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Beatitude: The Counter-Intuitive Path to Happiness

4th Sunday in Ordinary Time [A]

February 1, 2026

Matthew 5:1-12a

Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount begins with the Eight Beatitudes. Pope St. John Paul II calls the Beatitudes the “Magna Charta of Christianity,” comparing them to the Ten Commandments of the Old Testament. He notes, “They are not a list of prohibitions, but an invitation to a new and fascinating life.” They are indeed an exciting invitation because they address the one fundamental desire we all share: happiness. However, as we read the Beatitudes, we realize that Jesus’ path to happiness is counter intuitive. Why is this?

We tend to believe that possessing wealth is a sign of God’s blessing and the means to our happiness. Yet, Jesus teaches, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.” While Jesus speaks specifically of “poverty of spirit,” our eagerness to achieve major successes, accumulate wealth, and stay at the top often leads to health problems, mental exhaustion, and difficult relationships with our loved ones. Eventually, these pursuits wear down our spirits, and we find we are not truly happy.

We often think that laughter and “good vibes” are the surest signs of happiness, but Jesus says that the one who mourns will be comforted. Sometimes, we forget how to mourn when we lose something precious, such as a loved one. Instead, we try to run from grief by indulging in instant pleasures or endless scrolling, distracting ourselves with busy activities and overworking, or even blaming God. Yet, mourning helps us confront the truth of our fragile nature, rely more on God’s mercy, and ultimately find healing and comfort.

We normally perceive that through strength, aggression, and dominance, we can acquire whatever we desire. Jesus teaches exactly the opposite: the meek will inherit the land, the merciful will receive mercy, and the peacemakers will be called children of God. While this sounds counter-intuitive, when we look around, we realize that so many problems in our families, societies, and environments are caused by human greed, violent aggression, and vengeance. Only when we learn to be gentle, merciful, and peace-loving do we create peace not only within ourselves but also for the people around us.

Often, we unconsciously fill our hearts with ambitions to be the greatest, most powerful, and influential. We allow desires for pleasure and instant gratification to control us, but Jesus reminds us that only the pure in heart can see God. Hence, it is critical to be aware of what contaminates our hearts, to acknowledge these impurities, and to ask for God’s grace to purify them. In the Catholic tradition, this process is the examination of conscience and the confession of sins, through which God’s grace cleanses our hearts and reunites us with Him, the source of our happiness.

Finally, Jesus concludes the Beatitudes by positioning Himself as the endpoint of our happiness. Jesus is not just a wandering wise teacher promoting self-help principles for successful living, but the source of happiness itself. Unless we cling to Him and offer up our hearts to Him, our lives remain fruitless, and eternal happiness remains beyond our reach.

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Valentinus Bayuhadi Ruseno, OP

Guide questions:

Which worldly ambition/s is currently draining my energy, and how might letting go of it bring me more peace? When I feel hurt or overwhelmed, do I tend to numb the pain with distractions (like screens, busy work, or pleasure), or do I bring that grief honestly to God? Is there a conflict in my life where I am trying to “win” through dominance or aggression, rather than resolving it through gentleness and mercy? If I look at my daily habits, do they show that I am seeking happiness primarily in worldly achievements, or in a relationship with Jesus?

Peter and Matthew

3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time [A]

January 25, 2026

Matthew 4:12-23

We are currently journeying through Liturgical Year A, guided by the Gospel of Matthew. A striking feature of this Gospel is the high regard it holds for Simon Peter. But why is this so?

The fresco of St. Matthew the Evangelist in church Chiesa di Santa Maria in Aquiro

A good example is the account of Peter’s confession (Mt 16:13-20; Par: Mar 8:27-30; Luk 9:18-20). While the other Gospels mention Peter correctly identifying Jesus as the Messiah, only Matthew includes the unique blessing Jesus bestows upon him: the new name “Cephas” (Rock) and the authority of the keys to the Kingdom. Another instance is the story of Jesus walking on the water (Mt 14:22-33). While this event is also recorded by Mark (6.45-52) and John (6.15-21), only Matthew reveals Peter’s miraculous walk on the waves—even if he did take only a few steps before sinking and needing Jesus to save him (Mat 14:22-33).

