Reflecting on Mt. 2:13-15, 19-23

Don’t you wish we knew more about the Holy Family?  We’d love to know about Joseph, the silent protector of Mary and Jesus.  He utters not a word in scripture, yet his humility in accepting God’s miraculous work, and his divine role in that unfolding, makes him the perfect model for all fathers who strive to protect and defend their children.

The earliest artistic rendering of Mary is a fresco, c. 150 A.D., in the Catacomb of Priscilla in Rome.  It’s so touching to see her, protectively cradling Jesus, on this ancient wall upon which the martyrs of Rome carved their faith. About this time, a book appeared, The First Gospel of James, which was immediately beloved by the Christian communities in Rome.  Though never accepted as part of the New Testament, it contrived to give background stories of Mary and Joseph that we crave to know even today.

It’s in this popular second-century book, for example, that we discover the names of Mary’s parents. Can you name them? If you are—ahem—of a certain age, you can jump up with, “Yes! They are Anna and Joachim!” And HOW do you know that? Well, it’s nowhere in scripture, but it IS in this First Gospel (or Protoevangelum) of James, which practically no one has read, but it was so important to the tradition of the Church that their names are even preserved in the Catechism.

We have so many questions about them. When we see them in heaven, we can get all the answers.

What would you most like to ask Joseph or Mary?

Kathy McGovern c. 2025 

Reflecting on John 1: 1-18

When you think of Christmases past, do you have some that you treasure more than all others? Here are some of mine:

1.       Every single Christmas Day of my childhood, after hearing from my dad for at least eleven months that we were going to the poorhouse, my four siblings and I walked into our magical living room to see every toy our hearts could desire. There were games, and dolls, and baseballs, and gloves, and dresses, and bikes, and all manner of ecstasy. I think we felt an overwhelming sense of how deeply we were loved, especially since, with the shadow of debtor’s prison hanging over them and all, our parents still broke the bank for us. It took adulthood to finally figure out that things might not have been as desperate as portrayed. 

2.       I remember singing “O Holy Night” for Midnight Mass, and walking out into the beautiful, snowy night, the lights twinkling, the carols wafting, all my friends there with their families, and being held in the stunning, wondrous beauty of it all.

3.       Certainly the most dramatic Christmas of my life was attempting to get myself and seventy pilgrims to Midnight Mass in Manger Square in Bethlehem in 1996. Every single descendant of Abraham—Jewish, Christian, and Muslim—was crammed into that square. It was frightening, hilarious, and a piece of my heart is still in the nave of St. Catherine’s Church. 

4.       So, Christmas will always be the surety of wondrous, unconditional love, the joy of making music with beloved friends, the little town of Bethlehem, and my rock-solid belief that the hopes and fears of all the years were met in Him that night.

What are your favorite Christmas memories?

Kathy McGovern ©2025 

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 Luke 23: 35-43

Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.

Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.

These words, remembered in Luke’s gospel, might be the most cherished words of our faith. St. Dismas (the Penitent Thief) rebuked the other thief who was mocking Jesus from his cross. St. Dismas, in a moment of great faith, turned to Jesus and asked that he be remembered.

But it’s those words that Jesus speaks that fill our hearts with comfort every time we hear them. Today you will be with me in Paradise. Oh yes, Jesus, on this great feast of your kingship over all the earth, please grant that each of us will be with you in your kingdom.

Imagine today what Paradise will be. In my youth, I envisioned a hedonistic eternity, with every imaginable delicious dessert mine for the taking. But the years have softened my selfishness. These days, I pray for a Paradise that has somehow gathered even the worst of the worst into an eternity of deep repentance and astonishing forgiveness.

Paradise will restore us to our youthful bodies. There will be no illness, no sadness, no death. We will run and not grow weary, we will walk and not faint (Isaiah 40:31). There will be abundant food and water for all creation: I will open rivers on the bare heights, and fountains in the midst of the valleys. I will make the wilderness a pool of water, and the dry land springs of water” (Isaiah 41: 17-18).

Paradise will be where ALL creation experiences the eternal goodness of God.

Jesus, remember us.

How do you imagine Paradise?

