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Clay of the Ground

1st Sunday of Lent [A]

February 22, 2026

Genesis 2:7-9, 3:1-7

Traditionally, the Gospel reading for the first Sunday of Lent is the story of Jesus in the wilderness for forty days, where He fasted and was tempted by Satan. However, in this reflection, we will look deeper into the first reading from the Book of Genesis.

The Church combines two stories in this first reading: the creation of Adam (Gen 2:7-9) and the fall of our first parents (Gen 3:1-7). In order to do this, the lectionary skips around 16 verses (Gen 2:10-25), omitting Adam’s activities in the Garden of Eden and the creation of Eve. I believe the reason is not purely practical (simply avoiding overly long reading), but rather that the Church wishes to show us a hidden truth that connects the two stories.

First, we must recognize that the story of the creation of Adam is not merely a biological lesson, but a profound theological truth. Adam was created from the dust of the ground (עפר מן־האדמהapar min ha-adama). We, as humans, are nothing but mere soil—fragile, dirty, and essentially worthless. In fact, there is a clear play on words in Hebrew to remind us of our lowly origin: the word Adam (the first man) is almost identical to the word for ground (Adama).

However, the Book of Genesis pushes further by pointing out that while we are nothing, God is everything; while we are powerless, God is omnipotent. Yet, despite the infinite gap between God and us, the author of Genesis reveals God’s immense love for humanity. Depicted as a divine artisan with His skillful hands and life-giving breath, God formed this worthless dust into one of His most refined creatures. Furthermore, God made us His co-workers in His Garden, entrusting us to care for the other creatures. We are who we are solely because of God’s love.

Moving to chapter 3, the serpent tempts Adam and Eve. His strategy is simple yet extremely effective. He claimed that God was not telling the truth and that God did not want Adam and Eve to be like Him, thus forbidding them to eat the fruit. The idea of being like God was extremely attractive, and pride began to corrupt their hearts. They desired to be like God without God, acting as His rivals rather than living as His servants. They forgot the most fundamental truth about themselves: they are nothing but dust, and everything good they have comes from God. Consequently, they fell.

By joining the stories of Adam’s creation and his fall, the Church teaches us that when pride poisons our hearts, we begin to ignore our humble origins and are doomed to fall. As St. John Chrysostom stated in a 4th-century homily: “[the story of Adam’s creation] is to teach us a lesson in humility, to suppress all pride, and to convince us of our own lowliness. For when we consider the origin of our nature, even if we should soar to the heavens in our achievements, we have a sufficient cause for humility in remembering that our first origin was from the earth.”

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Valentinus Bayuhadi Ruseno, OP

Guide questions:

In what areas of my life do I forget my humble origins (“dust”) and fail to recognize that all my gifts, talents, and successes ultimately come from God? How does pride manifest in my daily choices? Do I sometimes try to be “like God without God” by seeking total control over my life, rather than trusting Him as His servant and co-worker? When I “soar to the heavens” in my earthly achievements, what practical practices can I adopt to stay grounded and remember my fundamental reliance on God’s love?

Jesus and the Law

Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time [C]

February 15, 2026

Matthew 5:17-37

Jesus makes it crystal clear that He came to fulfill the Law rather than abolish it. However, a deeper question remains: “Why is the Old Testament Law so vital that Jesus Himself felt bound to fulfill it?”

We often view laws and regulations as constraints that bind our freedom and limit our movement—something external imposed upon us. Yet, when we look at the bigger picture, we realize that laws are an integral part of almost all human communities. Even in the smallest contexts, such as the family, children obey their parents’ commands, even though they are often unwritten. Certainly, the larger and more complex a society becomes, the larger and more sophisticated the body of laws required.

Laws are necessary precisely because they guarantee the common good. By incentivizing those who contribute to society and punishing those who harm it, laws ensure the proper functioning and flourishing of the human community. Just as we use our minds to control our passions and govern ourselves toward genuine personal growth, we create laws to check our collective harmful behaviors and guide our society toward progress. Laws are not merely external impositions; they are the products of human reason designed to help us live better.

We can also view laws as tools to help us “domesticate” ourselves. Just as we domesticate wolves to transform them into dogs—taming their wildness to make them into helpful companions—so too do we subject our aggressive and violent natures to the rule of law to make ourselves into more mature individuals.

