Christmas @ Ss. Francis and Clare, Birch Run

The Open Door: Finding Grace in the No Vacancy Sign 

The Dark Night of Expectation (Isaiah)
We are gathered tonight in the deepest hour of the year. The long nights of Advent have led us to this moment of profound expectation—a moment described by the Prophet Isaiah with stark beauty: 

"The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light."

What is this darkness Isaiah speaks of? It is not merely the absence of the sun. It is the darkness of human history: the darkness of war, the darkness of injustice, the perpetual shadow of the human condition where hope often seems a fragile commodity. It is the darkness of the "heavy yoke" and the "rod of the oppressor," the burdens we carry in our own souls—anxiety, fear, guilt, and the pervasive sense that we are ultimately alone. We have all walked in this darkness, looking for a break in the cloud.

The Promise of the Prince of Peace
But Isaiah assures us that the darkness is not final. He promises a light that is not flickering, but great. He promises a divine child, a counselor, a mighty God, a Prince of Peace. This promise is not just for ancient Israel; it is the fundamental reason we are here tonight, seeking the fulfillment of this prophecy in the tiny town of Bethlehem.

The Tragedy of the Innkeeper (Luke)
The Gospel of Luke delivers the historical fulfillment, yet it opens with what appears to be a mundane tragedy: 

"...because there was no room for them in the inn."

The Heart that is Too Full
The unnamed innkeeper of Bethlehem is the silent antagonist of the Christmas story. He was a man with a mandate—to provide shelter—but he was limited by the practicalities of business, overcrowding, and, perhaps, a lack of imaginative charity. He saw an exhausted man, a woman about to give birth, and he calculated the cost versus the convenience. He simply could not see the grace standing on his doorstep.

The Closed Door of the Soul
The innkeeper represents the part of all of us that is too busy, too preoccupied, and too closed off to the unexpected arrival of God. Our hearts, our schedules, our priorities—these often display the ‘no vacancy’ sign. The irony is excruciating: The one place in the world God needed to be sheltered was a human dwelling, and the human dwelling turned Him away. Because the front door was closed, God arrived at the back door, among the animals, in the poverty of the stable.

The Porter of Grace: Blessed Solanus Casey
This profound truth—that God arrives where we least expect Him—brings us to the life of a modern saint, Blessed Father Solanus Casey.

Christmas Eve: The Start of a Vocation
The significance of Christmas to Father Solanus is deep, for Christmas Eve was the very start of his journey into religious life. Exhausted from his travels, the young Bernard Casey knocked on the door of the Capuchin monastery in Detroit in 1896. He was received, found rest, and awoke to the sounds of Midnight Mass. 

For Solanus, Christmas was literally the door through which his life’s work began.

The Simplicity of the Doorkeeper
Despite his limitations as a "simplex priest," the monastery assigned him the humble, essential task of porter—the doorkeeper. This restriction became his greatest grace. He spent decades answering the bell at St. Bonaventure’s, seeing thousands of people.

He never put up a 'no vacancy' sign. Where the innkeeper saw a bother, Solanus saw a brother. Where the innkeeper saw a liability, Solanus saw an opportunity for grace. Through him, countless miracles of healing and conversion took place, not because of his sermons, but because of what he received at the door. He was God's open door.

The Appearance of Saving Grace (Titus)
The second reading tonight, from the letter to Titus, explains this dynamic perfectly: 

"For the grace of God has appeared, saving all."

Grace for the Simple Shepherds
Grace is not something earned; it is something that appears. It is an unexpected, unmerited gift, and it appeared in the most unassuming of ways: a baby, born in a feeding trough.

This is the theology of the shepherds. They were the absolute antithesis of the innkeeper: poor, marginalized, and without status. Yet, when the Angel of the Lord appeared, shining the glory of God around them, they ran to the stable. They had room in their hearts for the unexpected.

God's Preference for Humility
This is the great parallel to Solanus Casey. Just as God revealed His majesty to the simple shepherds, He chose the simple porter to demonstrate His miraculous power. God works powerfully through what the world deems simple and lowly.

The Challenge: "Thank God Ahead of Time"
The entire spirituality of Father Solanus can be summed up in his signature phrase: "Thank God ahead of time."