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on  Luke 21: 5-19

It’s sobering to stand at the Western Wall in Jerusalem. It is an ancient retaining wall on the hill known as the Temple Mount.  Visitors place prayers on tiny pieces of paper and press them into the crevices of the last remaining wall of King Herod’s Temple.

Even the great builder Herod couldn’t construct a complex strong enough to withstand the Roman assault on Jerusalem in 70AD. The Romans knew that destroying the Temple would break the Jewish will to fight. This was a devastating event for the Jewish people, leading to the scattering of survivors, and ending a key era in Judaism.

It’s precisely this terrifying event that Jesus is warning of in today’s gospel (Luke 21:5-19). “The days will come when there will not be left
a stone upon another stone that will not be thrown down.” Imagine standing there today and seeing these huge boulders, still broken and scattered from the terrible Roman-Jewish War of 70AD.

We know so little of what became of those disciples to whom Jesus spoke these eerily prophetic words. Tradition says that all but John were martyred, although scripture only tells of the deaths of the two men named James.

Was it troublesome to the early Church to witness the deaths of the eyewitnesses? Doesn’t Jesus promise that “not a hair on your head will be destroyed”? The earliest Christians knew that the Crucified One rose from the grave, and they understood that the martyrs would share the same victory.

No need to worry, though. This was all 2,000 years ago. Except that Jesus also says, “There will be powerful earthquakes, famines, and plagues from place to place.”

How do you live in joyful hope of the Kingdom of God?

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on Jn. 2: 13-32

This is interesting. Last week, the Thirty-First Sunday in Ordinary Time was preempted by the beautiful Commemoration of All Souls. But this week, the Thirty-Second Sunday is preempted by a building? Ah, but it’s not just any building. Since the fourth century, the Church has reserved November 9th—even if it falls on a Sunday near the end of Ordinary Time—for the Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica in Rome.

I always thought there must have been a saint named John Lateran. Wrong. There’s a basilica built on the Lateran hill in Rome, named for Saint John. Taking some time to glance at today’s readings helps to make sense of why this church is considered so sacred. The scriptures are overflowing — like the life-giving river that flows from the Temple to the sea in Ezekiel’s vision today — with imagery of buildings. The Temple, in particular, is the most sacred of all buildings.

And yet, Jesus says that HE is the Temple. His listeners took him literally, of course, and didn’t understand until after the Resurrection that when he said, “Destroy this Temple and in three days I will raise it up,” he was talking about his own death and resurrection.

And here’s the thing. It’s not just Jesus who is the new Temple. St. Paul says, “The Temple of God, which you are, is holy.” This is why the remembrance of the dedication of this basilica is so precious that we interrupt Ordinary Time to commemorate it. This basilica is the “mother Church,” not just for the pope but for the whole world, and we are its living stones.

We are the foundation. Stand strong.

When in your week do you stand strong for your faith?

Kathy McGovern ©2025

Reflecting on Romans 5: 5-11

Hope does not disappoint. I believe this with all my heart. And St. Paul believed it, even as he wrote to the many Christians in Rome who longed for his visit. Those same Christians may have suffered the same martyrdom as Paul, who had been a prisoner in Caesaria before being taken in chains to Rome.

From whence do those who suffer from painful illnesses, or devastating losses, summon the faith and joy to say with confidence that hope does not disappoint? Their witness to this most basic tenet of faith fills us with hope, too, and then our witness strengthens those around us.

This is the scripture to take to the cemeteries today as we remember our beloved dead. As you drive around, take in all the love of those who buried their precious loves there. We assent to St. Paul’s exhortation, and believe that all these believers found their hope realized, in ways they could never have imagined.

The souls of the just are in the hand of God. Imagine being held, carefully and lovingly, in the hand of God. And cast that vision over the cemetery, over all the graves, many of them hundreds of years old. Pray for each person there, and announce Paul’s words: Hope does not disappoint.

We don’t have to wait until death to experience hope satisfied. There is some tiny glimmer of hope for peace in the Middle East. There are victories over headaches, severe colds, and even once-fatal diseases. There are restored relationships that once seemed terminal. In each of these, we have reason to hope.

Hold fast to hope. It’s your entrée into the heart of God.

In what area of your life do you need the grace to hope?

Kathy McGovern ©2025