This brings us back to Jesus. While human minds are imperfect and therefore create imperfect laws, God’s mind is perfect and creates laws that are infallible (Ps 19:7). This is why Jesus clearly revealed His purpose: to fulfill God’s laws, not to abolish them. If human laws are designed to form us into better members of human society, then God’s laws are designed to form us into perfect men and women, ready for the Kingdom of Heaven.

However, Jesus also recognized that some regulations in the Old Testament were directed specifically at the ancient Israelites rather than at all people of all times. In fact, some laws, such as the regulation on divorce (Matt 5:31), were obviously enacted as a result of God’s concession to the hardness of human hearts.

Therefore, fulfilling the Law does not mean that Jesus simply endorsed all Old Testament regulations. Rather, He purified and re-taught them with greater clarity, specifically revealing the “heart” of the laws themselves. For instance, when Jesus reaffirmed the Ten Commandments, He pointed to the truth that killing and violence toward fellow human beings are rooted in the wrath within our own hearts. Unless we are able to control this internal anger, we are bound to harm others, leading to the destruction of life (Matt 5:21-22).

Ultimately, Jesus demonstrates that the Law is not a set of cold restrictions, but a path toward spiritual maturity and internal transformation. By fulfilling the Law, He invites us to move beyond mere outward obedience and instead embrace a heart aligned with the perfect love of God.

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Valentinus Bayuhadi Ruseno, OP

Guide questions:

Do I view God’s commandments as burdens that restrict my freedom, or as a loving pathway designed for my genuine growth and happiness? Jesus teaches that violence begins internally; what hidden anger or resentment am I holding onto that prevents me from having a truly pure heart?Am I merely following the rules to appear “good” on the outside, or am I allowing God’s Law to tame my nature and transform me for His Kingdom?

Purifying One’s Heart

5th Sunday in Ordinary Time [A]

February 8, 2026

Matthew 5:13-16

Continuing His Sermon on the Mount, Jesus reveals our identity as the “light of the world.” As such, our light must shine and be seen by others. Interestingly, only one chapter after this teaching, Jesus instructs His listeners: “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them” (Mt 6:1). At first glance, it may seem that Jesus is contradicting Himself. How are we to understand this?

While these instructions appear opposing, they are, in essence, complementary. The bridge between these two statements is intention: is the action meant to glorify the Lord or simply to seek personal glory? As Matthew 5:16 suggests, the motivation behind our good works is decisive. If we perform noble deeds to receive personal recognition, they lose their merit before the Lord. However, if we sincerely desire to lead people to God, our efforts truly please Him rather than men.

The Art of Discernment

Recognizing our true intentions is never a child’s play. It requires us to dwell in silence and reflect deeply on our actions and the motivations behind them. In the Catholic tradition, we call this spiritual process discernment; in our Dominican tradition, it is a vital part of contemplation. In modern scientific terms, this is meta-cognition—the act of “thinking about thinking.”

To practice this discernment, we can follow three simple steps:

  1. Seek the Virtue of Humility The ability to recognize our deepest intentions begins with God’s grace softening our hearts. Without humility, we may never consider that something might be “off” with our actions. Humility empowers us to face the unpolished parts of our humanity with contrition, leading to repentance. It acts as a sensor, detecting hidden motives driven by pride or self-interest.
  2. Ask Difficult Questions We must be attentive to our emotional reactions. Ask yourself: “When others ignore or fail to appreciate my good deeds, do I feel sad, angry, or disappointed? Do I lose the motivation to continue?” If the answer is yes, the motivation may be self-centered. Another vital question is: “If these good works were taken away from me, would I feel deeply pained or resentful?” Such a reaction often indicates an unhealthy attachment, suggesting we view the work as “ours” rather than “the Lord’s.”
  3. Request the Purification of Intentions Once we become aware of our interior motivations, we should not be discouraged or stop doing good. Even if our intentions are mingled with selfish desires, God’s grace is constantly working to sanctify us. To purify your heart:
    • Be grateful for every opportunity to do good, whether the task is big or small, a success or a failure.
    • Redirect praise: When people appreciate your deeds, invite them to thank the Lord with you.
    • Embrace criticism: Be thankful for those who criticize you, as they can be instruments of your spiritual purification.

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Valentinus Bayuhadi Ruseno, OP

Guide Questions:
What are our good works we do for our families, our community and the Church? When others ignore or fail to appreciate my good deeds, do I feel sad, angry, or disappointed? Do I lose the motivation to continue? If these good works were taken away from me, would I feel deeply pained or resentful? Do I prioritize our ministries more than my family?

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.

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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?