Homily Ordinary 2A: Called to serve not to compete

 Homily for 2^nd Sunday of Ordinary Time Year A 2026

Introduction

A common theme running through today’s readings is vocation. That seems especially fitting for our reflection for two reasons. First, we are beginning the liturgical season of Ordinary Time, when we are called to live out, in a steady and faithful way, the ordinary dimensions of the Christian mystery. Second, you who are here are discerning and preparing for a particular vocation: that of deacon—and of the deacon’s wife.

Scripture and Theology

In the first reading from the prophet Isaiah, it is not entirely clear who is being called. Is it the servant—perhaps the prophet himself—or is it Israel? But for our reflection on vocation, that question does not really matter.

If it is the servant, he understands his role clearly: “The Lord formed me as his servant from the womb, that Jacob may be brought back to him and Israel gathered to him.” And if it is Israel, her vocation is just as clear: she is to be “a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.”

In both cases, vocation is not something of one’s own making. It belongs to the Lord who calls. And it is never self-referential. Vocation is always other-oriented. God uses the one who is called for his ministry of saving others.

The Responsorial Psalm echoes this same spirit of availability: “Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.” Notice what is missing. There is no résumé, no list of accomplishments, no conditions attached. Vocation begins not with self-promotion, but with availability—much like the Blessed Mother, who said to the angel Gabriel, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. Let it be done to me according to your word.” And indeed she was, the humble instrument used by God to bring the Redeemer into the world.

Saint Paul introduces himself in much the same way in the second reading: “Paul, called to be an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God.” He does not define himself by his talents, nor even by his dramatic conversion. He defines himself simply as one who has been called and sent.

In the Gospel, we see most clearly the vocation of John the Baptist, a man called to play second fiddle—to be the best man, rather than the bridegroom.

John is not a minor character. He is a compelling preacher. He has disciples. People are drawn to him. Even Jesus goes to him for baptism, as we heard last Sunday. And yet, when Jesus appears, John does something remarkable: he steps aside.

He points to Jesus and says, “Behold, the Lamb of God.” John understands that his vocation is derivative. He is not the light; he bears witness to the light. That is why he says: “A man is coming after me who ranks ahead of me, because he existed before me.” John does not cling to prominence or recognition. His joy lies in fidelity, not visibility. His joy is found in being able to say, “Now I have seen and testified that he is the Son of God.”  That is not failure. That is maturity.

One of the hardest lessons in life—and certainly in ministry—is learning how to play second fiddle. From an early age, especially in our culture, we are encouraged to stand out, to be noticed, to make a name for ourselves. Even in the Church, even in good and holy work, there can be a quiet temptation to seek recognition.

And yet, when we listen carefully to the Scriptures today, we discover something striking: almost everyone in these readings understands his vocation precisely as not being the main character. Their greatness lies not in being at the center, but in faithfully serving God’s plan and pointing to him.

Christian Life

This understanding of vocation applies to every baptized Christian. But it applies in a particular way to you who are preparing for the diaconate.

The diaconate is, by its very nature, a ministry of playing second fiddle. The deacon does not preside at the Eucharist, nor absolve sins, nor anoint the sick. There is even a small rubric—honored more in the breach than the observance—that the deacon purifies the vessels after Communion at the credence table, not at the altar.

And yet, like John the Baptist, the deacon’s ministry is essential: at the altar, in the proclamation of the Word, and especially in service to charity. In fact, the Order of Mass is written with the deacon in mind. A festal Mass without a deacon is missing something essential.

Like John, the deacon points. He prepares. He serves. And often, he steps back. That can be challenging. There will be moments when your service is unseen, when your role is ignored, when others are thanked for work you quietly made possible. The temptation then is either resentment or the need to assert oneself.

Let me offer a brief personal example. Some years ago, in my role as in charge of liturgy I organized a large liturgy of the consecration of a church, involving bishops, priests, deacons, and nearly thirty servers. It required many moving parts and several rehearsals. Knowing that my strengths lie behind the scenes, I asked two others to serve as MCs, while I remained in the background. We did a fine job—and everything went smoothly, thanks to my organization and the work of my collaborators, especially those who served as MCs.