Why does Matthew paint Peter in such a heroic light? If I may speculate, it is possible that Simon and Matthew were acquainted long before Jesus called them, as both were both from Capernaum. Since the Sea of Galilee was the property of the Roman Empire, fishermen were forced to pay heavy taxes to fish there. We can easily imagine: for years, Simon the Fisherman stood before Matthew the Tax Collector. Simon, smelling of fish and sweat, angrily handing over his hard-earned coins to Matthew, the collaborator, the traitor to his people. There was bad blood between them.

Matthew may have been wealthy, perhaps owning a large estate, but he was likely despised by many—some may have even wanted him dead. Deep down, Matthew likely found no peace, living in constant fear and isolation. So, when Matthew finally stood up to follow Jesus, he was walking into a lion’s den. He wasn’t just leaving his tax booth; he was joining a band of men who had every reason to despise him—especially the fishermen of Galilee.

How did he survive in that group? Why even did Matthew eventually write so highly of Simon? I believe it was because Simon Peter, the leader, chose to forgive him, like Jesus had. Peter must have looked past the history of taxes and extortion and embraced Matthew as a brother. Matthew found not just forgiveness of sins in Jesus, but a genuine friend in Peter. Perhaps Simon even encouraged the other apostles to accept Matthew because Jesus had called him.

In following Christ, Matthew found not only peace and the forgiveness of sins but also genuine friendship and a new family. Thus, the deep respect Matthew shows in his Gospel flows not only from Peter’s role as the leader Jesus appointed but also from their personal friendship.

This theory may only be proven when we meet them in heaven, but the lesson is urgent for us today. Jesus calls us personally, but never to isolation. He calls us into a family.

It is easy to love the Jesus we meet in prayer; it is much harder to love the “Matthew” or the “Peter” sitting next to us in the pew. It is not uncommon for us to fail to love our neighbors, refusing to forgive or welcome them. Perhaps unconsciously, we hold onto resentment, contributing to their decision to leave the Church. Yet, if Peter could embrace the man who once taxed him, surely, we can welcome those we find difficult. Let us not be the reason someone feels unwelcome in the Father’s house.

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Valentinus Bayuhadi Ruseno, OP

Who is the ‘tax collector’ in my life, the one person in my family, community and Church I find hardest to forgive or welcome? Am I using my religious activities and devotion as a shield to avoid the messy work of loving the people sitting next to me? How do I bring people closer to Jesus?

Jesus the Lamb of God

Second Sunday in Ordinary Time [C]

January 18, 2026

John 1:29-34

Today, John the Baptist identifies Jesus as “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” For us as Catholics, this title is one of the most familiar, for we proclaim it at every Mass moment before receiving Holy Communion. But do we understand what it means? Why must we make this specific acclaim before approaching the altar?

To grasp the weight of this title, we must look back to the Old Testament. The lamb was the quintessential sacrificial animal of Israel. It was a lamb that served as the sacrifice of the Passover, the instrument through which God saved Israel from death and liberated them from the slavery of Egypt. The lamb was also central to the worship of the Sanctuary: in the “Tamid,” the daily offering (Ex 29:39); the “Olah,” the burnt offering (Lev 1:10); the “Shelamim,” the peace offering (Lev 3:7); and the “Hattat,” the sin offering (Lev 4:32).

We might ask, “Why the lamb?” The reason is partly practical. Sheep were abundant in the ancient world, but unlike other livestock, the lamb offers the least resistance when faced with death. It does not fight; it does not scream. This silence inspired the prophet Isaiah to describe the Suffering Servant: “Like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he opened not his mouth.”

Yet, Jesus is no ordinary lamb. He is the Lamb of God. The Greek phrase ho amnos tou Theou implies not only a lamb belonging to God but a lamb provided by God. Jesus is the perfect victim, prepared not by human hands, but by the Father. He is the fulfillment of Abraham’s prophecy to Isaac: “God himself will provide the lamb.” Because He is of God, He is the only offering truly acceptable to God.

Jesus, therefore, is the Lamb of God because He is the total fulfilment of every ancient sacrifice.

