Homily for Feast of Saint Stephen, First Martyr - Year A

The readings for the Feast of Saint Stephen, First Martyr - Year A may be found at:

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/122625.cfm

Today, the Church

does something very intentional.

Ushering us quickly from Bethlehem,

where we sang of peace on earth

and rejoiced in the Word became flesh,

almost immediately to the killing

of Saint Stephen, the first martyr of the Church.

The contrast - almost shocking, but not accidental.

The Church refusing to let us rush past 

the true meaning of Christmas.

Not allowing us to linger for long, 

in the manger where Christmas feels safe.

Not allowing Christmas to become 

too sentimental, too comfortable.

Instead, the day after we adore 

the Word become flesh, the Child 

wrapped in swaddling clothes,

the Church places before us 

a deacon wrapped in courage.

The baby Jesus and Saint Stephen.

The manger and the martyr - never far apart.

Stephen - not a savior, not an apostle, not a priest.

But a deacon. Chosen for service.

Chosen to make sure no one was overlooked.

Chosen for the ordinary, hidden work of the Church.

And yet, despite all of this,

when the moment of witness comes,

it was Stephen who stands,

it was Stephen who speaks,

it was Stephen who follows Christ 

all the way to the Cross.

That deserves and demands our attention.

Because the permanent diaconate is not a partial vocation.

It is not preparation for something else.

It is a full, sacramental configuration to Christ the Servant.

And where the Servant goes, the deacon follows.

In the Acts of the Apostles, the evangelist Saint Luke tells us

that Stephen was “filled with grace and power.”

Grace first. Always grace first.

Before words. Before action. Before courage.

The power of the deacon not coming

from titles or authority, not from the stole,

our place in the sanctuary, or how well we speak,

but from a life rooted in prayer,

humility, and fidelity to the Church.

Without grace, our ministry becomes

more Martha than Mary - activity, anxiety, and noise.

But with grace, 

even the smallest act of service becomes Gospel.

There is no greater example to this than Saint Stephen.

As the stones rained down, he forgave.

As death approached, he entrusted his spirit to God 

and prayed for those murdering him.

The one who once served tables

now offering his very life while praying for others -

up until the end.

This is the example that we follow as deacons.

We may never be faced with ritual stoning,

but we are all called to martyrdom,

albeit a quieter and more gradual one.

The martyrdom of patience. Of humility.

Obedience. Of serving when no one notices.

Of loving the Church even when she is wounded,

even when we feel unsupported by her,

even when she disappoints us.

A martyrdom of forgiveness, 

when bitterness or indifference would be an easier path.

At his last breath, Stephen looked up to see Jesus standing.

The risen Christ rising once more - not from the tomb,

but to welcome home a deacon.

Brothers, God never sleeps. Christ sees our service.

He notices what the world overlooks.

Stephen never sees the fruit of his witness.

But make no mistake, his faithfulness 

helps shape the future of the Church -

so may it be with us.

On this feast of Saint Stephen, 

let us pray for the grace

to be faithful deacons.

Filled with grace. 

Steadfast in service. 

Gentle in truth.

And whether in life or death,

may we always point not to ourselves,

but to Christ.

Saint Stephen, 

deacon and martyr, 

pray for us.

Homily for Fourth Sunday of Advent - Year A

The readings for the Fourth Sunday of Advent - Year A may be found at:

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/122125.cfm

Today, 

as we celebrate 

this Fourth Sunday of Advent,

with Christmas almost here, 

the evangelist Saint Matthew 

brings us right into the heart of the mystery 

of the Incarnatation,

of God becoming man - 

not with choirs of angels, 

or cosmic displays, 

or with shepherds rushing to a manger,

But by quietly bringing us

into the struggle of Jesus’ adoptive father,

Saint Joseph.

Matthew tells us, 

“This is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about.”

And then shows us a man caught 

between a rock and a hard place,

between fear and faith, 

between what the law allowed 

and what love called for.

Joseph discovers that Mary,

his betrothed is pregnant.

This betrothal, a legally binding commitment,

between husband and wife,

was to last about a year,

even though they did not live together.

Joseph knows the child is not his.

Put yourself in his place.

What would that be like?

What would people think of him, 

when they found out Mary was pregnant?

That he disgraced her 

and couldn’t even wait until they lived together.

But Matthew tells us 

that Joseph was a righteous man.

The kind of man God relies on

to do great things.

A man who loves God

and shows that love

by aligning his actions

with the will of God.

Despite his difficult situation, 

Joseph’s first instinct is not to lash out. 

His first instinct is mercy. 

He does not want to expose Mary to shame -  

he could have divorced her quietly.

But, instead, he chooses compassion - 

even before he understands God’s plan.

Joseph stands in that spot 

where all of us are at times, 

between self-interest 

and willing the good of the other, 

between control and letting go,

between certainty and trust. 

It was 100% completely within Joseph’s right to walk away.

But love invites him to stay.

So, when God speaks - 

not loudly, not publicly, but quietly, in a dream, saying,

“Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid.”

Joseph listens and when he wakes, we’re told,

“he did as the angel of the Lord had commanded him 

and took his wife into his home.”

“Do not be afraid.”

Those words are not only for Joseph. 

They are for all of us.

Because Advent - and life - 

can find us exactly where Joseph stood. 

Where things don’t make sense. 

Where plans unravel. 

Where God seems to be asking something of us 

that feels risky, unclear,

or beyond our understanding.

Asking more than we feel 

we can comfortably give.

In his dream, Joseph was told - 

This child is from the Holy Spirit.

Mary is still your wife.

And you are to name the child Jesus, 

because He will save his people from their sins.

And faced with this,

Joseph does something extraordinary, 

he doesn’t fight it, 

or chock it up as a hallucination,

or choose what is quick or easy, 

instead - he trusts. 

He does what God asks.

And the gospel writer reminds us why this matters,

because this child will fulfill the prophecy 

of the prophet Isaiah:

“They shall name him Emmanuel,

which means “God is with us.”

And that, right there is what Christmas is all about.

God is with us.

Not watching from a distance.

Not waiting for things to be perfect.

But God is with us - 

in our weakness, our anxiety, 

our illness, our hardships, 

our unworthiness

and in the ordinary, pain in the neck 

struggles of daily life.

And this is important,

because God did not come pretending to be human. 

He did not merely appear among us. 

He became fully human. 

He entered our tiredness, our uncertainty, 

our fear, our work, and our suffering. 

And in the process, 

transformed human life from the inside out.

That means Christmas 

is not about escaping the chaos of life.

Christmas is about discovering

God right in the middle of our mess.

Joseph didn’t have all the answers. 

But he was quiet enough to listen, 

open enough to trust, 

and loving enough to say yes.

In that same spirit,

let us ask 

for the grace of Saint Joseph,

the grace to trust 

when we do not understand,

the grace to choose love 

over fear or self-interest,

and the grace to recognize,

each day,

in our real and imperfect lives,

that

“God is with us” 

As we pray -

Saint Joseph, 

righteous man 

and faithful servant, 

pray for us. 

Amen.