It may be Ordinary Time, but we are called to extraordinary love. Today’s reflection reminds us that spreading Christ’s light can take many forms, but love is at the root of it all.

January 25, 2026: Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A
Isaiah 8:23–9:3
Psalm 27:1–4,13–14
1 Corinthians 1:10–13,17
Matthew 4:12–23

A Call to Extraordinary Justice in Ordinary Time

A reflection by delfin bautista

We may be in the liturgical season of Ordinary Time, but we are all being called to embody and witness our extraordinary commitment to justice and liberation. Or in the simple yet powerful words of Mother Teresa, “do ordinary things with extraordinary love.” The readings for today are reminders that our faith must be reflected in both action and belief—both complement and sustain each other. How is your faith calling you to action?

Starting with Isaiah and the Psalmist, we are called to reflect light in the world. There is a lot happening right now and many of us feel lost in the dark. The call to shine God’s light does not mean we have to blind or overwhelm others with high beams like a car on a nighttime road. Sharing God’s light can be as simple and wholizing as a single candle in a dim room; with patience, its warmth and glow will reach the darkest spaces. I believe this is what the prophet is asking us to do—light our candles and shine as best we can, knowing that we are not alone. In our struggle for justice and liberation, our light joins the light of those who have borne witness before us, joins the light of those fighting now, and will join the light of those who continue our ministries tomorrow. Together, this light is a visible, tangible, hope-filled testament that God IS with us (not was or will be, but WITH us now in these confusing, turbulent times).

Continuing this thread of amplifying light is the Psalmist’s lyrical reflection of dwelling in God’s house. The Psalmist is a contemplative in action—we are called to center and ground ourselves in prayer while also welcoming all into God’s house. God’s dwelling is not limited to church walls or any building; it is a widening circle that meets individuals where they are and proclaims the message that we are all equally blessed. God’s presence is not limited or confined to a building, as we are living temples of the spirit. The Psalmist reminds us that caring for our temples—our bodies—is part of gazing on the loveliness of God. Self-care and communal care are important parts of our witness for justice; we need to take time to rest, disconnect, and recharge so that our witness is sustainable. We are called to be light, we are not called to burn out.

Moving to Corinthians, the scribe of Paul’s message may have inspired the Franciscan motto of “preach the gospel always, use words when necessary.” Though each of us may add our unique, quirky flair to how we preach Jesus’ gospel of love and inclusion, the root of the message is the same—we are equally blessed, period. Each of us is called to minister as part of this collective vocation based on our gifts and abilities; my actions complement your actions and your actions complement mine. We may have different roles to play, but no one person is more important. It truly takes a village and all of our lights are needed. We are united in our faith and in the call to justice, but not at the expense of who we are, and we are not called to erase what makes each of us unique.

The scribe of Paul’s message also reminds us that we are not in competition with each other. Sadly, some of my experiences in social justice circles involved debates around who is getting the “credit” and folks bogged down by infighting around whose name gets listed first, ultimately leading us to forget why we do what we do. Sharing and affirming appreciation for the hard work we do is important; it is an uplifting boost during challenging times as being seen can be healing and wholizing. However, this is not about getting thanks or titles or ego. Our commitment to solidarity is not for folks to praise us; our commitment to solidarity is grounded in wanting to ensure that all folks wholeheartedly believe that their life is praised and celebrated by God. Ally is not just something we call ourselves; it is something we live with boldness, period.

This leads us to the Gospel. Matthew’s account of Jesus’ life is one with multiple layers. At first, my mind and spirit pondered what Jesus must have felt to learn that his cousin John was imprisoned. Was he angry, sad, worried, confused? Can this experience of Jesus’ life resonate with those whose relatives have been detained or deported by ICE? How did Jesus grieve the execution of his prophetic relative? Did this injustice spark Jesus to tap into his rage, form a community, and begin ministering around Galilee? We are often told to avoid anger as a bad emotion, but anger is okay and can spark revolutions. The challenge is not getting stuck in anger, causing it to fester and become unhealthy. Anger and rage can give us oomph to do ordinary things with extraordinary love.

One last note about the Gospel, given all that is happening now around eliminating the rights and lives of those of us who are trans. This passage is a biblical testament to the power of lived names and that our names are more than just a simple label for us. Here, we have Simon, who is called Peter—Peter is not just a nickname or preferred name, it is a reflection of who they are now and always, much like the lived names of trans and nonbinary people today. We have a living example of Jesus honoring lived names!

mx. delfin w. bautista, MSW, MDiv. (they/elle/delfin) is a native of Miami, FL, is of Cuban and Salvadoran heritage, and currently serves as the Director for the Lionel Cantu Queer Resource Center at UC-Santa Cruz. A social worker and activist theologian, delfin is passionate about intersectional justice and resilience, especially around the experiences of queer people of color. delfin currently serves on the board of directors for enfleshed.