First Sunday of Lent (A)

 Isaiah 2: 1-5; Romans 13: 11-14; Matthew 24: 37-44

History often reminds us that great moments come only to those who prepare for them. In the winter of 1914, during the “Christmas Truce” of the First World War, British and German soldiers who were only hours earlier shooting at each other suddenly laid down their weapons, stepped out of their trenches, and began exchanging small gifts, singing carols, and even playing football. What made that extraordinary night possible was not politics or command—it was the spirit of Christmas approaching. Something in the season stirred the human soul to long for peace, purity, and reconciliation. The men prepared themselves inwardly for something higher than hatred. It was as if, for a moment, they lifted their eyes from the mud of the trenches toward the promise of heaven. Advent is such a moment for the Church—a season where God invites us to step out of the trenches of sin, conflict, routine, and spiritual sleep, and to prepare for the coming of the Lord with hearts awakened, cleansed, and renewed.

Isaiah’s prophecy today opens with a magnificent vision: “In days to come, the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of the mountains…

Christ the King (C)

 2 Sam. 5:1-3; Col. 1:12-20; Lk. 23:35-43.

There is a story told about King Edward VII of England. One cold winter night, King Edward was traveling in disguise, as he sometimes did, to understand how his people lived. As he walked the streets of London, he noticed a small crowd gathered outside a poor tenement building. A fire had broken out, and people were crying because a little boy was trapped upstairs. The fire brigade had not yet arrived, and the crowd was too afraid to enter the burning building.

Without revealing who he was, the king pushed his way forward, took off his heavy coat, and rushed into the flames. Moments later, he emerged coughing and burned, carrying the frightened child in his arms. Only after placing the child safely in his mother’s embrace did the people recognize him and kneel in shock. When his advisors scolded him later, he simply said, “A king’s life is worth no more than the life of one of his subjects.”

That night, he was not called “Your Majesty.” He was called “The King Who Saved.”

33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Mal. 4:1-2; 2 Thess. 3:7-12; Lk. 21:5-19

In the ruins of the great city of Pompeii, archaeologists once uncovered the remains of a small Christian chapel buried beneath the ashes of Mount Vesuvius. The eruption had destroyed everything in an instant — homes, temples, streets, and markets. Yet on the wall of that tiny chapel, preserved by the heat and ash, was scratched a simple Latin phrase: “Christus est vita” — “Christ is life.” Beneath it, a roughly drawn cross stood unshaken amid the debris of a world that had vanished. It is said that the Christians of Pompeii had gathered to pray as the earth shook and the skies darkened. They did not flee to the temples of Jupiter or the gates of the city, but to Christ their Lord. Even as the fire descended, they clung to the faith that no destruction could erase.

That image — faith standing amidst ruins — captures the message of this Sunday’s readings. We are nearing the end of the liturgical year, when the Church invites us to meditate on the final things: the end of the world, the judgment of God, and the endurance of the righteous. These readings are not meant to frighten us but to strengthen us — to remind us that in a world of uncertainty, the only sure foundation is God.