Prolife Homily, January 22^nd. Isaiah 49:1-6,uke 1:39-56

"Every masterpiece begins with an invisible stroke of the brush before the world ever sees the canvas. Today, the church in the US reflects on the most profound masterpiece of all: human life. In the eyes of our Creator, no life is a 'surprise,' no conception is a 'mistake,' and no person is a 'burden.' From the silent knitting together of a soul in the hidden sanctuary of the womb to the final, quiet breath of the elderly, God is present, naming us and claiming us as His own. Today, we look at what it means to truly cherish the gift that began in the heart of the Father long before it began in the world."

The passage from Isaiah 49:1-6 is one of the most powerful biblical foundations for the sanctity of human life, speaking a universal truth about the origin, dignity, and destiny of every human person.

The prophet declares: "The Lord called me before I was born, while I was in my mother’s womb, he named me."

In our modern world, we often define "personhood" by what a human being can do—their ability to think, to move, or to contribute to the economy. But Isaiah flips this logic. Before the servant had performed a single act, before he had even drawn breath, he was already named and called.

In the eyes of God, our dignity does not begin when we become "useful" or "independent." Our dignity begins at the moment of conception, because that is when God’s specific call for our lives is established. To be "named" in the womb means that every child is not a "choice" to be made, but a gift to be received.

Isaiah uses the imagery of a "polished arrow" kept hidden in God’s quiver.

The womb is the first "quiver." It is a sacred, hidden space where God polishes a new life. Just as an arrow is crafted for a specific target, every unborn child is being prepared for a unique mission that only they can fulfil. When we protect life in the womb, we are protecting the potential that God has carefully crafted. We are saying that the "Archer" knows the right time for that life to be released into the world, and it is not our place to break the arrow before it can fly.

In verse 6, God tells the servant that his mission is not just for a small group, but to be a "light to the nations."

Every life lost to abortion is a light extinguished—a light that might have found a cure for a disease, composed a masterpiece, or simply provided the specific love a family needed. When we advocate for the pro-life cause, we aren't just "pro-birth"; we are pro-mission. We believe that every child has a destiny that reaches "to the ends of the earth."

The Gospel of Luke 1:39-56, known as the Visitation and the Magnificat, is perhaps the ultimate pro-life narrative in Holy Scripture. It is a story of two women, two hidden children, and a God who works wonders in the quietest, most vulnerable spaces of human existence.

The passage begins with Mary travelling "with haste" to see Elizabeth. The moment Mary’s greeting reaches Elizabeth’s ears, something extraordinary happens: "the infant leapt in her womb."

Saint John the Baptist, though still in the womb, becomes the first person to recognize the presence of the Savior. This encounter shatters the idea that a child in the womb is merely "potential" life or a "cluster of cells." Long before Jesus preached on the Mount or performed miracles, He was already a transformative presence. Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit, acknowledges this by calling Mary "the mother of my Lord." She does not say "the mother of the one who will become my Lord," but recognizes his full dignity and Lordship from the moment of conception.

The Visitation is a beautiful model of how we are called to support life. Mary, though young and facing her own uncertain future, goes to serve her elder cousin. Elizabeth, in turn, offers Mary a sanctuary of affirmation and joy.

Like Elizabeth, we are called to be the ones who welcome both the mother and the child with a blessing, providing the communal support that makes the choice for life a joyful reality. Elizabeth proclaims, "Blessed are you who believed that what was spoken to you by the Lord would be fulfilled."

To be pro-life is an act of profound faith. It is the belief that every child, regardless of the circumstances of their conception, is part of a divine plan. It is the faith that God will provide for the mother and that He has a purpose for the child. When we stand for life, we are standing with Mary in her "Yes"—a "Yes" that changed the world because she trusted that God is the author of life.

Sometimes, the task of ending abortion and building a culture of life feels impossible. We look at the laws of the land or the hardness of hearts and feel small. But the pro-life mission does not rely on our political might; it relies on the God who does "immeasurably more." Every time a life is saved, every time a heart is healed after an abortion, and every time a family opens their home to a child in need, we see this power at work.

This morning, we reflect on the sanctity of life not as a political argument, but as a mission of love. Let’s pray that the Lord may make us aware of the call we have received to be a people who protect the vulnerable, support the frightened mother, and cherish the elderly, proving to the world that every life is a light that deserves the chance to shine.

 

  

A Homily on Mark 2:13–17 and 1 Samuel 9:1–4, 17–19; 10:1

The Gospel of Mark presents a radical shift in how we understand community, worthiness, and the very heart of God. In this brief scene with Levi, Jesus does far more than call a disciple; he overturns the social and religious categories of his time and reveals a God who draws near precisely where others draw back.

The Call of Levi

The scene begins by the sea, but very quickly Jesus moves to the tax booth. In the first century, tax collectors like Levi were not just unpopular; they were regarded as traitors and religious outcasts, collaborators with the Roman occupiers who often enriched themselves at the expense of their own people. That is where Jesus goes.

