#bishopsilviojosebaez — Public Fediverse posts

Forgiveness Isn’t Weakness — Silvio José Báez, ocd

This Sunday’s Gospel reminds us of the importance of forgiveness. One day, Peter asked Jesus, “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him?” In other words, is there a limit to forgiveness? Does a time come when enough is enough and we should stop forgiving? Peter suggests an answer: “As many as seven times?” (Mt 18:21). Jesus surprises him by replying, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven” (Mt 18:22). For Jesus, the only limit to forgiveness is that it has no limits.

Jesus doesn’t give this answer on a whim or out of idealism. He gives it because that is what God is like: he always forgives us. Today’s psalm describes him with astonishing tenderness: “The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. He will not always chide,  nor will he keep his anger for ever. He does not deal with us according to our sins,  nor requite us according to our iniquities” (Ps 103:8–10). God always goes beyond strict justice. His justice is mercy. And therein lies the key to everything: we don’t forgive because we’re generous, but because we ourselves have first been forgiven.

To explain this, Jesus tells a parable. Moved with compassion, a king forgives a servant an enormous debt that he could never repay (Mt 18:27). But as soon as that same servant leaves, he finds a fellow servant who owes him a much smaller amount and shows him no compassion. He grabs him, tries to strangle him, and has him thrown into prison (Mt 18:28, 30). That man wasn’t acting unjustly in a strictly legal sense: he had the right to demand payment of the debt. But he was heartless. He wasn’t dishonest, but he was cruel. We can be legally in the right and, at the same time, merciless. We can even think of ourselves as good Christians while carrying within us a heart closed to mercy.

When someone wrongs us, we almost instinctively think that one evil can be repaired by another: by hurting the person who hurt us, excluding the person who offended us, or harboring resentment against the person who mistreated us. But this doesn’t heal the wound we have suffered. It doesn’t restore the dignity we have lost or give us the strength to begin again. Instead, it only increases the pain and violence. We don’t heal one wound by inflicting another. Cruelty, hatred, resentment, and the desire for revenge deeply damage our lives and cause serious emotional turmoil. Only forgiveness can break the spiral of evil at its roots.

To “forgive seventy times seven” is a path of maturity and humanity. Forgiveness ennobles and heals the person who offers it. At the same time, it confronts the guilty person with the truth and gives that person an opportunity to repair the harm that was done. Forgiveness is bewildering: the first person called to conversion is not so much the one who caused the harm, but the victim, who is asked to give something no one deserves. True forgiveness is always undeserved: we forgive the unforgivable, just as God has forgiven what is unforgivable in us.

Forgiveness isn’t weakness. It demands tremendous spiritual strength and moral courage. In forgiving, we don’t demean ourselves. We draw nearer to the fullness of our humanity and reflect something of God’s merciful splendor. In fact, forgiveness liberates the person who forgives even before it liberates the person who is forgiven. It releases us from a past that, unless we let it go, will continue eating away at our lives and filling them with bitterness. Forgiveness allows us to look toward the future with new eyes, with serenity and even with joy.

The indignation aroused by evil, injustice, and violence that destroy our life together is understandable. Yet even then, we cannot give up on forgiveness or surrender to the logic of retaliation and hatred. Forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting. It means remembering differently, without resentment or a desire for revenge. Nor does forgiving mean ignoring evil, silencing the truth, or standing idly by when harm has been done. Forgiving means refusing to accept that sin and evil will have the last word.

Let’s be clear, because this is where confusion often arises. To speak of forgiveness isn’t to deny justice, call for impunity, or suggest that victims should forget and simply turn the page. An injustice left without redress undermines life in society. Forgiveness granted at the expense of justice doesn’t close wounds; it deepens them even further. Anyone who has committed a crime must answer before independent courts, with due process and the right to a defense. Corrupt and unjust people, torturers, and criminals must face the consequences of their actions and be held accountable under the law. God’s mercy is no excuse for allowing criminals to act with impunity.

We must, however, go beyond justice, while never confusing justice with vengeance. In demanding justice, we cannot become as cruel as the servant in the parable or resort to the same lawless and heartless methods used by those who committed these crimes. As Saint John Paul II taught, human justice “must include and, as it were, be completed by the forgiveness which heals and rebuilds troubled human relations from their foundations,” for “forgiveness is the opposite of resentment and revenge, not of justice” (Message for the 2002 World Day of Peace).