Radical Trust and Vulnerability
This is not simple optimism; it is radical theological trust. It means having the faith of the shepherds, who followed an Angel's word without seeing the final result. It means standing in the darkness Isaiah speaks of and thanking God for the light that is coming.

We must remember why God chose this manner of arrival. He does not come as a thunderous king or a formidable judge. He comes as a child, utterly vulnerable and dependent. God comes to us as a child because a child requires us to bend down, to draw close, and to lay aside our weapons and pride. We cannot meet a baby at a distance; we must approach with gentleness. This act of drawing close to the Infant of Bethlehem is our first act of radical trust.

The innkeeper looked at his crowded situation and saw a dead end. The shepherds and Solanus Casey looked at the situation—poverty, cold, limited resources—and saw Providence. They responded with gratitude before the gift was fully unwrapped.

Your Inner Innkeeper
Tonight, we must examine our own inner innkeeper. Where have we hung the 'no vacancy' sign? Is it on our schedule, refusing to make time for silent prayer? Is it on our wounded pride, refusing to forgive a family member? Is it on our fear, refusing to trust God with our financial burdens or our future?

Opening the Door to the Eucharist and to Others
Christ is not only knocking at the door of our hearts; tonight, He is here, on our altar. We are invited, just like the shepherds and Solanus, to approach the simple, humble reality of the Eucharist.

This altar is our stable. 

We come here to receive the very Body of Christ that was once wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger.

The Call to Action
As we leave this sacred night, let us resolve this Christmas season to imitate the Porter of Grace, Father Solanus Casey. Do not just open the door of your heart to Christ; open the door of your home, your pantry, or your time to someone in need.

Go and find the person who has the "no vacancy" sign hung on their own spirit—the lonely, the grieving, or the forgotten—and be the light of Bethlehem for them.

Thank God ahead of time for the grace He will pour out through your simple act of welcome.
Let us resolve to be porters of grace, not innkeepers of scarcity. Let us embrace the beautiful simplicity of the stable. 

Merry Christmas.

Fourth Sunday of Advent @ Ss. Francis and Clare Parish, Birch Run

Fourth Sunday of Advent: The Man on the Bridge

The George Bailey Moment

There is a scene in the holiday classic It’s a Wonderful Life that captures the depths of human despair. George Bailey, a man who has spent his entire life sacrificing his own dreams for the sake of others, faces financial ruin and public scandal. He stands on a bridge in the middle of a snowstorm, staring into the dark, freezing water below. He believes his life has been a waste. He believes the world would be better off without him.

But then, Clarence the Angel intervenes. He doesn't give George money. He doesn't solve the legal problems. He simply shows George what the world would look like if he had never been born. He shows him the gaping hole his absence would leave in the lives of his brother, his wife, and his town.

When George returns to reality at the end of the film, his circumstances haven't changed. The debt is still there. The sheriff is still coming. But George runs through the streets shouting, "Merry Christmas!" with pure, unadulterated joy. Why? Because his perception changed. He received the ultimate reward: the knowledge that his life mattered, that he was loved, and that his sacrifices had purpose. That deep satisfaction transformed his suffering into joy.

The Silence of St. Joseph

Today, on the final Sunday of Advent, the Gospel (Matthew 1:18-24) presents us with St. Joseph, standing on his own metaphorical bridge.

We must appreciate the crisis Joseph was in. He is described as a "righteous man." This means he was a man who loved the Law of God. He had a plan for his life: a quiet marriage to Mary, a simple life as a carpenter in Nazareth. Then, the interruption. Mary is pregnant. And he knows, with absolute certainty, that it is not his child.

Under the Law he loved, Mary could be subjected to a public trial and potentially stoned to death. But Joseph also loved Mary. He is torn between the Law and Love. He decides on a course of quiet mercy: he will divorce her quietly, taking the confusion and potential shame upon himself to spare her. He is ready to walk away from his dreams, heartbroken.

And then, the dream. The angel of the Lord appears. “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home.”

The angel gives him a command, but crucially, the angel gives him the Reward. The angel gives him the "Why." “For it is through the Holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her. She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.”

And to seal this promise, the Gospel invokes the prophecy of Isaiah from our First Reading (7:10-14): “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means ‘God is with us.’”