  • Like the Passover Lamb, He is slain and consumed so that we might be spared from eternal death.
  • Like the Tamid, He is offered daily in the Eucharist.
  • Like the Olah, He is given totally in obedience to the Father.
  • Like the Shelamim, He is our peace (Eph 2:14).
  • Like the Hattat, He becomes the offering that cleanses us of sin (2 Cor 5:21).

This is why we cry out, “Lamb of God… have mercy on us.” We are acknowledging that without His perfect sacrifice, we could not be saved from our sins. And finally, when we pray, “Grant us peace,” we confess that without Jesus—our true Peace Offering—there can be no reconciliation between us and the Father.

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Valentinus Bayuhadi Ruseno, OP

Questions for reflection:

“How do we prepare ourselves to worthily receive the sacrifice of Jesus in the Eucharist? How do we participate in the Mass? Do our actions during the liturgy bring us closer to Jesus, or do they distract us? Finally, how do we offer our lives to God through our daily activities?”

Why Jesus Baptized?

Baptism of The Lord [A]

January 11, 2026

Mat 3:13-17

One question that often baffles some of us is: why did Jesus need be baptized by John the Baptist? John himself proclaims that his baptism is a sign of repentance. Those who come to him must first acknowledge their sinfulness and unworthiness, making the baptism of water a visible sign of turning away from sins. Yet, we know that Jesus is sinless [Heb 4:15; 1 Pet 2:22]. How do we understand Jesus’ baptism?

The same question has also puzzled many great Christian thinkers through the ages. While it is impossible to list every interpretation here, St. Proclus, a 5th-century Patriarch of Constantinople, offers a profound insight. In his homily in “Holy Theophany,” he invites us to witness a paradox, “Come then and see new and astounding miracles: The Sun of righteousness washing in the Jordan, fire immersed in water, God sanctified by the ministry of man.” In essence, St. Proclus saw the baptism of Jesus not as a necessity for forgiveness, but as a “miracle of humility.”

When an Israelite came to John to be baptized, it was certainly an act of humility, an acknowledgment before God of their sinfulness and a willingness to repent. However, when the divine Jesus is baptized by the human John, it goes beyond ordinary humility; it is an extraordinary humility, miraculous in nature. St. Proclus teaches that while this astonishing humility was present at Jesus’ birth, the Baptism differs from Christmas. The Nativity was a hidden miracle, but the Baptism was a public event, witnessed by the multitudes, where God the Father openly declared He was pleased with His Son’s act of self-emptying.

This offers a vital lesson for all of us: it is through divine humility that we receive salvation and are sanctified. In His humility, the Son became man and placed Himself under the care of Joseph and Mary. In His humility, Jesus was baptized by John, becoming one with the people He came to save. In His humility, Christ patiently endured the cross, accepting death as the perfect sacrifice for our redemption. Jesus perfectly loves the Father; from this profound love, humility is born; from this extraordinary humility, obedience is engendered; and through Jesus’ obedience throughout His life, we are saved.

We see the necessity of this virtue in the life of St. Philip Neri, a well-loved saint of Rome. The Pope once asked him to investigate a nun who allegedly received visions from the Lord and performed miracles. On his way to her convent, rain poured down heavily, turning the streets to mud. The holy man continued his journey, though his clothes were drenched and his boots caked in mud. Upon his arrival, the nun greeted him, excited to share her visions with such a famous priest. However, the first thing St. Philip asked was for her to help him remove his soiled boots. She was infuriated, scolding him and declaring that such a request was too demeaning for a spiritual woman like her.

St. Philip immediately returned to the Vatican. He reported to the Pontiff, “Holy Father, she is not a saint.” When the Pope asked how he could reach such a conclusion so quickly, Philip replied, “She has no humility. And where there is no humility, there can be no sanctity.”

As Jesus teaches us this lesson today, let us ask the Lord for this same gift, that we may follow His example and truly grow in holiness.

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Valentinus Bayuhadi Ruseno, OP

Do I tend to separate myself from others I consider “lesser” or “sinful”? Do I view humility as a weakness that damages my reputation, or do I view it as a divine strength that I should actively seek? If I find it hard to be obedient to God or lawful authority, is it actually because I am lacking the humility and love that must come first?

