Reflecting on Matthew 4: 12-23

And so it begins. Jesus learns that John has been arrested (Matthew 4:12-23) and is being held in Herod’s terrifying, lonely dungeon.  The back story of his arrest isn’t given to us by Matthew for another ten chapters (14:1-13). I

It’s then that he tells the whole ghastly story of John’s arrest by Herod Antipas, and his beheading at the behest of Herod’s illegally wedded wife, Herodias.

But this is all to come. When today’s gospel opens, we only know that John has been put in prison. This event marks the end of John’s ministry, and the beginning of Jesus’ public life. One senses the strong foreboding Jesus must have felt. His forerunner is gone, and now he must fulfill the words of his baptism: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”

At first, he retreats to Galilee, perhaps realizing he may have no other time to be with his Mother. When he leaves Nazareth, it’s crucial to note that he travels north, straight to the lands of Zebulon and Naphtali. These were called the “Galilee of the Gentiles” because, eight centuries earlier, the violent nation of Assyria had invaded those lands, dragged the Jews away, and repopulated the land with Gentiles.

Jesus is the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy about those lands: “On those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death, a light has arisen” (9:1-2). It’s to these “half-breed” people, forgotten Gentiles living in Jewish territories, that Jesus’ first words of hope and consolation are preached.

Imagine living there and seeing Jesus before anyone else. Wherever we are, Jesus will go and find us.

What would you say to Jesus if he came to find you?

Kathy McGovern c. 2026

Reflecting on John 1: 29-34

I don’t generally think of John the Baptist as a dreamer, or a star-gazer. But today he admits to seeing a vision: I saw the Spirit come down like a dove from heaven and remain upon him.  

Why do these biblical figures have visions and dreams, and we don’t? My great Denver friend Fr. Pat Dolan thinks that modern humans have “evolved” away from the deep gifts of intuition and “seeing” that was common to the ancients. Two thousand years ago, the great Baptizer met Jesus, reluctantly complied with his wish to be baptized, and then actually saw the Spirit descend upon him.

But here’s the thing: I think we, too, often see the Spirit descend. Think of your favorite homilist. Don’t you “see” the Spirit descend when he digs deep into the scriptures and gives you something rich and beautiful upon which to meditate?

Watch your friends with their grandchildren. Years and years of parenting seem to have given them a sixth sense about how to listen to these dear ones, how to truly “see” them, and how to navigate their temporary whining and bring them back to that gentle place of delight and content that makes being with them such a joy.

Or think of the musicians you know. Watch them sit down at the piano and take mastery of it. Can you see the Spirit descend? Think of any person you love, really. Aren’t there many times a day when you “see” the Spirit descend as they bring kindness into the world?

Make this the year when you pay closer attention to the Spirit’s “descent.” Chances are, the Spirit hovers over you all the time.

What person in your life seems to have the Spirit’s presence always?

Kathy McGovern ©2026

Reflecting on Matthew 3: 13-17

He says many fiery things in the gospels, this cousin of Jesus. He rants about broods of vipers trying to escape the coming wrath. He rails against adulterous Herods and their adulterous wives. But the sentence I most associate with him—other than his embryonic announcement of the Messiah from his mother’s womb—is what he says about Jesus: I am not worthy to loosen the thongs of his sandals. It touches me deeply that, at the height of his renown in the desert, he was willing to step out of the frame so that Jesus could come into perfect focus.

Oh, to see Thee more clearly, Jesus. I long for it. The entire Catholic Culture presses me to see You in Your most distressing disguise, those who are poor in all kinds of ways. I try not to know about them, but, of course, that will be a ridiculous defense when I meet you. I will never be able to say I didn’t know.

Maybe I try not to know because I so deeply recognize that I’m not worthy to loosen the sandals of those whose lives are so challenging. I couldn’t do for one day what aging grandparents are doing to keep their imperiled grandchildren safe and sheltered. I know I couldn’t do for more than a few hours what those caring for spouses and parents with dementia do, endless day after endless day.

I am aware of the giants around me. But this year, I resolve to look for Jesus in the daily courage of the unseen, people whose challenges I could never, never meet. Step into the frame, Jesus. I long to see You.

Who are the people whose sandals you are unworthy to loosen?

Kathy McGovern ©2026

Reflecting on Matthew 2: 1-12

We have finally arrived at my favorite feast of the year. I find myself speeding through Advent and the first two weeks of Christmas so that we can finally remember those courageous (and curious) Magi, that blazing STAR, vicious Herod, and the brave Mother and Father who, like millions of migrants today, risked their lives in order to shepherd their precious Child to safety.

I love that the Magi (probably Persian astrologers) knew NOTHING of Judaism, but left their entire lives behind to “traverse afar” to seek a King whose birth must surely be heralded by that bright, bright STAR.

I love that they were so unaware of the reputation of the King of Judea that they actually asked Herod, upon being summoned by him, where they could find this “newborn King of the Jews!” How could they not have heard that he, driven by ruthless paranoia, killed his beloved wife Mariamne and two of their sons? THIS is who they’re asking about a newborn King?

I love that the STAR they had seen at its rising moved just ahead of them, and then stopped over “the place where the child was.” I had that experience once, driving down a dark highway in the fog at 10 pm. Out of nowhere, a large truck moved ahead of me, put on its brights, and stayed just in front of me until I was close to home.

I love that they brought the very gifts prophesied by Isaiah: gold (kingship), frankincense (incense used in priestly anointings), and myrrh ( a prefigure of his death).

Mostly, I love that we are called to seek him, too. A very wise thing to do.

What touches you the most about this feast?

Kathy McGovern ©2026

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