Speaking of the legal administration of retributive justice, Pope Francis said: “This path however does not lead to true justice because in reality it does not conquer evil, it merely checks it. Only by responding to it with good can evil be truly overcome” (General Audience, February 3, 2016). Without the mercy that God freely gives us and that moves us to forgive generously, neither individuals nor peoples can ever be truly reconciled. Justice alone, without forgiveness, always leaves an open wound that sooner or later begins to bleed again. Forgiveness without justice becomes an empty word that humiliates the victim all over again. Only a heart touched by God’s mercy can hold together the demands of truth and the capacity to forgive.

Ultimately, forgiveness is a gift from God for which we must humbly plead in prayer. No one can forgive by their own strength alone. Those who forgive come to have a heart like God’s, with room for everyone, always and without conditions. They also come to have a gaze like God’s, beneath which we feel safe and unafraid, knowing that God always looks upon us with kindness, compassion, and tenderness.

May the Virgin Mary, Mother of Mercy, obtain for us a heart capable of forgiving tirelessly and of demanding, without hatred, the justice our world so desperately needs.

Bishop Silvio Jose Baez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily for the Twenty-Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Miami, September 13, 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Hate or Love? Image credit: AmySachar / Adobe Stock (Asset ID#: 217624403).

Quote of the day, 28 August: Silvio José Báez, ocd

Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.” He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave.

1 Kings 19:9-13

A “Voice of Subtle Silence”

After the three statements denying God’s presence [“The Lord was not in the wind… not in the earthquake… not in the fire”], the Hebrew text says that after the fire there came a qôl demāmâ daqqâ (1 Kgs 19:12). This Hebrew phrase, whose literal translation presents no difficulty—“voice of subtle silence”—has given rise to many interpretations. The ancient versions, on which most modern translations generally depend, rendered the phrase as “the sound of a light breeze” or “the whisper of a gentle breeze” (LXX: phōnē auras leptēs; Vulgate: sibilus aurae tenuis).

The word demāmâ occurs three times in the Old Testament (1 Kgs 19:12; Ps 107:29; Job 4:16). Traditionally, it has been translated as “air,” “wind,” or “breeze,” probably because in Ps 107:29 it occurs in a context in which the Lord calms a storm at sea, while in 1 Kings 19:12 it appears in contrast to several natural phenomena. There is, however, no valid reason to suppose that demāmâ in 1 Kings 19 denotes an atmospheric phenomenon. Nothing prevents us from translating the word according to its most evident meaning: “silence.” The term demāmâ belongs to the same semantic family as dûm, the deathly realm of eternal silence (Ps 94:17; 115:17), and dûmām, an adjectival adverb denoting something silent (Isa 47:5; Hab 2:19; Lam 3:26). It is also used in several Qumran texts to describe an experience of silent heavenly liturgy.

Let us now consider how the complete phrase in 1 Kings 19:12, qôl demāmâ daqqâ, should be translated. We have seen that demāmâ means “silence,” but it is a special kind of silence because it qualifies the noun qôl, “voice” or “sound,” which in Hebrew always denotes an audible phenomenon, something perceived by the ear. It is therefore not immediately clear from the text how silence can simultaneously be sound or voice. The remaining term is the adjective daq, here in its feminine form. It occurs seventeen times in the Old Testament and can indicate a small quantity (Lev 13:30; 16:12; Isa 29:5), the slight weight of an object (Isa 40:15), or something weak and lacking vigor (Gen 41:3, 5, 6, 7, 23, 24; Lev 21:20). When we take into account the meaning of each term in the expression qôl demāmâ daqqâ, the resulting translation is: “voice of subtle silence.”

Bishop Silvio Jose Baez, o.c.d.

Cuando todo calla, ch. 8

Note: Elijah is central to the Carmelite tradition, so the way we understand his encounter with God matters. Bishop Silvio José Báez, ocd, explains that the Hebrew text of 1 Kings 19:12 speaks not of a gentle breeze but of a “voice of subtle silence.” For Carmelites and friends of Carmel, this deepens our understanding of contemplative prayer: God’s silence is subtle, but never empty.

