The Surprise of Advent (Matthew 24: 37-44)

There are moments when God breaks into our lives with the force of truth and the tenderness of light. Thich Nhat Hanh once said that the miracle is not walking on water, but simply walking on the earth with full awareness. Even holding a warm cup of tea can become a moment of awakening when the noise inside us settles and we suddenly see life as it is. In that instant of clarity, grace finds us. We do not plan it. We do not control it. It arrives unexpectedly and changes something deep within us. This is the spirit of Advent. A season that begins with a call to holy attentiveness. A readiness born from trust that God is already on His way.

 The Gospel for the first week of advent opens with a startling image: The Son of Man will come like a thief in the night. It is meant to jolt the soul awake. A thief comes silently and takes what is valuable. Christ enters softly to take away what steals life from us. He removes fear heavy in the chest. lifts bitterness we have carried too long, dissolves the quiet self-doubt that drains our courage, breaks the illusion that we must always be strong. And he takes away the chains we never realised were binding us. And He does this in the most astonishing way. The Almighty comes as a Child. The Eternal enters with fragility. The Holy arrives hidden, disguised as ordinariness.

This is the Advent mystery. God does not wait for us to be ready. He comes through the unexpected door, in disruptions, in moments of helplessness, in the sudden silence where our illusions fall away. If we look honestly at our lives, we know this to be true. Most deep God-encounters do not happen in polished, sacred spaces. They happen in the cracks-when a long-held anger suddenly softens, when a word of love surprises us, when suffering makes us strangely gentle, when we are caught by a moment of unexplainable peace. God slips in quietly, almost like a thief, and steals our heart toward grace. The Gospel reminds us that Christ returns even now-in the interruptions of life, in the people we least expect, in the quiet inner stirrings we cannot explain. For when He arrives, He will not merely enter our homes-He will enter our history, our wounds, our waiting, and restore what we thought could never return.

 As Advent begins, may we keep the eyes of our soul open. God may come today in a word, a silence, a tear, a smile, a small act of courage, or the softening of a hardened place within us. May we be ready for the God who breaks in gently, steals our fear, and leaves behind only grace.

-        Lilly Pushpam PBVM

 

The King No One Would Choose (Luke 23:35–43)

If people had been asked to choose their king in that moment in Luke 23:35–43, no one would have chosen him. Why would they? Here stood a man who looked utterly defeated. Mocked openly, beaten without cause, carrying the weight of a punishment that was not his, hanging between criminals with nothing to defend himself. Vulnerability covered him like a crown, and everyone could see it. Nothing about him appeared royal or powerful. And that is what makes the moment so unsettling. We grow up believing strength is loud. We are taught to admire winners, to follow those who command attention, to trust leaders who appear unshakeable. But this king is stripped of every sign of authority the world understands. And still, eyes remain fixed on him. A strange reverence rises for someone who remains true even when everything else is taken away.

 The discomfort comes not only from his suffering, but from the love that continues flowing through it. The forgiveness that refuses to stop. The tolerance that welcomes even those who wound him. It is deeply rare to see someone expected to be great reveal his weakness without shame. His honesty breaks the familiar script of leadership that demands strength at all times. By worldly standards, this king should have no followers. There is no promise of victory, privilege, or security. Nothing visible to celebrate. And yet, someone next to him — a man who has hit the end of his road — sees what others cannot. He recognizes a different kind of strength: the resilience of a heart that absorbs hatred and still responds with mercy. The courage of a spirit that loves while being rejected. The grace of a soul that does not grow bitter even as everything tries to crush it. Perhaps only those who have touched the edges of their own brokenness can recognize greatness in its purest form.

 When he says, “Today you will be with me,” he is not offering a reward. He is offering belonging. Companionship. That is why this king cannot be forgotten. Because in the very moment the world declared him powerless, he revealed a love no hatred could defeat, a forgiveness no sin could limit, a tolerance no prejudice could shrink, a resilience no suffering could overcome. This is the King no one would choose, yet the only King worth following.

  I am reminded of a story, when Alexander the Great was once riding through his camp, a soldier gravely wounded in battle was being carried away. As Alexander approached, the soldier weakly lifted his hand in salute. Alexander immediately dismounted, walked to him, and took his hand in return. The soldier whispered, “My king… I am sorry. I could not be stronger. “Alexander replied, “You have honoured me more by your loyalty in weakness than by strength. “The soldier died holding his king’s hand. It was said that day, a king was most visible not in his victories, but in his willingness to stand beside the broken. This is the opposite of the kings we imagine: not distant, not triumphant, but near the wounded.

