©2019

Reflecting on Matthew 11:2-11

Let’s talk about that most taboo subject in Christendom: miraculous healing. We avert our eyes when someone announces that he or she has been cured of an ailment that the doctors couldn’t fix. We’re embarrassed because, perhaps, we remember our own premature declarations of healing, only to have the affliction return right on schedule.

But here is the truth: when John wanted to know if Jesus was the long-awaited Messiah, Jesus didn’t say, Go back and tell John that the armies are vanquished, and our God has roared down from the heavens to slay the unbelievers. When Jesus wanted to console John, locked up in Herod’s prison and facing an uncertain death, he told his ambassadors to assure him that the surest sign of the kingdom was bursting out all over the Galilee.

The blind were seeing, the deaf were hearing, the lame were walking, and the poor were included in all of it.

Healing, as portrayed in the gospels and the book that gives us the closest understanding of the lives of the earliest Christians, the Acts of the Apostles, is considered a normal component of Church life. Certainly the rigorous investigation into miracles by the Church assumes that miracles still happen.

But, then, why aren’t all healed? Because miraculous healings (this side of heaven, anyway) are really just a side effect of a life lived in Christ. Think of the great miracles of your life. Some of them might be physical healings, but I’ll bet the miracles that most quickly come to mind are the ones that involve human connections, the restoration of love, the peace of forgiveness.

So go and tell someone what you’ve seen and heard.

How will you be a sign of the kingdom during this blessed season?

Kathy McGovern ©2019