Báez, SJ 2009, Cuando todo calla: el silencio en la Biblia, Editorial de Espiritualidad, Madrid.

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Elia in de grot, etching on paper print by Jan Luyken, Amsterdam, 1704. Image credit: Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam (Public domain).

Who Is Jesus in Your Life? — Silvio José Báez, ocd

In the Gospel we’ve heard this Sunday, Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” (Mt 16:13). The disciples tell him that people identified him with some of the prophets of old (Mt 16:14). The people see in Jesus someone who lives in deep communion with God and speaks in his name, who is close to the people and willing even to suffer in serving God’s cause. They’ve recognized something true about the Master, but they haven’t yet grasped the depths of his mystery.

Jesus doesn’t reject what the people are saying, but he immediately turns to the disciples and asks them, “But who do you say that I am?” (Mt 16:15). The disciples, whom Jesus has chosen and who’ve been walking with him for about two and a half years, should know him. Jesus doesn’t want those who follow him to do so unthinkingly or superficially; they must know him deeply. But Jesus’ question doesn’t belong only to the past. It continues to resound today and reaches each one of us. It’s the decisive question for those of us who call ourselves Christians: Who is Jesus for us, for you, for me?

The temptation is to answer hastily with a formula we’ve learned, saying that Jesus is the “Son of God,” the “Redeemer,” the “Savior” of humanity. These are all correct theological titles, of course, but we can say this without them touching our lives. Jesus isn’t asking us to give a precise definition of who he is. He’s asking about our hearts, about the attitude we truly have toward him. It’s not a matter of saying who he is, but of examining our personal relationship with him.

What Jesus means in our lives is the most important question on our journey of faith. To be a Christian means, above all, to have encountered Jesus and to live in intimate union with him. It isn’t enough to know him by hearsay; it isn’t enough to settle for what’s been handed down to us about him; it isn’t even enough to do things for him. Jesus wants us to know him personally and to live in friendship with him. His way of life must fascinate us deeply. His freedom must become contagious, and his passionate love must draw us to him. How well we know Jesus is revealed above all in our moments of prayer, when we become silent in order to listen to him and entrust ourselves confidently into his hands.

We’ll never know Jesus completely. Just when we think we know him, he slips from our grasp and breaks through all the limits we try to place around him. Jesus isn’t someone to be possessed, but someone to be followed, trusted, and hoped in. We’ll come to know him only if we let him bring us to birth again and again through the power of his Spirit, set us free through his word, and forgive and heal us through his love. We’ll come to know him through the humble effort to follow in his footsteps each day, daring to leave behind our comforts and selfishness, acting with interior freedom, and always being willing to lose for love’s sake.

When Jesus asks the disciples this question, they remain silent, and only Simon Peter speaks: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (Mt 16:16). Peter identifies him as Israel’s long-awaited Messiah, the one sent by God to transform humanity according to his loving plan. He recognizes him as the Son of the living God, the God who desires all human beings to live and be saved. Peter has seen the face of God in the face of the Master; he has perceived in his words the way to fulfill God’s dream; he has discovered in Jesus’ actions the merciful and saving hand of God.

In response to Simon Peter’s answer, Jesus says to him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of John, for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven!” (Mt 16:17). Simon hasn’t reached this answer through his own reasoning, but through God’s interior action in his heart. No one can know God unless God himself makes himself known. Jesus immediately makes him a promise: “And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church” (Mt 16:18). Peter’s faith is the solid rock upon which Jesus promises to build his Church, although the living stone that supports the entire structure is always Christ, the one foundation and the true rock (cf. 1 Cor 3:11; 10:4).

The Gospel moves almost naturally from Jesus to the Church, from the question about the Master to the revelation of the mystery of his community. The Church isn’t a human project. She was born and continues to live in history because Jesus willed it, and he’s her builder. Jesus says that “the powers of hell will not prevail against her” (Mt 16:18). Here, “hell” doesn’t mean the hell of eternal damnation, but Hades, the biblical image of the dark forces of evil that seek to drag the Church to destruction. Jesus assures us that the Church won’t be defeated by evil.

