Homilies for December 2025

For the Second Sunday, Third Sunday, and Fourth Sunday of Advent, the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, the Nativity of Our Lord (Christmas), and the Feast of the Holy Family

Second Sunday of Advent – December 7, 2025

Readings: Isaiah 11:1–10 • Psalm 72:1–2, 7–8, 12–13, 17 • Romans 15:4–9 • Matthew 3:1–12
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/120725.cfm

What kind of tree are you?
Are you an oak — mighty and steadfast, with roots that run deep?
A pine — evergreen, able to thrive in any season?
An elm — graceful, stretching upward toward heaven?

Each tree has its own beauty, its own purpose. Each offers something unique to the world — just as each of us does. You and I are made in the image and likeness of God, planted by His hand in the garden of His creation. And just like the trees, we are meant to grow — not only outward, but upward, toward the life to come.

Today, we celebrate the Second Sunday of Advent. The theme is peace — peace in our hearts, peace in our families, peace in our world. But peace doesn’t simply fall from the sky. It’s something cultivated. It takes work, care, and patience. True peace, the peace of Christ, comes when we allow God to shape and prune our hearts according to His will.

Advent is a time of waiting — but it’s not a passive waiting. It’s vigilant, hopeful, and expectant. God is not far from us. Even when we feel alone, even when the branches of our lives feel barren, God’s promise is still growing within us. We are a people of hope because our faith roots us in something deeper than what we see.

Saint Paul reminds us in the second reading to “welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you” (Romans 15:7). That means setting aside our prejudices, our impatience, our coldness — and opening our arms to others. This is how peace begins: not with grand gestures, but with open hearts.

Isaiah’s prophecy today gives us one of the most beautiful images in all of Scripture:
“A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom” (Isaiah 11:1).

It’s a strange image — a dead stump, cut down and lifeless, yet suddenly a green shoot bursts forth. That shoot is Christ. The stump is Israel, broken and humbled. God brings new life from what seems dead. Out of human failure comes divine mercy. Out of a lifeless stump comes the Savior of the world.

This is the story of salvation. This is the story of Advent. God works not in the strong, but in the broken. He brings life out of what we thought was lost.

Isaiah’s vision continues with the wolf lying down with the lamb, the leopard with the kid, the calf and the lion together. These are images of opposites reconciled, of enemies transformed into friends. It is the peace only God can bring — when grace heals what sin divides.

In the Gospel, John the Baptist cries out: “Repent, for the Kingdom of heaven is at hand.” His message is urgent — because grace is urgent. “Now is the time to get ready.” Not tomorrow, not next week, not when life slows down. Now. We all know people who waited too long — to forgive, to return to confession, to make peace — and ran out of time. Advent calls us to act, not react; to prepare, not procrastinate.

John gives another image from nature: “Every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.” That sounds harsh, but it’s really a call to life. God wants us to bear fruit — the fruits of mercy, patience, humility, and love. These are the fruits that last.

Saint Thérèse of Lisieux once compared the soul to a garden. A beautiful garden doesn’t happen by accident. It must be tilled, watered, pruned, and fed. It must be tended with care. Left alone, it withers. The same is true for our spiritual lives. We can’t wait for holiness to grow on its own. Advent is the gardener’s season — the time to turn the soil, pull out the weeds, and prepare for the coming bloom of Christmas.

We all want to be like the mighty oak — strong and steady. But strength doesn’t just happen. It’s formed through time, through faith, through the storms we endure. If we tend our hearts well, if we stay rooted in Christ, we will grow toward heaven and bear fruit that lasts.

Advent is the season to get our gardens in order, to clear away what keeps us from peace, and to make space for the Christ Child to be born in us.
So ask yourself: What kind of tree am I becoming?
Am I bearing fruit that will last?
Am I cultivating peace, or letting weeds of resentment grow?

Let us use these days wisely. The Lord is near.
Now is the time — let’s not waste it.

Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception – December 8, 2025

Readings: Genesis 3:9–15, 20 • Psalm 98:1, 2–3ab, 3cd–4 • Ephesians 1:3–6, 11–12 • Luke 1:26–38
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/120825.cfm

By Rev. John P. Cush, STD

As a Christian people, there is no single individual whom we give more honor to than the Blessed Virgin Mary. Since the early Church, the clear teaching in our doctrine is that, from the moment of her conception in the womb of Saint Anne, her mother, Mary was freed from the stain of original sin, so that she could be the spotless, sinless vessel to carry the Son of God made flesh, Our Lord Jesus Christ. Mary herself is the Immaculate Conception.

Some people, unfortunately, get the concept of the Immaculate Conception confused with the concept of the Virgin Birth. No, the Virgin Birth of Our Lord Jesus is the logical consequence of the fact that Mary is the Immaculate Conception. Conceived and born without the sin of hubris, of pride, inherited from our first parents, Our Blessed Lady, Mary, never suffered from Original Sin, the state that the rest of us inherited from the fall of our primordial parents, Adam and Eve.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church (no, 490–493) defines clearly defines the Immaculate Conception and tells us in order to  be the mother of Jesus, Mary was given special gifts from God. When the angel Gabriel greeted her, he called her “full of grace,” showing she was filled with God’s favor to accept this unique role.

Over time, the Church has recognized that Mary was free from original sin from the very start of her life. This belief, known as the Immaculate Conception, was officially declared by Pope Pius IX in 1854. He proclaimed that Mary, by a special grace from God and through the future merits of Jesus, was preserved from original sin from the moment she was conceived.

Mary’s holiness, which began from her conception, comes entirely from her relationship with Christ. God the Father blessed her in a unique way through Jesus, choosing her to be pure and devoted in love even before creation began. In the Eastern Church, Mary is honored as “the All-Holy” (Panagia), seen as entirely free from sin and uniquely formed by the Holy Spirit. By God’s grace, she lived her entire life without personal sin.

Therefore, when we hear that the conception of Our Lord, Jesus Christ in the womb of Blessed Mary, we recognize that this is not the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, but that of the Virgin Birth. And, we recall that, from Catholic Sacred Tradition and dogma, we know that Mary, the Mother of Jesus, the Mother of God, is perpetually virgin, before, during, and after childbirth.

As was mentioned in the Catechism definition of the Immaculate Conception listed above, we know that His Holiness, Pope Pius IX in 1854 declared the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary as an infallible dogma of the Church, one of the only two times in the history of the Catholic Church that this had occurred.

For us as Americans, we should hold the Immaculate Conception as very dear. Our Lady, under the title of the Immaculate Conception, was declared the Patroness of the United States of America. In fact, it is one of the two Holy Days of Obligation that must always be a “Day of Obligation,” even if it falls on a Monday or a Saturday. We in the United States of America love Our Lady under the title of the Immaculate Conception. And we know that, despite our failings, she loves us. And so, we pray:

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary,
that never was it known
that anyone who fled to thy protection,
implored thy help,
or sought thy intercession,
was left unaided.
Inspired by this confidence
I fly unto thee,
O Virgin of virgins, my Mother.
To thee do I come,
before thee I stand,
sinful and sorrowful.
O Mother of the Word Incarnate,
despise not my petitions,
but in thy mercy hear and answer me.
Amen.

Third Sunday of Advent – December 14, 2025

Readings: Isaiah 35:1–6a, 10 • Psalm 146:6–7, 8–9, 9–10 • James 5:7–10 • Matthew 11:2–11
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/121425.cfm

When we think of an oxymoron, we think of a contradiction — two ideas that seem to cancel each other out.
Think of words like bittersweet, original copy, or only choice.

How can something be both bitter and sweet at the same time?
How can something be the original and a copy?
How can there be a choice if there is only one option?

And yet, in many ways, our Christian faith is full of holy oxymorons: the Virgin Mother, the King who serves, the death that brings life, the joy found in the Cross.

Today, on this Third Sunday of Advent — Gaudete Sunday — the Church invites us to embrace one more: joy in waiting.