Atomic Satisfaction: The Reward

This brings us to the fourth and final law of Atomic Habits: Make it Satisfying.

James Clear explains that while the first three laws (Obvious, Attractive, Easy) increase the odds that a behavior will be performed this time, the fourth law increases the odds that it will be repeated next time. We stick with habits when the result satisfies a deep need. The human brain prioritizes immediate satisfaction.

Joseph is being asked to do something incredibly difficult. He is being asked to accept a child that isn't his, to face the whispers of the town, to upend his life. Why does he do it? Why does he wake up and immediately obey? Because the reward was satisfying on a soul-level.

1. The Satisfaction of Identity:

The angel calls him “Joseph, son of David.” In his confusion, Joseph probably felt like a nobody. The angel reminds him: You are of the line of Kings. You have a role in the greatest story ever told. There is a deep satisfaction in knowing who you are in God’s eyes.

2. The Satisfaction of Presence (Emmanuel):

The ultimate reward is Emmanuel—God is with us. Joseph’s quiet life was gone, but in exchange, he received God Himself. He would get to hold the Creator of the universe in his arms. He would teach the Messiah how to use a hammer. The reward of his obedience was the physical presence of Jesus.

Application: Finding the Joy in the Duty

St. Paul, in the Second Reading (Romans 1:1-7), introduces himself as a “slave of Christ Jesus.” To the modern world, "slave" is a repulsive word. But for Paul, it was a title of honor. He found his satisfaction in belonging to Christ. He speaks of the “obedience of faith.”

As we enter the final frantic days before Christmas, we are all tired. The to-do lists are long. The stress is high. We might feel like George Bailey on the bridge—overwhelmed. How do we make the final push satisfying?

1. Reframe the Burden:

When you are wrapping the twentieth gift at midnight, or cleaning the house for guests, don't focus on the chore. Focus on the Emmanuel. You are preparing a place for love to dwell. Joseph didn't focus on the scandal; he focused on the Child. Find the satisfaction in serving others, knowing that in serving them, you are serving Christ.

2. The Reward of Peace:

Joseph woke up and "did as the angel of the Lord had commanded him." There is a specific, deep peace that comes from doing the right thing when it is hard. It is the peace of a clear conscience. If you have a difficult decision to make—a family member to forgive, a political argument to avoid—choose the path of peace. The immediate gratification of winning an argument fades instantly. The satisfaction of keeping the peace lasts.

3. Look for the Sign:

Ahaz in the First Reading refused to ask for a sign, but God gave him one anyway. Look for the signs of Emmanuel in your life this week. Where is God with you? Is He in the laughter of your children? Is He in the quiet of the church? When you acknowledge His presence, the habit of faith becomes deeply satisfying.

Joseph never speaks a word in the Gospels. He simply acts. He trusts. And his reward was to be the guardian of the Light of the World. This week, be like Joseph. Don't be afraid. Take Jesus into your home. The reward is Him. And He is everything.

Third Sunday of Advent @ Ss. Francis and Clare Parish, Birch Run

Third Sunday of Advent: The Long Game of Belief

The Crooked Sign

In the hit series Ted Lasso, an upbeat American football coach is hired to manage a British soccer team, a sport he knows nothing about. He enters a locker room filled with cynicism. The players are defeated; the ownership is hostile; the fans are angry. Ted doesn't give a grand speech about winning the championship. He walks into his office, takes a piece of yellow paper, writes the word 

BELIEVE 

on it in black marker, and tapes it—crookedly—above the door.

Ted’s method of transformation is not the "quantum leap." He doesn't fix the team overnight. He fixes the team through relentless, small, easy interactions. He brings the owner a small box of biscuits every morning. He learns the name of the towel boy. He acknowledges the players' feelings. He makes the act of being a team easy by removing the friction of ego and unkindness. Slowly, through these tiny atomic actions, the culture shifts.

The Doubt in the Darkness

Today is Gaudete Sunday—Joy Sunday. We light the rose candle. But the Gospel reading (Matthew 11:2-11) begins in a place that feels very far from joy.

John the Baptist, the fiery prophet we met last week, is now in prison. The wide-open sky of the Jordan River has been replaced by the damp stone of a cell. And in that darkness, John begins to doubt. He sends his disciples to Jesus with a heartbreaking question: 

“Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?”