Jesus assures us that the Church may be slandered, hated, and persecuted, but she can never be destroyed. The Church often makes people uncomfortable because she defends life and justice; she’s a critical voice against every absolute power that fails to respect human dignity, and, in the image of Jesus, she stands beside the poor, the victims, and those cast aside by the world. When the Church is dragged into suffering and darkness because of this, she isn’t suffering defeat; she’s becoming more like her Lord. The one thing that could weaken or disfigure the Church isn’t the persecution that comes from outside, but the fear that arises within her and silences her prophetic voice.

We shouldn’t be surprised that totalitarian powers seek to take possession of the Church and place her at the service of their own interests, but their attempts to control the community of Jesus will always fail. They may intimidate, threaten, spy upon, imprison, and exile members of the Church, but they won’t prevail against her. No matter how harsh the persecution may be, those of us who believe in Jesus are certain that the dark forces of evil will never have the last word. Jesus assures us of this. The Church is in his hands and under his protection. Let us not be afraid.

Today’s Gospel ends in silence. Jesus orders his disciples not to tell anyone that he’s the Messiah (Mt 16:20). Through this silence, Jesus creates a space within our hearts where each of us can answer him personally: Who is Jesus in your life as Messiah and Son of God? What does this Church, which Jesus chose to found upon Peter’s faith and which today is being slandered and persecuted in so many places, mean to you? Jesus awaits our answer.

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time, 23 August 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: This detail of the mosaic of Christ Pantocrator (“ruler over all”) comes from the Hagia Sophia Grand Mosque in Istanbul. It is the central figure of the so-called Deësis mosaic (Δέησις, “Entreaty”) which probably dates from a relatively late 1261. It is considered by many to be the finest mosaic in Hagia Sophia, which until 1453 was the great church of Constantinople. Image credit: soerfm / Wikimedia Commons (Public domain)

Suffering Knows No Borders — Silvio José Báez, ocd

This Sunday’s Gospel begins with a cry from the heart, directed to Jesus in the midst of anguish: “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David” (Mt 15:22). It is the cry of a Canaanite woman, desperate because her daughter is suffering terrible torment (Mt 15:22). She invokes Jesus as the “Son of David,” recognizing him as the Messiah and showing that, although she is a foreigner, she knows the hope of Israel.

The woman follows after Jesus, crying out and imploring him to heal her daughter, but Jesus appears indifferent—so much so that the disciples ask him to respond to her and bring this uncomfortable incident to an end. Jesus responds with a startling statement: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel” (Mt 15:24). As a Jew formed in the religion of the chosen people, Jesus is convinced that God’s promises and blessings belong exclusively to the people of Israel.

Here Jesus appears in the full reality of his humanity. Like every human being, Jesus was conditioned by the history and culture of his time and of the people he belonged to. The same is true of all of us. We are the product of convictions, traditions, and values that we have learned within our society and our religion. It is beautiful to see how thoroughly human God became in Jesus—to the point of living as all human beings do, conditioned by the ideas of his own society, culture, and religion.

Faced with Jesus’ silence, the woman persists. Falling at his feet, she once again pleads with him: “Lord, help me” (Mt 15:25). This time Jesus answers her, although his response is still negative: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs” (Mt 15:26). The children are the Israelites (cf. Ex 4:22); the expression “dogs,” referring to animals considered unclean in Israel, was a contemptuous term that Israelites used for those who were not Jews. Jesus reacts as a Jew. He is convinced that “the children’s food”—that is, the divine blessing—was intended only for the people of Israel.

In the face of Jesus’ refusal, the woman continues to persist. She does not deny Israel’s primacy as the chosen people in God’s plan, and she shows that she accepts Jesus’ religious reasoning. She tells him, “Yes, Lord.” What you say is true. But then she adds: “Yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table” (Mt 15:27). The woman does not enter into theological disputes or attempt to refute religious traditions. She speaks from life, from her pain as a mother watching her daughter suffer. The only thing she knows how to do is plead. She reasons from a perspective different from that of Jesus. Jesus speaks from an ideology; she speaks from the dramatic reality she is living. Jesus insists from an exclusionary religious perspective; she, however, trusts amid her suffering that God, in his infinite goodness, excludes no one from his love or abandons anyone in need.