The Magi and Herod

Epiphany [A]

January 4, 2026

Matthew 2:1-12

The story of the Magi is a powerful one because they do not come from the Jewish people, and yet they sincerely seek the newborn King of Israel. The identity of the Magi remains a mystery. The Greek word magos—from which the English word magic is derived—refers to a person learned in the ancient sciences. These ancient sciences were very different from modern ones: experiment and myth, natural observation and ritual, were often intertwined. This was a period when astronomy was closely linked with astrology, and chemistry with alchemy.

Although not stated explicitly in Scripture, many traditions identify the Magi as the three kings from the East. Tertullian (d. AD 225), interpreting the Epiphany account in light of Psalm 72 and Isaiah 60, refers to the Magi as kings. While the Magi were not necessarily kings, they were likely men of high status, since Herod, the king of Jerusalem, received them and treated them with respect. The number three is commonly derived from the three gifts offered to Christ: gold, frankincense, and myrrh. The earliest clear evidence for three Magi appears in a sixth-century mosaic in the Church of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo in Ravenna, Italy. The names Melchior, Gaspar, and Balthasar emerge in Latin tradition around the same period.

The story of the Magi becomes even more striking when they are contrasted with their Jewish counterparts: Herod, the king of Jerusalem, and the Jewish scholars. When Herod heard the news, he immediately consulted the learned men of his court. After carefully examining the Scriptures, they confirmed the Magi’s discovery and identified Bethlehem as the birthplace of the newborn king. Yet, unlike the Magi—who used their wisdom and knowledge to honor the child—Herod and his learned advisors used their understanding of Scripture to plot the destruction of the promised Messiah.

The contrast between the Magi and Herod becomes a paradigm for what would later happen to Jesus. At the beginning of His life, Jesus was honored by Gentile Magi but sought for destruction by Herod and his advisors. Likewise, at the end of His earthly life, Jesus was condemned by the chief priests and religious leaders, accused of being a false Messiah, while He was recognized by a Roman centurion as the Son of God.

Finally, after the Magi found Jesus and paid Him homage, they returned home by a different way. This detail carries profound symbolism: encountering Jesus leads to true repentance and transformation. We may be busy studying Scripture, engaging in charitable works, or serving in Church ministries, but if we do not truly find Jesus in them, there is no genuine conversion. Without finding Jesus, we may end up finding only ourselves. The danger is that this leads either to frustration when we fail or to pride when we succeed. In either case, we do not find true happiness. Like Herod and his advisors, we may even misuse our knowledge of faith in ways that harm our spiritual life and weaken our faith in Christ.

Rome

Valentinus Bayuhadi Ruseno, OP

Guide Questions:
Am I more like the Magi or like Herod and his advisors in the way I seek Jesus? How do I use the knowledge and gifts God has given me? Do my religious activities truly bring me into an encounter with Jesus? Or have Scripture, ministry, and service become ends in themselves? In what ways has encountering Christ changed my direction in life? What prevents me from recognizing Christ when He comes quietly and vulnerably?

Joseph the Just Man

4th Sunday of Advent [C]

December 21, 2025

Matthew 1:18-24

As we approach Christmas, the Gospel introduces us to the key figures surrounding the Messiah’s birth. Among them is Joseph, the foster father of Jesus. Matthew the Evangelist gives him a profound title: a “just man.” What does it mean to be like Joseph? What does it mean to be just?

Matthew uses the Greek word “δίκαιος” (dikaios), typically translated as “just” or “righteous.” In the Biblical context, being just means living in faithful obedience to God’s Law, particularly the Torah given through Moses at Sinai. This adjective is highly significant for an Israelite. Scripture consistently links the “just” person—one who lives by God’s Law—with true happiness and blessing. Psalm 1 declares, “Happy are those who… delight in the law of the Lord, and meditate on his law day and night.” Proverbs similarly praise, “The memory of the just is blessed” (10:7). Why is this life of justice so praiseworthy and fulfilling?

The answer lies in how the Israelites understood God’s Law. They did not view it primarily as a restriction on freedom, but as a gift of love and identity. God gave the Law at Sinai after choosing Israel as His holy nation. Therefore, living the Law was not merely an obligation; it was a sign of their covenant fidelity and their very identity as God’s people. Fundamentally, they saw the Law as God’s gracious guidance—the pathway to avoid the pitfalls of misery and to draw closer to Him, the source of all blessing.