The theme of this Sunday is joy. The word Gaudete comes from the Latin gaudium, meaning “gladness,” “delight,” or “spiritual joy.” It’s not a shallow emotion or a fleeting happiness that depends on circumstances. Rather, it is a deep, abiding gladness rooted in God’s goodness and presence.

We might call it the joy of the soul. It’s the kind of joy that can exist even in sorrow, that can sing even in darkness, that can hope even when the heart is heavy. Joy, in this Christian sense, is not an escape from suffering — it’s the discovery of God’s presence within it.

To be joyful, then, does not mean we are smiling all the time. It means that deep within us, we know we are held by God, and that His promises will not fail. True joy is a fruit of the Holy Spirit (Galatians 5:22). It flows from love, humility, and gratitude.

We are getting closer to Christmas — the Word becoming flesh, God born into our midst. The eternal enters time; the infinite takes on the finite. It almost seems like another oxymoron: the Creator becomes the creature. But this is the mystery of our faith.

Advent reminds us that God’s nearness is not a metaphor — it’s a reality. The Almighty stoops low. The divine takes on the dust of the earth. “The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,” Isaiah says, “and the desert shall rejoice and blossom” (Isaiah 35:1). Joy breaks forth where it was least expected — life springs from the desert, grace from emptiness.

Isaiah’s words are a comfort to the weary:
“Be strong, fear not! Here is your God. He comes with vindication; with divine recompense He comes to save you.”
He speaks to those who have weak knees and trembling hands — to those who are tired, afraid, or uncertain. God’s message is simple: Do not fear; I am coming to save you.

This joy, however, takes patience. Saint James tells us today to “be patient, brothers and sisters, until the coming of the Lord.” Like a farmer waiting for rain, we must wait for God’s timing. And that’s hard, isn’t it? We live in a world of instant messages, instant meals, instant everything. But grace does not grow on our schedule. It grows on God’s.

Seeds need time to germinate. They need to be watered, nourished, and cared for before they bear fruit. So it is with our souls. Spiritual growth is a process — sometimes hidden, sometimes slow — but always moving toward the harvest.

Even John the Baptist — bold, fiery, and faithful — had his moments of doubt. From his prison cell, he sends messengers to ask Jesus, “Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?”

And how does Jesus answer? He doesn’t give a theory; He points to the evidence: “The blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have the Good News proclaimed to them.”

In other words: Look at the fruit. Look at what God is doing. Faith is not proven by argument but by transformation — by the lives changed, the hearts healed, the joy restored.

John was the greatest born of women, Jesus says, yet “the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.” Why? Because John prepared the way; Christ fulfills it. John pointed to the dawn; Christ is the rising Sun. Through Jesus’ redemptive love, the gates of heaven are flung open, and grace is poured out for all.

Life often feels like an oxymoron: joy amid pain, peace amid turmoil, light amid shadow. But these contradictions are the soil where true faith grows. Joy isn’t the absence of suffering — it’s the awareness that God is with us in it.

We are called to be a people of joy, a people of hope. That means trusting in God’s plan even when it doesn’t make sense. It means finding delight not only in what God gives, but in who God is.

Joy doesn’t deny the cross; it transforms it. Joy doesn’t erase hardship; it redeems it.

So, when life feels like a contradiction, remember: the greatest contradiction of all — the Almighty born as a helpless child — became our salvation.

As Advent draws toward its fulfillment, let us take Isaiah’s words to heart: Be strong. Fear not.
Let us take James’s counsel: Be patient.
And let us take John’s example: Prepare the way of the Lord.

God is working — quietly, faithfully, joyfully — within the contradictions of our lives.
So be strong. Be patient. Be prepared.
And above all — rejoice in the Lord always.

Fourth Sunday of Advent – December 21, 2025

Readings: Isaiah 7:10–14 • Psalm 24:1-2, 3–4, 5–6 • Romans 1:1–7 • Matthew 1:18–24
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/122125.cfm

Pope Leo XIV, in one of his first general audiences, said, “The Gospel shows us that there is always a way to continue to love, even when everything seems irredeemably compromised.”