At that moment, something unexpected happened. Jesus was deeply struck by the attitude and words of the woman, who was convinced that the health of her Canaanite daughter mattered to God, even though she was not an Israelite. In her heart she sensed that it matters to God that a person believe, but it matters even more that a person live. This reasoning, grounded in the infinite goodness of God, for whom all human beings are his sons and daughters, found an echo in Jesus’ heart. He himself lovingly welcomed and restored the dignity of those whom society and religion cast aside: sinners, lepers, and the poor. As he listened to the plea of this pagan mother, Jesus became more fully aware that all human beings, not only the Israelites, were called to God’s healing and salvation.

Jesus recognizes immense faith in the words and attitude of this woman, and he allows himself to be challenged by her, to the point of saying: “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish”—efficacious words that immediately bring about the healing of her daughter (Mt 15:28). Jesus listened attentively to her and allowed himself to be persuaded: suffering knows no borders, and God is good to every human being. In the face of human suffering, divine compassion prevailed, and Jesus placed his cultural and religious conditioning in perspective in order to open himself to a more universal horizon.

This Gospel shows us Jesus in the depths of his humanity: free, noble, capable of rising above the conditioning of his own culture and opening his heart to the suffering of another. His compassion proved stronger than his ideas. It is a sign of great human maturity to have an open mind, willing to be persuaded by a logic higher than one’s own—especially when that logic is the logic of love. Being flexible and open to dialogue is not weakness; yielding does not always mean losing. Closed-mindedness reveals human impoverishment and almost always conceals unresolved wounds.

That same closed-mindedness, when it takes hold in the life of nations, becomes a tragedy. Behind regimes that impose themselves by robbing people of their dignity and freedom, there are always impoverished, intolerant minds, incapable of listening or engaging in dialogue, for whom only their own ambitions matter. Shut up within their ideas and their projects of power, they live in a parallel world, ignoring reality. Under the pretext that they alone are capable of representing the people, they do not hesitate to dismantle democratic institutions and impose the dictatorship of a single way of thinking. Intolerance, totalitarianism, racism, and contempt for foreigners or other religions are forms of exclusion that harm our life together. Ideas without love are worthless: they are harmful and always lead to new forms of idolatry.

Today’s Gospel invites us not to remain enclosed within our own interests and ideas, ignoring human suffering and erecting barriers between individuals and peoples. We must not settle comfortably into the realm of ideas. Exclusionary religiosity, an ethic devoid of goodness, and intellectualism without wisdom are useless and inhuman. We must learn to listen to others, even when they think differently, and always remain open to reality, with all its suffering and contradictions.

Above all, in the encounter between Jesus and that Canaanite woman, the power of a humble and persevering faith and the splendor of compassionate and merciful love were revealed. Today’s Gospel teaches us that, before Jesus, it is never useless to cry out from the depths of our suffering, our worries, or our failures. Jesus will always receive us with the infinite compassion of God, which surpasses every barrier that human beings can build and is greater than all the evil we can commit.

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time, 16 August 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Unknown maker, pupil of Rembrandt (active 1650s), Christ and the Canaanite Woman, c. 1650, pen and brown ink with brown wash, corrected with white gouache. Image credit: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles (Public domain).

God Never Stops Sowing — Silvio José Báez, ocd

Beginning this Sunday, for three consecutive weeks, we will hear Matthew 13 proclaimed in the liturgy. In this chapter, the evangelist has brought together several parables told by Jesus. Parables are brief stories filled with simplicity and wisdom. They speak to the heart and arise from Jesus’ attentive observation of nature and everyday life. Through vivid comparisons, they awaken curiosity and engage the imagination of those who hear them, inviting them to discover the hidden and surprising meaning within.

This Sunday, we heard the first of these parables: the familiar parable of the sower. It tells of a farmer who leaves home very early in the morning to sow his field. He is an enthusiastic sower who trusts in the seed’s ability to bear fruit and begins scattering it everywhere, without first concerning himself with the kind of soil on which it falls.

This is no ordinary sower. He’s the Sower above all others, optimistic and generous, trusting that despite the stones and thorns of human selfishness and evil, the seed of his word will bear fruit. He’s a dreamer who sees life everywhere and is convinced that even a thicket can become a garden. This sower is God, and we are the soil in which he sows. As Saint Paul says, “you are God’s field” (1 Cor 3:9), and it is there that God sows his word.