Consequently, Joseph is called “just” because he is the true Israelite who meditates on, loves, and lives by God’s Law. During His formative years, Jesus would have received from Joseph not only a knowledge of the Law’s letters but also Joseph’s own love for God and His commandments. In Joseph, Jesus and Mary saw a happy and righteous man.

From St. Joseph, we learn to love God through faithful obedience. However, we must also avoid the trap of rigidity and legalism, which absolutizes the letter of the law over its spirit. Had Joseph chosen a rigid legalism, he might have applied the strictest penalty to Mary upon discovering her pregnancy, that is stoning. Yet, his justice was perfected by mercy. He recognized that the Law’s ultimate purpose is to love God and neighbor, leading him to protect Mary’s life. Joseph was a happy man because, through the Law, he loved God profoundly.

Finally, Jesus Himself holds the “just” in high esteem. He teaches, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness” (Matthew 5:6), and promises, “Then the just will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father” (13:43). While Joseph is not named explicitly in these verses, it is fitting to see in these verses a reflection of his own virtue—virtue that shaped the Holy Family.

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Valentinus Bayuhadi Ruseno, OP

Questions for Meditation:

Do I strive to know God’s Law as revealed in Scripture and taught by the Church?

Do I meditate on God’s commandments, seeking the wisest way to live them out in love for God and my neighbor?

Do I follow rules blindly, or do I seek to understand the spirit and purpose behind them? How do I treat those who struggle to live by them?

Our Expectations

Third Sunday of Advent [A]

December 14, 2025

Matthew 11:2-11

John the Baptist sends his disciples to ask Jesus a pivotal question: “Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?” This moment reveals a profound uncertainty in John—a man who had dedicated his life to preparing the way for the Messiah. Why, then, does he doubt?

For Christians today, Jesus’ identity is clear. Yet what is evident to us was not always obvious to others, even to someone as faithful as John. A fundamental reason many struggles to recognize Jesus as the One is that He often does not meet human expectations.

John’s situation illustrates this. He had devoted himself entirely to God’s mission—to herald the coming of the Messiah. But after challenging Herod to repent, he finds himself imprisoned and in mortal danger. In that dark hour, he wonders: Had he fulfilled God’s will, or had he labored in vain? God had already revealed Jesus’ identity to John at the Jordan (Mk 1:9; Mt 3:13–17; Lk 3:21–22; Jn 1:29–34) yet doubt lingered. Jesus did not fully align with John’s expectations.

What were those expectations? Like many Israelites, John may have awaited a Davidic Messiah—a political liberator who would unite Israel, overthrow Roman rule, and restore national glory. Or perhaps John expected someone who mirrored his own ascetic lifestyle: a figure of severe simplicity, fasting, and prophetic austerity. Yet Jesus did not come as a nationalist rebel, nor did He live like John. Instead, He pointed to the works He performed: “The blind regain their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised…” (Lk 7:22). These were divine acts, signs that authenticated His mission, even if He did not fit human preconceptions.

From John’s story, we learn a powerful lesson: God remains God, whether He meets our expectations or not. Indeed, God often does not conform to our limited images of Him. This invites us to continually examine our own expectations and adjust them in light of His revelation. It is humbling to realize that even John the Baptist—the greatest of prophets—experienced uncertainty and held expectations that needed refining.

As we grow spiritually, we are called to seek God more than we seek our own desires. This requires honest reflection: What are our expectations of God? Are they drawing us closer to Him or pushing us away? We believe God is good, but how do we expect that goodness to manifest? Does it mean we always get what we want? That our prayers are answered exactly as we wish? That we will be spared from suffering? And when God does not meet our expectations, how do we respond? If we become unhappy, frustrated, angry, or even embittered, the problem may lie not with God, but with our expectations. This season of Advent invites us once again to purify our expectations and allow God to be our God.

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Valentinus Bayuhadi Ruseno, OP

Questions for reflection:

What expectations do I hold about God? How do I envision God working in my life? How do I respond when God does not meet my expectations? Are my expectations drawing me nearer to God, or are they creating distance?