At the end of the liturgy, the bishop and pastor thanked a long list of people: choirs, servers, ministers, MCs—just about everyone—except me. I’ll admit, for a moment, I was a little bummed. But it didn’t take long to realize that none of that really mattered. The liturgy was celebrated well. The consecration of the church and the altar was beautifully accomplished.  God was worshiped. The people’s hearts and minds were raised to the Lord.

And that is the point. Ministry is not something we do in order to be noticed or applauded. If appreciation comes, we receive it with gratitude. If it does not, the ministry is no less real and no less fruitful.

Now, if the deacon’s ministry is sometimes forgotten, spare a thought for his wife. Behind every successful deacon is a woman who holds down the fort at home, listens to and encourages him, proofreads homilies, and supports—often without recognition. Together, the deacon and his wife, first as a married couple and now as a ministerial couple, witness to a discipleship that is not about prominence, but about presence—being available to God and to others, day after day.

Conclusion

And so, like John the Baptist, let us learn to embrace the vocation of playing second fiddle, joyfully saying with him, “He must increase; I must decrease.” But even more importantly, let us fix our eyes on the One to whom John points: the Lamb of God, the one who gives all for others.  For ministry is ultimately about sacrifice—about offering ourselves, quietly and faithfully, as Jesus the Lamb offered his life for the salvation of the world.

Tomorrow our country remembers Martin Luther King Jr., a man who was willing to endure suffering and even death for the sake of justice. His witness reminds us that meaningful service often comes at a cost.

The Lamb of God has already offered everything for us. What, then, can we offer in return? Perhaps our desire for recognition. Perhaps our need to be noticed.  Perhaps our temptation to hold back. Offered up with Christ, even these small sacrifices become part of his saving work, and a quiet but powerful testimony that we have come to believe in him and are ready to serve him.  With the Psalmist, let us always, always, say, “Here I am Lord, I come do your will.”

Homily Nativity Baptism A: The reason for the Baptism of Jesus and our own baptism

Homily for the Baptism of the Lord 2026

Introduction

Today we come to the end of the Christmas season with the Baptism of Jesus by John at the Jordan River. From the manger to the Jordan River, the Church has been slowly revealing to us who Jesus really is.

·      On Christmas Day, we heard the angels reveal the baby Jesus in the manger to the shepherds of Jerusalem.

·      On the feast of the Holy Family, Jesus the Son of God was also revealed as a child in danger, fleeing to Egypt as a refugee with his father and mother.

·      On New Year’s Day, we celebrated the Solemnity of Mary, the Blessed Mother of God, the simple Jewish woman whose body was the channel for bringing God’s Son into the world.

·      Last Sunday, on Epiphany, we returned to the baby Jesus, who was revealed not to the Jewish shepherds, as at Christmas, but to the wise men from the East—essentially to the Gentile world.

·      Finally today, we close this chapter of the Christmas story with the baptism not of the baby Jesus, but of the adult Jesus, who is about to begin his public ministry, an occasion at which John reveals him as the Messiah.

An immediate question, however, arises: why does Jesus ask to be baptized?

Scripture and Theology

Even John the Baptist immediately sees the problem, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and yet you come to me?” For John’s baptism was for sinners—people who were repenting, people who needed to change their lives. Jesus had no sin, no need to change. So why does he ask to be baptized? Why does he insist on it? Let me offer two answers from the Catechism.

The first answer is found on the lips of Jesus himself in Matthew’s Gospel, when he says: “Allow it now, for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness” (3:15).

“Fulfilling all righteous” what does it mean? The Catechism tells us that “Jesus’ gesture is a manifestation of his self-emptying” (CCC 1224). In other words, he is doing what a righteous Jewish person was expected to do: going to the synagogue on the Sabbath, going to the Temple, paying taxes—and now coming to John for a baptism of repentance. When, in the Creed, we profess that Jesus became man, we affirm that he was fully divine as well as fully huan. If he was truly human, then he had to act like it—act like a righteous man. By undergoing this baptism, Jesus shows that he is indeed a righteous man.