It’s a beautiful image: God as a farmer, sowing in the field of the world and in our hearts, certain that his labor will not be in vain. One day, all the seeds God has sown will come to flower. Jesus, the eternal Word of God made flesh, is the seed that God continues to scatter throughout the world. Like the grain of wheat that falls into the earth and dies in order to bear much fruit, Jesus died and rose again, filling the whole world with life, light, and hope.

In the parable of the sower, Jesus describes himself. Like an enthusiastic sower, he tirelessly proclaimed the goodness of God, spreading hope, restoring health to the sick, bringing joy to the sorrowful, and welcoming sinners with mercy. He made no distinctions, excluded no one, and wasn’t discouraged by people’s rejection or hardness of heart. Jesus proclaimed the Gospel not only to those who welcomed him gladly, but also to those who rejected him. 

Although Jesus knew that much of the seed would be lost because not every kind of soil would receive it, he was never discouraged and never stopped sowing. This is who Jesus was, and this is who he is. He knows that there will always be obstacles and resistance on our part, but that never keeps him from speaking his word to us or from sowing his goodness and grace in our hearts. Jesus doesn’t reject the imperfection of our lives or lose confidence that, through the power of God, the seed of the Word will bear abundant fruit. 

In our distraction, we’re like soil that allows the birds to steal the Word of God from us. We’re ground filled with thorns, enslaved by so many things that bind and wound us. We’re dry, fickle, and shallow soil. Yet at the same time, we’re also good soil, thirsty for truth and love, always capable of bringing God’s seed to life. That’s why we must never lose hope: the Lord never grows tired of sowing his life and love within us. If we respond generously, we’ll become fertile soil from which miracles of life, love, and truth will spring. 

God knows our hearts and trusts us. He sees possibilities for goodness and truth in our lives that we can’t imagine. We’re all wounded and clouded; we can be shallow, hardened, and thorny ground. Yet our imperfect humanity remains capable of receiving God’s seed. Let’s entrust ourselves to the Lord in faith and place our trust in the seed he is always sowing within us. As Saint Paul says, the Gospel is “the power of God” (Rom 1:16). Quietly but effectively, it’s renewing the world and, sometimes almost imperceptibly, changing the life of each one of us. 

Jesus doesn’t look for perfect fields, but rather for soil willing to become fruitful. Through the power of his word, he breaks up stony ground, clears away the thorns, enriches the soil with his love, and tenderly cares for every new, fragile shoot. The Lord can make our hearts into “good soil” (Mt 13:8) that bears abundant fruit. We can all become the rich, fertile soil that God desires us to be. Let’s respond to the Lord with generosity and determination. The seed, freely given, together with the wholehearted gift of our response, will make fruits of love and truth possible in our lives.

The field of our people’s history can also seem barren and hard. At times, we may feel powerless before the arrogant cruelty of those in power who oppress the people or, worse still, come to accept repression and fear as normal. At other times, we may feel that the struggle is pointless and that it would be better to give up. Let’s not lose hope: the field isn’t all stones and thorns. If we look within, we’ll discover that our thirst for justice hasn’t been extinguished and that the flame of freedom is still burning. Nor is there any shortage of humble people among us who continue to dream, struggle, and pray for a new society. Jesus continues to sow the seed of life, truth, and freedom in our history. This is the seed of the future. These are signs of God’s sowing, which will one day bear fruit.

There are times when harvesting, gathering fruit, and seeing results seem impossible. But it is always time to sow: to sow hope, mercy, and justice, patiently and without despair. Those obsessed with reaping success and seeing immediate results may be disappointed. What we need today are sowers. We need people who sow words of hope and gestures of compassion everywhere, scattering seeds of trust and fruitful grains of sacrifice and goodness.

In the parable of the sower, Jesus reveals the humility of a God who bends down to sow life within us. He shows us the goodness of a God who doesn’t come demanding a harvest from our poor fields, but instead tirelessly sows along our stony paths and across our thorny ground. Let’s not lose trust in God the sower, who never grows tired of our barrenness and never stops hoping that shoots of love and life will spring up among our stones and thorns.

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, 12 July 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Jean-François Millet, The Sower, ca. 1865, pastel and crayon or pastel on cream buff paper. Image credit: Walters Art Museum, Baltimore (Public domain).