Integrity

Second Sunday of Advent [A]

December 7, 2025

Matthew 3:1-12

John the Baptist’s denunciation of the Pharisees and Sadducees as a “brood of vipers” stands as one of the most startling and confrontational moments in the Gospels. To modern ears, it sounds like a severe insult. Why would John use such harsh language?

To understand his words, we must first look at John himself. He was widely recognized as a prophet of God, a man of unwavering integrity whose life embodied his message. Calling for repentance and a return to God, he himself lived in radical austerity—clothed in camel’s hair, sustained by locusts and wild honey—embodying the penitence he preached. This consistency between word and deed established his credibility, drawing multitudes to the Jordan to be baptized as a sign of their repentance.

Among those who came were Pharisees and Sadducees. While these two groups held significant theological differences—such as the Pharisees’ belief in resurrection and a broader canon of Scripture, unlike the Sadducees—they shared a common belief: both claimed a superior piety based on their expert knowledge of the Law. This knowledge became a platform for privilege, placing them in positions of honor and authority (see Luke 14:7-11).

The core issue, however, was hypocrisy. Many among them sought honor without practicing the integrity that earns true respect. They prayed, fasted, and gave alms conspicuously, performing religiosity as a public spectacle rather than an inward transformation. A faith devoid of integrity is, in essence, hypocrisy.

John identified them as a “brood of vipers” because, like the ancient serpent that deceived Eve, their deception led people away from God. They came to the Jordan not in genuine repentance, but to co-opt John’s popularity and perpetuate a façade of piety. Seeing through their intentions, John rebuked them sharply: “Bear fruit worthy of repentance” (Mat 3:8).

The danger of hypocrisy did not end with the religious leaders of the first century. It remains a temptation for anyone deeply invested in religious life—ourselves included. Attending church, participating in ministries, and performing devotional acts can, without integrity and repentance, become a deceptive routine. Hypocrisy harms not only the hypocrite but also the community. It can disillusion the faithful, wound the sincere, and provide those hostiles to faith with ammunition to ridicule believers. It is not rare that because of them, some people leave the Church all together.

Advent serves as a prophetic wake-up call, echoing John the Baptist’s cry across the centuries. Our religious practices—whether the Eucharist, confession, devotions, or service—must be intimately linked to authentic repentance and a sincere pursuit of holiness.

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Valentinus Bayuhadi Ruseno, OP

Questions for Reflection:

  • What motivates my religious activities—a desire to be seen and praised, or a genuine love for God?
  • Do my daily choices reflect the faith I proclaim? Do I persist in habits contrary to the Gospel while maintaining external observance?
  • Do I judge others while failing to live up to the standards I demand of myself?

First and Second Advent

First Sunday of Advent [A]
November 30, 2025
Matthew 24:37-44

We begin the liturgical year by celebrating the First Sunday of Advent. The word “Advent” comes from the Latin “Adventus,” meaning “arrival.” In the Catholic context, Advent signifies the arrival of Jesus Christ. Our faith teaches that Jesus comes to the world in two ways. His first coming was in the flesh, when the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, the divine and uncreated Logos, became man and lived in first-century Palestine. His second coming will be at the end of time, when He will return as the Judge of the living and the dead.

This duality of Christ’s coming is reflected in the Sunday readings throughout Advent. The first and second Sundays focus primarily on the second coming of Jesus, while the third and fourth Sundays speak more of His first coming. This pattern is crucial because it teaches us that Advent—and, by extension, Christmas—is not only about the birth of a baby in Bethlehem but also about the return of Christ the King. The first arrival highlights Jesus’ tenderness and mercy, while the second reveals His divine justice.

Therefore, Advent invites us into two distinct modes of waiting: a joyful anticipation of the loving infant Jesus, and a sober awareness of the divine judgment of Christ the King. Maintaining this tension is challenging, as we often favor one aspect over the other. Some focus exclusively on the joy of the Nativity, forgetting the need to prepare for God’s judgment. Others live in constant fear of divine wrath, overlooking God’s profound love and mercy.

