Homily for the Second Sunday in
Ordinary Time
John 1:29–34
There are moments in life when someone points something out to us—and
afterward we wonder how we ever missed it.
A friend says, “Have you noticed…?”
A parent says, “I want you to listen carefully.”
A doctor says, “We caught this just in time.”
And suddenly, what was always there becomes impossible to ignore.
That is what happens in today’s Gospel.
John the Baptist looks at Jesus and says:
“Behold, the Lamb of God.”
Not listen.
Not consider.
But behold.
Look closely.
Take Him in.
Let your life be reoriented by what you are about to see.
What strikes me most is not just what John says—but what he admits:
“I did not know Him.”
John had devoted his life to preparing the way for the Messiah.
And yet, when Jesus first appeared, John needed God to open his eyes.
That should give us comfort.
Because faith is not about having everything figured out.
It is about being attentive enough to recognize God when He stands in
front of us—sometimes quietly, sometimes unexpectedly.
Years ago, there was a woman in a parish—her name was Evelyn.
Evelyn was widowed young and raised four children on her own.
She worked long hours, packed lunches, got kids to school and church, and
collapsed into bed most nights exhausted.
She loved God deeply, but prayer often consisted of whispered words while
washing dishes.
Years later, her children were grown and gone.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
One evening, while cleaning out a drawer, she found an old parish
bulletin from decades earlier.
Folded inside was a small prayer card with words she had almost
forgotten:
“Lord, what do You want me to do today?”
She remembered praying that prayer years earlier—not for big answers,
just for strength to get through the day.
Now, in the stillness, she prayed it again.
And for the first time, she noticed something:
God was not asking her to do more—He was asking her to listen
more.
Over time, Evelyn became a quiet presence in the parish
praying in the church during the day,
encouraging young families,
speaking gently to teenagers who lingered after Mass.
Several years later, a young man preparing for seminary told her,
“You were the first person who ever asked me if I had thought about
priesthood.”
Evelyn didn’t preach.
She didn’t persuade.
She simply helped someone recognize what God was already doing.
Just like John.
And John does not describe Jesus as powerful or impressive.
He calls Him a Lamb.
That is important.
A lamb is not intimidating.
A lamb does not force obedience.
A lamb must be received.
This is how God comes to us.
Quietly.
Humbly.
Close enough to miss if we are not paying attention.
And God’s Call Is Still Real and still calls today.
He calls through parents who pray faithfully.
Through grandparents who model steady trust.
Through parish communities that make space for silence and courage.
He calls men to priesthood.
He calls men to the diaconate.
He calls women and men to consecrated life.
But most often, He calls softly.
And if no one points, if no one encourages, if no one asks the
question—those calls can fade into the noise of life.
That is why times of discernment matter.
This February, our diocese will offer a retreat opportunity for young
adults ages 18-35 simply to listen—to pray, to ask, to sit with the Lord and
say,
“If You are calling me, help me recognize Your voice.”
It is not a promise.
It is not a commitment.
It is an act of trust.
And trust is where every vocation begins.
And finally,
In just a few moments, during the liturgy of the Eucharist, we will hear
John’s words once again:
“Behold, the Lamb of God.”
Christ will not be distant.
He will not be symbolic.
He will be here—given for us.
May we behold Him with open hearts.
May we recognize Him not only on the altar,
but in the quiet invitations He places within our lives.
And may we, like John,
have the courage to point—
so that others may see.
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