The Catechism gives us a second reason Jesus undergoes John’s baptism. By his baptism, Jesus was accepting and beginning his “mission as God’s suffering Servant” (CCC 536). As we know, Jesus’ mission was to die for our sins. And so, “He is already ‘the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.’ Already, in this humiliating baptism, he is anticipating the ‘baptism’ of his bloody death” (CCC 536)—what he will later do on the Cross.

Even in the Christmas story, we have already seen his humility: born of lowly parents, born in a stable, forced to flee as a refugee. Later in his ministry, he will continue to identify himself with tax collectors, prostitutes, and sinners. This same theme of humility and solidarity with sinners is already present in his baptism. By undergoing this baptism, Jesus humbles himself and identifies with those who needed it. He goes down into the water and sanctifies it, so that we may be purified by it.

The truth and importance of this event are confirmed by the fact that the evangelists chose to include it in the Gospel. They could easily have left it out, just as they pass over Jesus’ teenage years, especially since—at first glance—it seems to place Jesus in a subordinate position to John the Baptist. Yet they include it precisely to show us the fullness of the mystery of Jesus Christ. His baptism changes nothing about who he is as the Son of God; in fact, it is the very moment when God the Father publicly reveals him as his beloved Son.

Christian Life

What does this event—the feast of the Baptism of the Lord—mean for us?

Every year on this feast, I like to ask the congregation a simple question: Do you know the date of your baptism? I ask this not because I want you to throw another party, but so that you realize how that day changed everything for you. On the day of your baptism, heaven opened for you too.

You may not remember it. There may have been no dramatic signs. But something eternal happened—what the Church calls the four effects of baptism.

First, baptism forgives our sins. At your baptism, you were cleansed not just on the surface, but at the root. Original sin was taken away. The obstacle of sin that stood between you and heaven was removed.

Second, baptism gives us new life, for we are born again. When baptism removes our sin, it does not leave that place empty. The same Spirit who descended upon Jesus was given to you, along with the theological virtues of faith, hope, and love. In short, you were given what you need to complete your journey to heaven.

A third effect of baptism is the indelible mark of being a child of God. Baptism marks us permanently as God’s children, configured to Jesus Christ, his beloved sons and daughters. That is why, even when we occasionally fall away from God—even when it happens for long periods and in serious ways—we do not need to be baptized again. Because of this indelible mark, we can always return. We already belong to him.

The fourth effect of baptism is that it incorporates us into the Body of Christ, the Church. Although baptism is received individually, it immediately places us into a community of believers, where we support one another and are supported by one another on our pilgrimage to the Father.

Unfortunately, too often we treat baptism as merely a cultural ritual or something in the past—a family photo, a certificate, a tradition. But baptism is not just something that happened to us; it is something we must live from.

We live out these four effects of baptism by living the baptismal promises made on our behalf, if we were baptized as infants, or made by ourselves, if we were baptized as adults.

·      We promised to reject sin and Satan and to live as children of the light.

·      We were given a white garment—not to hang in a closet, but to keep clean through daily choices for God.

·      We were given a candle—not to admire, but to keep burning in our works.

Jesus’ baptism marked the beginning of his public mission. Our baptism does the same for us. We are baptized not only to be saved, but to be sent—to live differently, to love differently, and to witness to Christ in ordinary life.

Conclusion

Today, as we close the Christmas season, we stand with Jesus at the Jordan River. We look at him, humble and obedient. We hear the Father’s voice. We see the Spirit at work. And we remember who we are: children of God journeying together toward heaven.

If we live faithfully the grace of our baptism—rejecting sin, trusting God, and walking in humility—then one day, when our earthly pilgrimage is complete, the Father will say to us the very words he spoke over his Son: “You are my beloved son. You are my beloved daughter.  With you, I am well pleased.”