For the child who fled to Egypt grows up.
The child who was threatened lives.
The child who knew exile becomes the one who gathers the lost.

This is what it means to live as people of the Incarnation. Because if God has chosen to dwell among us, then every human life becomes holy ground. Every act of mercy becomes a continuation of Christmas. Every step toward justice, compassion, and reconciliation becomes a reflection of the Word made flesh.

Tonight, we light candles in the darkness. Not because the darkness is gone, but because it has not won. The light shines, and the darkness cannot overcome it.

If we were to answer Jesus’s question—“What do you see and hear?”—what would we say?

Walk toward God’s future.
Be awake to God’s presence.
Live now as people who expect Christ to come.

And the one who reigns from the cross, the one who forgives his executioners, the one who welcomes a dying criminal into Paradise, is the one who will restore all things in the end.

Padre Harris’s voice echoes to us across the years, spoken as he plunged into the dark skies over Normandy: “Take it easy, old man. Whatever you do, take it easy.” 

And so, on this day of remembrance, we hold two truths together: we miss them deeply, and they are held securely.

Today, as we celebrate our patronal feast, we are invited not only to remember the saints but to become them.

You don’t need to move mountains or uproot trees. You just need to trust God with the next step.

Jeremiah’s tears are not wasted. They are a prayer. They are a protest. They are a testimony that even in grief, God has not abandoned the people.

As we lift high the cross in our worship today, let us also lift it high in our lives: in the way we love, in the way we forgive, in the way we trust God’s power to bring life out of death.

For the same God who shapes us with firm hands is the God who loves us beyond measure.

That is the paradox of discipleship: we give away to keep. So what does this mean for us, practically?