Those words strike at the very heart of what this final week of Advent is about. Love — true, self-giving, unconditional love — is not a passing emotion or a simple preference. It is not a feeling that changes with the weather or the mood of the day. Love, as Christ reveals it, endures precisely when everything else seems broken or lost.

We use the word love easily. We say we love ice cream, we love pizza, we love our favorite sports teams, we love our children. But there’s a world of difference between affection, preference, and the love that is agape — the divine, self-emptying love that gives without expecting return.

It is hard for us — imperfect, fallen, and finite — to love like that. Too often, our love is conditional. It becomes transactional: “If you do this, then I’ll do that.” But God never loves like that. His love is pure gift. He loves because He is Love (1 John 4:8). His love does not depend on our worthiness, but on His goodness.

We live in a world where so much seems compromised — our values, our relationships, our dreams, even our spirituality. But love, authentic Christian love, must remain uncompromised. To love truly is to stand firm in truth, to say what we mean and mean what we say.

It’s easy to lose focus in a distracted world, to let the noise of daily life drown out the still, small voice of God. Yet the virtue of love — caritas, one of the three theological virtues — anchors us. Love endures, St. Paul says, even when faith and hope seem to falter (1 Corinthians 13:13).

This fourth week of Advent is all about that love — God’s immeasurable, tender, patient love for His people. It is the love that takes on flesh in Bethlehem. It is the love that never stops giving, that never stops forgiving.

The coming of Christ is the supreme expression of divine love. “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13). The Incarnation — the Word made flesh — is the beginning of that great laying down.

Christmas is not just about a birth long ago; it’s about the continuous outpouring of God’s heart into the world. The gift of His Son is not a one-time event. It is the gift that keeps giving, the well that never runs dry. Every time we receive the Eucharist, every time we forgive, every time we show mercy, that same love is reborn in us.

Today’s readings show us the fulfillment of prophecy. Isaiah foretold, “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel” (Isaiah 7:14).

Centuries later, that promise takes flesh in the Gospel through the obedience of Mary and the trust of Joseph. What was once spoken as a distant hope becomes a living reality: Emmanuel — God with us.

When Isaiah’s prophecy was first written, the Hebrew word meant “young woman.” But when translated into Greek, it became parthenos — “virgin.” The early Christians saw, with eyes of faith, that Isaiah’s sign had a deeper meaning than the prophet himself could have known. The virgin birth was not a rejection of human life but its sanctification. It revealed that Jesus came not merely from humanity, but for humanity — from the very heart of God.

He is not simply one of us. He is God with us. He is the living pledge that heaven has come down to earth.

Two thousand years later, that same Emmanuel still knocks — on the doors of our souls, our homes, our hearts. His presence is not a memory but a movement. He stands at the door and waits (Revelation 3:20).

If we open, He enters — not as a stranger, but as a Savior. But if we close the door, if we keep Him at a distance, we are the ones who lose. We shut out the One who gives meaning to our lives, the One who offers peace in turmoil, the One who brings joy that the world cannot give.

Keeping God at arm’s length may feel safe, but it is the surest way to starve the soul. Allowing Him in — even with our imperfections — begins a journey of transformation. That “yes” is the very word Mary spoke at the Annunciation. Her fiat — “Let it be done to me according to your word” — is the model for every believer’s response to God’s invitation.

To say yes to God is to step into love. It is to trust that His plan, though often mysterious, is good. That one word — yes — changes everything.

As we enter these final days before Christmas, we are called to do what Mary did: to open our hearts to the God who comes, to make space in the inn of our souls.

Love is not an idea to admire — it is a Person to welcome.
It is Christ Himself, born in humility, who teaches us how to love in return.

Let us, then, open the door wide to His love. Let us allow that love to purify, heal, and renew us. Let us share it freely, especially with those who may not expect it from us.

This week, as we light the final candle of the Advent wreath — the candle of love — let it be our reminder:
God’s love is not cautious or conditional. It is total, tender, and eternal.