John expected the Messiah to be a revolutionary. He expected the axe to fall now. He expected the Romans to be driven out and the Kingdom established in power. Instead, he hears reports of a carpenter from Nazareth who is wandering around preaching about lilies and sparrows. Jesus isn't fixing the world the way John thought He would. It’s too slow. It’s too small.

Jesus sends a message back to John. But He doesn't send a theological thesis. He points to the data: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind regain their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed... and the poor have the good news proclaimed to them.”

Jesus is validating the "long game." He is saying, "John, look at the fruit. The Kingdom isn't coming with an explosion; it is coming like a sunrise. It is coming through individual acts of healing and mercy. The desert is blooming, one flower at a time."

Atomic Action: Make it Easy

This brings us to the third law of Atomic Habits: 

Make it Easy.

We live in a culture that is obsessed with the "big win." We want to lose 30 pounds in a month. We want to become a saint in a weekend. When we set these massive, difficult goals, we almost always fail. Why? Because the "friction" is too high. It requires too much willpower to sustain.

James Clear argues that to build a lasting habit, you must reduce the friction. You must make the good behavior so easy that you can’t say no. He calls it the Two-Minute Rule: "When you start a new habit, it should take less than two minutes to do."

If you want to read the Bible, don't commit to an hour. Commit to one verse. If you want to pray, don't commit to the whole Rosary. Commit to one Hail Mary while you brush your teeth.

Application: The Farmer's Patience

The Church gives us St. James in the Second Reading (5:7-10) to reinforce this truth. James writes: 

“See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth,
being patient with it until it receives the early and late rains.”

A farmer cannot force a seed to grow. He cannot scream at the crop to make it faster. He can only do the small, repetitive, easy things: Water. Weed. Wait. The "early and late rains" refer to the specific climate of Palestine—the farmer is dependent on God’s timing. James tells us: 

“You too must be patient. Make your hearts firm.”

Isaiah, in the First Reading (35:1-6a, 10), uses similar imagery. He speaks of the desert bursting into bloom. But notice his advice to the people: 

“Strengthen the hands that are feeble, make firm the knees that are weak.” 

He doesn't say "run a marathon." He says "stand up." Strengthen the knees. Do the basic, easy thing.

This Gaudete Sunday, our joy comes from realizing we don't have to fix the whole world, or even our whole lives, by Christmas. 

We just have to take the next small step.

1. Lower the Bar for Prayer:
We often feel guilty because our prayer life isn't "monastic" enough. Make it easy. Put a prayer card on your dashboard. When you hit a red light, read it. That’s it. You have turned a frustration into a prayer. You removed the friction.

2. The Highway of Holiness:
Isaiah speaks of a “highway... called the holy way.” A highway is designed to make travel easy and direct. Look at your life: what makes charity hard? Is it that you never have cash? Put a $10 bill in your pocket specifically to give away this week. Make the act of generosity frictionless.

3. The "Believe" Sign:
Like Ted Lasso, we need to believe that these small actions matter. When you smile at a cashier, when you hold your tongue in an argument, when you say one "Our Father"—these are the raindrops that water the crop.

Jesus comforted John by showing him the small miracles. We comfort ourselves by doing the small acts of love. Don't look for the thunderbolt. Look for the bloom in the desert. Make it easy to love, and the joy will follow.

The Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception @ Ss. Francis and Clare, Birch Run

The Flawless Prototype

In the world of serious collecting, whether it’s vinyl records or comic books, there is one status that guarantees peak value and perfect condition: Mint in Box (MIB). 

This means the item is factory sealed, never opened, and utterly free from wear, creases, or damage. It is a piece of unblemished perfection, showing the object exactly as its producer intended it, before time or careless hands could intervene.

Today on the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, we celebrate a reality far more profound than any collectible, but one that points to this same idea of Original Perfection. We celebrate the singular, extraordinary grace given to the Blessed Virgin Mary, by which she was preserved free from all stain of Original Sin from the very first moment of her conception. 

Mary was God’s "Mint in Box" masterpiece—the one human being whose inner architecture remained perfectly sealed against the corruption of the world.

