Feast of St John, Apostle and Evangelist

12/27/2025 (Saturday) Today’s Gospel reading: John 20:1A AND 2-8

1A On the first day of the week,
2 Mary Magdalene ran and went to Simon Peter, and to the other disciple, whom Jesus loved, and she said to them, “They have taken the Lord away from the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.”
3 Peter, therefore, went out, and that other disciple, and they came to the tomb.
4 And they both ran together, and that other disciple did outrun Peter, and came first to the tomb.
5 And when he bowed down, he saw the linen cloths lying there, but he did not yet enter.
6 Then Simon Peter arrived, following him, and he entered the tomb, and he saw the linen cloths lying there,
7 And the napkin that had been over his head, not placed with the linen cloths, but in a separate place, wrapped up by itself.
8 Then the other disciple, who had arrived first at the tomb, also entered. And he saw and believed.

12/27/2025 (Saturday) Today’s Gospel reflection / homily / sermon: John 20:1A AND 2-8

When Faith Begins with an Empty Tomb

The story in the Gospel reading above begins in the quiet hours of the morning, a time when grief still lingers and hope feels fragile. Mary Magdalene comes carrying sorrow, expecting nothing more than to mourn. Instead, she finds absence, an empty tomb. What first appears to be loss becomes the doorway to new understanding. This moment reminds us that God often works precisely where we think everything has ended.

In our lives today, we encounter many “empty tomb” moments. A job ends unexpectedly. A relationship changes in ways we did not choose. A plan we worked hard for suddenly collapses. Our first reaction is often fear or confusion. Like Mary, we rush to conclusions shaped by pain rather than possibility. We assume something precious has been taken away, not realizing that God may be preparing something entirely new.

Peter and the other disciple respond differently. They run toward the uncertainty. Their movement itself is a lesson: faith does not always begin with clarity, but with the courage to seek. In the modern world, this seeking might look like asking difficult questions, returning to prayer after disappointment, or choosing to hope again after failure. Running toward truth, even when we do not fully understand it, is already an act of faith.

When they arrive, they notice details such as the linen cloths, the stillness, and the unexpected order. Nothing is forced, nothing is chaotic. God’s work is often quiet yet intentional. Today, we can miss these signs because we expect dramatic answers. But sometimes God speaks through small confirmations: a timely conversation, an unexpected opportunity, or a calm assurance in the middle of anxiety. These details, when noticed, slowly reshape our understanding.

The beloved disciple enters, sees, and believes. Nothing outward has changed yet. There is no visible proof, no grand announcement. Belief rises not from certainty but from trust formed over time. This reflects how faith often grows today. A student who keeps choosing honesty despite peer pressure begins to believe that integrity matters. A healthcare worker who continues to serve compassionately despite exhaustion begins to trust that love has meaning. A parent who forgives repeatedly begins to believe that grace is stronger than resentment.

This passage teaches us that faith matures when we allow experience to meet reflection. The disciple does not deny the confusion; he moves through it. In the same way, faith today does not require ignoring doubt. It invites us to bring doubt into dialogue with memory, remembering how God has acted before, how goodness has emerged from loss, and how light has followed darkness.

The empty tomb also challenges our expectations. We often look for God in places of power, success, and certainty but God reveals new life in absence, vulnerability, and quiet transformation. In modern terms, resurrection moments happen when someone finds purpose after burnout, when a community rebuilds after disaster, or when forgiveness restores what anger once destroyed. These are not loud miracles, but deeply real ones.

The Gospel reading today invites us to believe that endings are not always final. What looks empty may be full of promise. What seems like loss may be an invitation to deeper faith. The resurrection does not erase wounds; it transforms them into sources of hope.

May we learn to run toward uncertainty with trust, to notice the quiet signs of God’s work, and to believe even when we do not yet see clearly that new life is already unfolding. The empty tomb reminds us that God’s greatest works often begin where we least expect them.

Go here to read further Gospel reflection.