If we welcome that love and share it with one another, then our Christmas will be rooted not merely in sentiment, but in truth: the truth that God is with us.

So, open the door. Say yes. And let Love — real, uncompromised, divine Love — be born in you.

The Nativity of Our Lord – December 25, 2025

Readings (for Mass during the Day): Isaiah 52:7–10 • Psalm 98:1, 2–3, 3–4, 5–6 • Hebrews 1:1–6 • John 1:1–18
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/122525-Day.cfm

When we think of our daily lives, there are countless promises, tasks, and interactions that fill our days. We promise to meet deadlines, finish projects, call someone back, or spend time with our families. Much of life, in fact, runs on promises — on our word.

And we all know what happens when a person’s word can’t be trusted. When we fail to keep our word, we lose credibility. Integrity fades. Without our word, we lose something essential about who we are.

That’s why, in a beautiful way, today’s Gospel from Saint John speaks directly into the heart of that reality. John proclaims, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

This is one of the most profound sentences in all of Scripture. John is telling us that Jesus Christ is the eternal Word of the Father — the living Promise of God, spoken from all eternity and now made flesh.

From the dawn of creation, God has spoken His Word into the world. “Let there be light,” He said — and there was light. That same Word that created the universe is the Word who now becomes flesh in Bethlehem.

Through every covenant of the Old Testament — from Abraham to Moses to David — God gave His word that He would save His people. And today, that promise is fulfilled: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”

We are a covenant people. The God who spoke to His prophets has now spoken Himself into human history. He does not simply say words of love — He becomes Love in the flesh.

Saint John tells us: “All things came to be through Him, and without Him nothing came to be.” This is the mystery of the Trinity shining through: the Word who is with God and who is God. The Word who proceeds from the Father in eternity now enters the world in time. The infinite becomes an infant.

Our word can fail; God’s Word cannot. His Word is faithful and true. It is living, active, and creative. It is the same Word that nourishes us in Scripture, that strengthens us in the Eucharist, and that sustains us in every trial.

When we receive the Eucharist today, we receive that very Word made flesh — Jesus Himself, who gives Himself to us completely. God keeps His promise not with ink and parchment, but with flesh and blood.

And how does He come? Not as a mighty ruler or a conquering warrior, but as a helpless child, born of the Blessed Virgin Mary at a particular moment in history. The kings and emperors of the world expected a savior to arrive in power and triumph. Instead, He comes in silence, humility, and poverty — wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

The world expected strength, but God revealed love.
The world expected conquest, but God revealed compassion.
The world expected a throne, but God revealed a cradle.

And yet, this small child conquers what no earthly power could ever defeat: sin and death itself.

John the Baptist’s role was to bear witness to the Light. And today, that Light breaks upon the world in the person of Christ. “The true Light that enlightens every person” has entered our darkness.

Light and darkness — this is the great contrast of the Gospel. Darkness represents sin, despair, confusion, and fear. Light represents truth, goodness, hope, and grace. As the old saying goes — perhaps one many of us have heard from our mothers — “nothing good happens after dark.” And indeed, when we allow the darkness of sin to fill our hearts, we lose our way.

But when the Light of Christ shines, the shadows scatter. His light guides, reveals, and restores. He is the Light that cannot be extinguished, the flame that no darkness can overcome.

Think of Easter night: the Paschal candle piercing the darkness, the flame spreading from person to person until the entire church glows with light. That light began here — at Christmas. The same Christ who was born in the stable is the same Christ who will rise from the tomb.

Today, as we gather with family and friends, the Church invites us to “break open the Word of God.” That means more than simply reading Scripture — it means allowing Christ Himself to enter our hearts.

Let us listen to His Word. Let it sink deep into our minds and shape our lives. Let it heal our memories, soften our anger, and renew our hope.

Maybe today, as you sit at the Christmas table, light a candle. Let that small flame be a reminder of the Light of Christ that has entered your home and heart. Let it remind you that God’s Word is not distant — it dwells among us, speaks to us, and feeds us.