Though difficult, holding both truths in balance is essential for our salvation. Jesus Himself warns His disciples that in the days of Noah, people were absorbed in their daily lives when the flood suddenly came. Conversely, if we are trapped in fear and anxiety about hell, we cannot live the joyful life God intends. So, how do we maintain a healthy balance between these two kinds of waiting?

The answer lies in what we can call the “third” coming of Christ. If the first Advent is His incarnation and the second is His role as Judge, this third coming occurs between these two. It is Christ’s daily arrival in our lives through various means. Jesus promised to be with us until the end of time (Matthew 28:20). He comes to us in the Sacraments, especially the Eucharist, where He is fully present under the appearances of bread and wine. When we worship Him at Mass with reverence, we form our souls to properly welcome Him as the King of the Universe.

When we regularly read Scripture and live according to God’s word, we are conformed to the likeness of Christ. Then, when He comes as Judge, He will recognize us as His own. When we dedicate time to prayer, devotion, and adoration, we familiarize ourselves with the voice of our Shepherd. Thus, at His second coming, we will know exactly which voice to follow when the King calls our name.

Surabaya

Valentinus Bayuhadi Ruseno, OP

Questions for Reflection:

  • How do we prepare for Christmas? Is our preparation focused on external things like decorations, travel, and new clothes? Or do we prioritize spiritual preparation by striving to live more fully according to God’s will?
  • How do we prepare for Jesus’ second coming with joy rather than fear? Do we attend Mass out of obligation, habit, or a genuine desire to worship God?

The King on the Cross

The Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe
November 23, 2025
Luke 23:35-43

As the liturgical year draws to a close, the Church proclaims a startling truth: Jesus Christ is King of the Universe. But what can this mean?

Jesus’ life defies every worldly notion of kingship. He is not a king who commands powerful armies or controls vast resources. He possesses neither soldiers nor gold. In fact, He died the most humiliating death, nailed to a cross under the mocking accusation, “This is the King of the Jews.” Most of His disciples had fled, leaving only a few faithful women to witness His tragic end. So, we must ask: what kind of king is this?

The answer is revealed precisely at the cross. Here, in the midst of injustice and mockery, Jesus redefines kingship. Even the two criminals crucified beside Him initially joined in the taunts (Mk 15:32). But then, something extraordinary happens. One of them has a change of heart and turns to Jesus, saying, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom (Luk 23:42).” In this moment of utter despair, the “good thief” recognizes Jesus as a real king at His throne.

What caused this dramatic shift? The key lies in the thief’s own words to his companion: “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? We have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong (23:40-41).” He knew Jesus was innocent.

Yet, more than just His innocence, the good thief saw something more. He witnessed a profound and unsettling grace. Amid the injustice, he heard no curse or bitter word from Jesus. Instead, he heard, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing (23:34).” While the world hurled its anger, hatred, and violence at Him, Jesus did not amplify it with revenge. He embraced it, allowing it to stop with Him, and answered with a word of forgiveness.

The good thief realized that true power is not the ability to inflict suffering, to enrich oneself, to gain more power over oneself, but rather the strength to bear suffering and transform it into occasion of love. Jesus, stripped of all earthly power, wielded the greatest weapon of all: self-sacrificing love. He demonstrated that not even the cross could stop Him from loving—even loving those who sought His destruction.

And in that moment of recognition and humble request—“remember me”—the King exercises His true authority. Jesus doesn’t only promise a future reward; He proclaims a present reality: “Today you will be with me in Paradise.” Jesus, the King, transforms the darkest moment of a condemned criminal into the paradise.

This is the power of Christ our King. He invites us, like the good thief, to recognize His authority and embrace the law of love. When we do, He begins the same work of transformation in us, turning our own moments of pain, confusion, and sin into foretastes of His Kingdom.

Surabaya

Valentinus Bayuhadi Ruseno, OP

Questions for Reflection:

  • The citizens of God’s Kingdom are peacemakers who seek justice without vengeance. When others hurt us, what is our response? Do we avoid them, wish them harm, or seek to inflict the same pain? Or do we, like our King, pray for their conversion?
  • The citizens of the Kingdom are the pure in heart. What fills our inner world? Is it hatred, bitterness, and anger? Or is it forgiveness, compassion, and the things of God?