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.”