A vulnerable King who appears weak, yet draws people by a strength the world cannot understand. A wounded King whose brokenness becomes the source of mercy. CHRIST THE KING, reign in our hearts

 - Lilly Pushpam PBVM

 

 

 

When the Temples of Our Life Fall (Luke 21:5–19)

 

When people were admiring the beauty of the temple, Jesus surprised them by saying, “All these stones will be thrown down.” His words were not only about the building but about something deeper. He was shaking them out of their comfort and reminding them that nothing in this world lasts forever. Jesus was not speaking about walls and stones alone, but about the changes that shake our hearts and lives. Temples are not only made of stone. They can be our lives, our families, our communities, our parishes, or our institutions. We all have temples. Some are given to us, others we build ourselves. Sometimes they are people, places, values, beliefs, or dreams that give us meaning, direction, and security. We depend on them, until one day they begin to fall apart.

 

When that happens, we feel lost. Change pushes us into the unknown. We start worrying about the future and asking, “What will happen now? What should I do?” But Jesus asks us to stay faithful in the present moment. After our temples fall, we may look for someone to blame. Some people give up and lose hope. Others become angry or think it is God’s punishment. Many try to fix things quickly or rebuild what used to be. But Jesus shows us another way. He says, “Do not be led astray. Do not be afraid. Stand firm.” Jesus invites us to be calm and stay steady, not to let fear control us. He asks us to trust that God is with us even when life feels uncertain.

 

If we cannot find God in the ruins, we will not find God anywhere. Jesus calls us to stay faithful and patient, to believe that God is present in the pain, the loss, and the changes of life. Even when everything seems broken, God is at work creating something new. Our endurance, our faith, and our patience are the gifts we can offer God. Slowly, God takes the fallen stones of our lives and rebuilds them. Stone by stone, God restores what was broken and brings beauty out of what seemed ruined. A new temple rises, shaped by God’s love and grace. In time, we realize that we no longer need to hold on to what was. We ourselves have become the temple of God. That is the story worth telling — the story of how God meets us in our ruins and begins to rebuild what we cannot.

 

 I would like to conclude with  this historical anecdote -During World War I, the beautiful Cathedral of Reims in France was bombed and left in ruins. For years, it stood as a broken reminder of what was lost. Yet, the people didn’t abandon it. Stone by stone, they rebuilt it — patiently, lovingly. Today, the cathedral shines again, more beautiful than before. God often does the same with our lives — from ruins to resurrection.

 

- Lilly Pushpam PBVM

When Nothing Changes, Yet Everything Feels Lost (John 2 :13-22)

Jesus wasn’t shocked to see animals and money changers in the Temple. He had grown up seeing them there. It was part of how worship worked, people exchanged Roman coins for temple coins, bought animals, and offered sacrifices. It was normal. It was business as usual. Jesus didn’t come to destroy religion; He came to awaken it. He came to overturn business as usual, that dull, automatic way of living that makes us forget what is holy, what is human, and what is real. Haven’t there been times in your life when you realized that business as usual was costing you your life? Haven’t there been times when you realized that business as usual was leaving you spiritually bankrupt? Haven’t there been times in your life when you were keeping on keeping on but nothing changed?

 

 It can happen anywhere — in families, friendships, marriage, community, or ministry. We see similar thing in religious communities, we can be regular to prayer and still come out of the chapel only to criticize, blame, or speak unkindly of others. We say we are close to God, yet fail to treat our brothers and sisters with love and equality. We live with people in community but often create fixed images of them, never looking at them with fresh eyes. We become so used to each other that we stop seeing the goodness, the mystery, and the presence of God in the other. That too is business as usual.

 

We can easily fall into this trap. Life becomes a list of things to do. We wake up tired, rush through the day, scroll through our phones, say the same polite words, and collapse into bed feeling that nothing has really changed. We smile and say, “I’m fine,” while something inside feels empty. We work hard, but the joy fades. We pray, but it feels mechanical. We care for others, but forget to care for ourselves. We love, but without tenderness. That’s business as usual — when our hearts run dry even while life goes on. We start to move through life half-awake. We look, but don’t really see. We listen, but don’t truly hear. We talk, but don’t connect. We do what is expected, but lose touch with what truly matters.

 

 And beneath it all is forgetfulness. We forget who we are — beloved children of God. We forget that creation is good and that life is meant to be lived, not managed. We forget that God’s Spirit is closer to us than our own breath, and that every ordinary moment holds something sacred. When we forget, life turns into a series of transactions — one more meeting, one more message, one more duty. We start making a living instead of living a life. Our relationships lose warmth. Our world grows small. The heart becomes a marketplace instead of a holy place.

That is what Jesus came to overturn — not just tables in a temple, but everything that keeps us asleep to God’s presence within us. Each time we allow Jesus to disturb our comfort, to challenge our patterns, and to awaken our hearts, the temple of our life begins to rise again. That’s the promise behind His words: “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up. “Christ still walks quietly into the temples of our daily lives — into our busyness, exhaustion, and routines — and whispers:
“Wake up. This place is holy. You are holy. Let Me bring you back to life.”

 

 - Lilly Pushpam PBVM