Christmas is the feast of God’s fidelity. Every promise He ever made finds its “Yes” in Jesus Christ (2 Corinthians 1:20). The Word who was spoken in eternity has now spoken Himself into our humanity.

So, let us keep our word as God keeps His. Let us be people of integrity, faith, and light. Let us allow the Word made flesh to dwell not just among us, but within us.

For today, the Word has become flesh and dwells among us — and the Light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness has not overcome it.

Feast of the Holy Family – December 28, 2025

Readings: Sirach 3:2–6, 12–14 • Psalm 128:1–2, 3, 4–5 • Colossians 3:12–21 or 3:12–17 • Mt 2:13–15, 19–23
bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/122825.cfm

St. John Paul II, in his Letter to Families, beautifully wrote: “The Holy Family is the beginning of countless other holy families.”

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—a feast that reminds us that God Himself chose to enter the human condition not in isolation, not as a solitary sage or ruler, but within the embrace of a family. In Nazareth, holiness was lived not through grand gestures but through the quiet fidelity of daily love. The Holy Family stands as the model and mirror for all Christian families, calling us to live the Catholic life not in abstraction, but in the ordinary rhythms of home.

Scripture tells us little about St. Joseph, but what it does say is powerful: he was a “just man.” To be just in the biblical sense means more than being fair or law-abiding — it means to live in right relationship with God. Joseph was a man of faith, integrity, and deep obedience. His justice was expressed not in words, but in deeds — quiet, steadfast, protective love.

In today’s Gospel, we hear how Joseph protects his family from Herod’s wrath, taking Mary and the child Jesus and fleeing into Egypt. It was a journey marked by fear, uncertainty, and hardship. Yet Joseph obeyed the angel’s message without hesitation. He did not know the destination, but he trusted in divine providence. His courage teaches us that authentic fatherhood and leadership are rooted not in control, but in faith.

Our readings today remind us of the dignity and sacredness of the family unit. The family is the “domestic Church,” as the Second Vatican Council tells us—a place where faith is taught, virtue is formed, and love is learned.

Today, families come in many shapes and circumstances. Yet every family, whatever its composition, is called to be a school of love, protection, and forgiveness. Like a mother bird shielding her young, the family must be a refuge that nurtures life until it is ready to soar.

Each member has a role. St. Paul’s words — often misunderstood — invite us to mutual love and reverence: “Wives, be subordinate to your husbands, as is proper in the Lord. Husbands, love your wives and avoid any bitterness toward them.” This is not about domination but about imitation — imitating Christ who loved the Church and gave His life for her. True love, as St. John Paul II taught, is self-gift. Husbands and wives sanctify each other by giving themselves completely, by building one another up in faith, patience, and tenderness

The Ten Commandments instruct us to “honor your father and mother.” This commandment extends across the whole span of life. As children, we depend upon our parents’ love and guidance. As adults, we are called to care for them with that same tenderness when age or illness weakens them.

Life is cyclical. The hands that once held us up in infancy will one day need our hands to steady them. Sirach reminds us today: “My son, take care of your father when he is old . . . even if his mind fail, be considerate of him.” Such love reflects the love of Christ, who on the Cross entrusted His Mother to the care of His beloved disciple. To honor our parents is not merely a duty — it is an act of gratitude that keeps the commandment of love alive across generations.

The Holy Family of Nazareth offers us more than a portrait—it offers us a path. To live like them is to live in simplicity, fidelity, and joy. To support, protect, and serve one another. To love without counting the cost.

If we let their example shape our homes — if fathers love like Joseph, if mothers nurture like Mary, if children grow in obedience and grace like Jesus — then our own families become holy ground. They become small Nazareths, hidden yet radiant with divine love.

Can we imagine what the world would be like if every home reflected even a fraction of the holiness of Nazareth? A world where every family was a place of prayer, forgiveness, and faith—a world where love was learned first at the dinner table and carried into the public square.

That is our calling. That is our hope.
May Jesus, Mary, and Joseph intercede for us, that our families may mirror theirs, becoming sanctuaries of love and faith in the midst of a weary world.