What We Hear and See

In this week’s Gospel, John’s question echoes through the ages: “Are you the one… or should we look for another?” And Jesus answers not with argument, but with evidence, with the music of healing, the rhythm of restoration, the signs of a Kingdom breaking in.

The blind open their eyes to light.
The lame rise and walk.
The leper feels skin renewed.
The deaf hear the word spoken.
The dead awaken to life.
The poor receive good news.

This is no theory. It is incarnation.
God among us, repairing what is broken,
touching not only souls but bodies,
not only eternity but the present moment.

We remember the woman who reached for the hem of his garment,
the man lowered through the roof,
the cry of Bartimaeus,
the command “Ephphatha!”—be opened.
We remember Lazarus, Jairus’s daughter,
the widow’s son restored to his mother.

And we remember today:
the quiet miracles of medicine,
the courage of those who suffer,
the peace that descends even in the shadow of illness. Walking alongside my husband in his challenges, I see God’s presence shimmering in the midst of pain, a beauty that does not erase suffering, but fills it with meaning,
with peace,
with hope.

Advent candlelight reminds us, the Kingdom is not far off. It is here, unfolding in what we hear and see. It is Christ, still healing, still proclaiming, still offering himself as peace for every weary heart.