The Broken Seal and the Eternal Blueprint

To grasp the necessity of this grace, we look first to Genesis (3:9-15, 20), to the tragedy of the Broken Seal. Adam and Eve commit the original sin, introducing a fundamental defect into human nature. There is shame, there is blame, and there is a wound of estrangement from God that every descendant inherits.

Yet, immediately, God promises a fix—the protoevangelium. He tells the serpent, 

“I will put enmity between you and the woman,
and between your offspring and hers;
he will crush your head.” 

God promised a New Eve, a woman whose Son would crush the serpent’s power. To stand in perfect, uncompromising enmity against the Evil One, this woman needed to be untouched by his influence.

This intervention wasn't a last-minute decision; it was the execution of God's eternal plan, revealed in our second reading from Ephesians (1:3-6, 11-12). St. Paul writes that God 

"chose us in him,
before the foundation of the world,
to be holy and blameless before him in love."

This was the blueprint: God’s original intention for humanity. Mary's Immaculate Conception is simply the perfect fulfillment of this plan. It is God applying the grace of Christ’s one sacrifice in advance, preserving her soul so that one human being could perfectly meet the standard: 

holy and blameless. 

Mary is that Flawless Prototype.

The Fullness of Grace and the Fiat

This perfect preparation is why the angel Gabriel greets Mary in the Gospel of Luke (1:26-38) not by her name, but by her state of being. He addresses her as: "Hail, Full of Grace!"

The Greek word here is Kécharitoménē, means "she who has been, and continues to be, perfected in grace." 

Mary is defined by grace. 

The Immaculate Conception is the only explanation for why she is already "Full of Grace" before she even accepts the mission. God had already filled her soul to the brim, preparing her to be a suitable dwelling place for His Son.

Because she was untouched by the disordered human tendency to doubt or fear—the effects of original sin—she was able to give the most beautiful and perfect fiat (Latin for "let it be done") in history: 

“Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord.
May it be done to me according to your word.”

 Her “Fiat,” her “Yes," was absolute.

A Call to Unbox Your Own Grace

For ourselves, we are not immaculately conceived. We are not Mary. We did inherit the consequences of the Fall. We have inherited Original Sin.

But through the one sacrifice of Christ, and the overwhelming grace poured out on us in Baptism, we have been thoroughly cleansed. We are, in Christ, declared holy and blameless, fulfilling that same eternal dream St. Paul spoke of. The original defect has been corrected by the perfect grace of the Redeemer.

Today, as we celebrate Mary’s perfection, we are called to recognize the grace God already given to us and to imitate her in her perfect response to God’s grace. Though we may feel scratched and dinged by sin and life, God constantly works to restore us to holiness.

Therefore, here is our challenge for the week:

1. Acknowledge Your Dignity:
   Thank God daily for the grace of your Baptism. Recognize that you are meant to be a holy and blameless dwelling place for Christ. Stop listening to anyone that tells you you are not.
2. Restore the Seal:
   Make a sincere Confession this Advent season. The Sacrament of Penance is God’s direct way of repairing the damage caused by personal sin, restoring your soul to its fullest potential for grace and strengthening your enmity with evil.
3. Say Your Daily Fiat:
   Identify one practical area in your life—in your home, at work, or in your prayer life—where you have been holding back your full "Yes" to God. In that moment of struggle or hesitation, make Mary's words your own: “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.”

Let the Immaculate One inspire us to be the people God created us to be—a holy and blameless family.

“O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee.”

Second Sunday of Advent @ Ss. Francis and Clare Parish, Birch Run

Second Sunday of Advent: The Demolition Expert

The Joy of Demo Day

For several years, Chip and Joanna Gaines captivated the nation with their show Fixer Upper. The premise was simple but addictive. A couple would buy a house that was falling apart—rotting wood, bad plumbing, terrible layouts. It was a disaster. But Joanna would show them a sketch, a vision of what it could be.

And then came the part everyone loved: 

Demo Day

Chip Gaines, often wearing safety goggles and a grin, would take a sledgehammer and smash through a wall. He would rip up the nasty carpet. He would tear down the cabinets.

