There is a heartbreaking quietness in today’s Gospel. Jesus speaks of John the Baptist—the fiery, zealous prophet who came to prepare the way, and says simply: "they did not recognize him."
How often is this true in our own lives? We walk through our days so consumed by our own worries, our schedules, or our expectations of how things "should" be, that we miss the people standing right in front of us. We miss the lonely neighbor, the struggling coworker, or the family member needing a kind word. Like the people of John’s time, we fail to offer the most basic hospitality: the hospitality of being truly seen.
On this feast of Saint Lucy, whose name means "light," we are invited to step out of that blindness. But to open our eyes and our hearts to the needs of others takes tremendous courage. It is scary to be vulnerable. It is risky to let people in, especially when our own reserves feel low.
This is where St. Elizabeth Ann Seton offers us a gentle, steadying hand. She whispers a simple truth to our anxious hearts: "Our God loves us; that is our comfort."
This isn’t just a pious thought; it is a place of refuge. Mother Seton knew profound loss and difficulty, yet she found that God's love was the hearth fire that never went out. When we truly believe that this love holds us, that we are safe, cherished, and never alone, our fear begins to melt. We don't have to protect ourselves so fiercely. We can afford to be generous.
Real hospitality flows from this sense of comfort. It is the act of saying to another, "God loves me, and there is room in that love for you, too."
Today, let us pray not just for the strength to do great things, but for the softness to see the "Elijahs" in our midst, the unexpected guests who need our welcome. May we rest in the comfort of God’s love so deeply that it spills over, warming everyone we meet.