Jesus initiates: he does not wait for Levi to repent or to clean up his life.

The command is simple: “Follow me.” No conditions, no probation period, no moral pre‑screening.

The response is immediate: Levi leaves his booth—his source of wealth, identity, and security—and follows.

Already here, Jesus shows that vocation begins not with our worthiness but with his call. Grace reaches us where we are, not where we think we ought to be before God can notice us.

The Scandal of the Table

The scene then moves from the street to the table. In the ancient world, to eat with someone was a sign of intimacy and approval. By reclining at table with “many tax collectors and sinners,” Jesus is not accidentally in bad company; he is making a public statement that these people are welcome in his presence and at his table.

This scandalizes the scribes of the Pharisees. Their religious outlook is built on separation—avoiding what is “unclean” in order to preserve holiness. Seeing Jesus at table with such people, they ask, “Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?” What they cannot accept is a holiness that moves toward the mess rather than away from it, a holiness that seeks out the morally and socially excluded instead of keeping them at a distance.

The Divine Physician

Jesus answers with a single image that sums up his mission: “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.” He identifies himself as the Divine Physician and teaches us at least three things.

First, holiness is healing, not fragile. Jesus is not afraid of being “stained” by sinners; his grace is stronger than their sin. When he enters a sinner’s life, it is the sinner who changes, not Jesus.

Second, the real barrier is pride. The only people who cannot be healed are those who insist they are not sick. The Pharisees are just as much in need of grace as Levi, but their idea of their own “righteousness” has hardened into a wall that keeps mercy out.

Third, the Church is meant to be a hospital. The Christian community is not a museum to display perfect saints but a clinic for those who know they need God. If the Church sometimes feels full of broken, complicated, wounded people—that may be a sign that the Divine Physician is at work.

Levi’s story challenges us to look honestly at our own “tax booths”—those habits, fears, resentments, or compromises that keep us from following Jesus wholeheartedly—and to examine how we treat those we quietly consider “outcasts.” Are there people we have written off as beyond God’s reach? Do we use our faith as a way of separating ourselves from others, or as a mandate to bring healing into their lives?

Jesus reminds us that his table is open. He does not call us because we are perfect; he calls us because he is merciful. As Erasmo Leiva‑Merikakis observes, “The deepest meaning of Christian discipleship is not to work for Jesus but to be with Jesus.”

The God of the Ordinary: Saul and the Lost Donkeys

The first reading shows the same God at work in a very different context. The story does not begin in a temple or a palace, but with a very ordinary problem: lost donkeys. Kish, a Benjaminite, loses his animals and sends his son Saul to find them. Saul is stalwart and handsome, standing “head and shoulders above the people,” yet he spends days wandering through the hill country, unable to complete a simple task.

How often do we feel like Saul? We set out to take care of routine matters, only to end up frustrated, exhausted, and “lost” in our own way. We think we are just chasing “lost donkeys”—looking for work, mending a relationship, surviving a difficult week—without realizing that God may be using these very detours to lead us into a deeper calling.

The Appointment in the Gateway and the Oil of Anointing

When Saul finally decides to seek out a “seer,” he imagines he is looking for someone who can tell him where the animals are. But God has already spoken to Samuel, telling him exactly when the future king will arrive and how to recognize him. At the gateway of the town, their paths cross.

The contrast is striking: Saul is looking for animals; Samuel is looking for a leader; God is looking for a heart that can be shaped to govern his people. Samuel invites Saul to go up ahead, seats him in the place of honor at the banquet, and only later mentions the donkeys. In other words, Saul’s small problem has become the doorway to a much larger grace.

The story culminates in a hidden, intimate act. Samuel takes a flask of oil, pours it on Saul’s head, and kisses him, saying, “The Lord anoints you commander over his heritage.” In a moment, the man who was searching for animals becomes the anointed leader of Israel. The oil symbolizes the Holy Spirit: Saul is no longer relying only on his natural gifts—his height, strength, and appearance—but is being drawn into God’s own plan to save his people.

Our Takeaway

Together, these readings teach us that God’s timing is perfect, even when our lives feel chaotic.

Trust the detours: your “lost donkeys” may be the very means God is using to bring you where he wants to bless you.

Look for the “seer”: seek spiritual wisdom—through prayer, Scripture, and the counsel of the wise—when you feel lost; God often guides us through the people he places in our path.

Accept the anointing: every baptized Christian has been anointed to share in Christ’s mission. We are called to govern our lives with virtue and to serve “the Lord’s heritage,” the people entrusted to us.

On this Memorial of Saint Anthony, Abbot, we see the same pattern. Anthony left the “ordinary” security of wealth to seek God in the desert, and in that apparent wandering he became a father of monasticism. Whether in the desert or the city, at a tax booth or on a donkey‑hunt, God is ready to pour out his Spirit, to call us by name, and to weave our ordinary stories into his saving work.