To an outsider who didn't know the plan, it looked like vandalism. It was violent, dusty, and destructive. But the audience watched with delight because we knew the secret: 

You cannot build the dream kitchen until you tear out the rot.

The demolition wasn't a punishment for the house; it was the necessary preparation for the beauty that was coming.

The Prophet with the Sledgehammer

On this Second Sunday of Advent, the Church introduces us to God’s demolition expert: John the Baptist.

In the Gospel of Matthew (3:1-12), John explodes onto the scene. He is not a polished real estate agent. He wears camel’s hair. He eats locusts. He stands in the Judean wilderness and shouts, 

“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!”

John is the foreman of the project. He looks at the "house" of Israel—and the house of our own hearts—and he says, “This structure is unsound.” To the Pharisees and Sadducees, who were proud of their spiritual façade, he says, 

“You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?” He warns that “the axe lies at the root of the trees.”

This is intense imagery. It sounds like punishment. And for many of us, the word "Repentance" feels exactly like that—a heavy, shameful chore. We hear John’s voice and we want to run away. We think of repentance as losing something we like, or admitting we are failures. It is unattractive.

Atomic Desire: Making it Attractive

This brings us to the second law of Atomic Habits by James Clear: 

Make it Attractive.

James Clear explains that human beings are motivated by the anticipation of reward. We do things because we crave the result. If a habit feels like pure drudgery, we won't stick with it. To build a new habit, we need to associate it with a positive feeling. This is often called "temptation bundling"—pairing something you need to do with something you want to do.

But in the spiritual life, we have to go deeper than just rewarding ourselves with a treat after Mass. We have to fundamentally reframe how we view the hard work of repentance. We have to see the "After" photo. We have to make the result of repentance so attractive that we crave the demolition.

This is exactly what the Prophet Isaiah does in the First Reading (11:1-10). Before John ever picks up the axe, Isaiah unrolls the blueprints.

Isaiah describes the world that the Messiah will bring. It is a world where: 

“The wolf shall be a guest of the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; the calf and the young lion shall browse together, with a little child to guide them.”

This is not just a nature documentary gone wrong; this is a picture of a soul at peace. Imagine your own heart for a moment. Imagine the "wolf" of your anxiety lying down next to the "lamb" of your trust. Imagine the "leopard" of your anger lying down next to the "kid" of your patience. Imagine the "lion" of your pride being led by the "little child" of your humility.

Isaiah describes a life where 

“there shall be no harm or ruin on all my holy mountain.” 

That is the vision! That is the dream house! When you see that possibility—a life free from the exhausting conflict of sin—suddenly, the sledgehammer of John the Baptist doesn't look so scary. Suddenly, repentance becomes attractive. We want to clear out the debris of our addictions and our selfishness because we want to make room for that kind of peace.

Application: The Vision of Hope

St. Paul, in the Second Reading (Romans 15:4-9), reinforces this. He says, 

“Whatever was written previously was written for our instruction, that by endurance and by the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.”

The demolition is for the sake of hope. Here is how we make repentance attractive this week:

1. Rename Your Confession:

Do not look at Confession as "the place where I tell the priest I'm bad." That is unattractive. Look at Confession as "Demo Day." You are taking the trash out to the dumpster so God can install the marble countertops of grace. You are removing the load bearing wall of pride so the light can get in. Focus on the feeling of lightness you have when you walk out of the confessional. Crave that feeling.

2. Focus on the Fruit:

John the Baptist warns against trees that don't bear good fruit. James Clear suggests we focus on identity. Who do you want to be? Do you want to be the person who is trusted by your family? Then the "axe" to your lying is attractive. Do you want to be the person who has energy and joy? Then the "axe" to your late-night doom-scrolling is attractive. Write down the vision of the person you want to be by Christmas. Keep that vision visible.

3. The Welcome:

Paul exhorts us to “welcome one another, then, as Christ welcomed you.” Renovation is hard work to do alone. We need a crew. Find a spiritual partner this Advent—a spouse, a friend—and remind each other of the vision. When one is tired of the construction, the other holds up the blueprint.

John the Baptist is loud, yes. He is intense, yes. But he is clearing the way for the Prince of Peace. Let us not be afraid of the dust. Let us pick up the axe, clear the way, and prepare our hearts for the masterpiece God wants to build.