Jesus, Source of True Rest — Silvio José Báez, ocd

In this Sunday’s Gospel, we hear a prayer that rises from the very heart of Jesus: “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants” (Mt 11:25). Jesus prays with great joy, almost in wonder, in the midst of a ministry in which some rejected him while others believed with simple faith. In this spontaneous praise of the Father, Jesus recognizes God’s way of acting: God reveals himself to the simple and remains hidden from the wise and the intelligent. Who are these “simple ones” who have welcomed God’s revelation, and who are the “wise and the intelligent” who have missed it?

The “simple ones” are those who listened to Jesus with open hearts and believed in him: the poor, the fishermen by the lake, the sick, women, and public sinners. They were ordinary people, often despised and oppressed, with few resources and little human support. When they heard Jesus, they discovered that God wasn’t far away or someone to fear. They realized that God wanted them to be free, to live with dignity, and to be made whole, because in his eyes they were worth more than the lilies of the field and the birds of the air (cf. Mt 6:26–28). In their own poverty, they understood love, because only a heart that is empty knows how to recognize a gift when it receives one. They had no prestige or power to defend, and so they were able to welcome God’s closeness without fear.

The “wise and the intelligent,” on the other hand, were the teachers of the law, experts in Israel’s religion. Their knowledge had made them arrogant and self-sufficient. They preferred their dogmas to mercy, made an idol of religion, and neglected both God and their brothers and sisters. They were so full of their own ideas that they couldn’t recognize God’s Messiah. They rejected Jesus because he drew near to the poor and to sinners. They couldn’t accept his joyful proclamation of God’s mercy, and they couldn’t tolerate the freedom with which he interpreted commandments that burdened the people.

God’s way of acting is still the same today. He remains hidden from the proud and arrogant and reveals himself to the little ones and the simple. We fail to understand Jesus when pride matters more to us than goodness, when we think we’re better than others because we follow certain rules, or when we’re very religious but show little humanity. We’ll never know God if we prefer precepts to love or put the law before the suffering person right in front of us. Only a simple heart, free of vanity and open to the newness of God, can truly welcome the Gospel. God will reveal himself to us in all his richness only if we accept our limits and come before him with open hearts and empty hands.

To those little ones who have believed in him, Jesus says: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest” (Mt 11:28). In biblical language, rest means more than simply regaining our physical strength. It means reaching the fullness of life that only God can give us. We’re worn out by the problems of daily life, anxious about the future, tired of trying to overcome our own weaknesses and put up with those of others. We need rest. But we won’t find it simply by taking a few vacation days or distracting ourselves so we can regain our strength or calm our minds.

“Come to me,” Jesus tells us. Only he can give us true rest, through the power of his love that forgives and can bring good even out of what seems harmful to us. Jesus’s way isn’t a path of renunciation and sacrifice, but an experience of freedom and fullness. Going to him means welcoming his love, opening our hearts to him, and letting his word console and enlighten us. To go to Jesus is to discover, in the gift of his life given on the cross, the highest expression of God’s love: a love that takes upon itself the sin and suffering of humanity in order to heal and save it.

There are also entire peoples worn down and burdened by fear, deception, and oppression. They are the walking wounded, uncertain about the future and hungry for freedom, peace, and justice. Many are weary because time passes and nothing changes. A sense of powerlessness grows in the face of power structures that seem impossible to move. There is a lack of leadership that stays close to the people and inspires hope, and a clearer, more effective international solidarity is sorely missing. Jesus also wants to give rest to those who are oppressed.

On Jesus’s cross, in the gift of his love to the very end, we discover that we’re not alone and that God suffers with us. There our deepest weariness finds relief, our hope is strengthened, history is redeemed, and evil is destroyed at its roots. But the rest Jesus offers us won’t simply fall from heaven as if by magic. It will come as we decide to walk in the light of the Gospel’s wisdom. It will take shape when we treat one another with greater respect and solidarity, when we stop wearing ourselves out over useless divisions, and when we learn to replace personal ambitions with the fight for the common good.

Jesus is a teacher who gives us a lesson in how to live from his own heart: “Learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest” (Mt 11:29). Unlike the teachers of Israel, who burdened people with the heavy “yoke” of a law and a religion that oppressed them with hundreds of precepts and rituals, Jesus doesn’t lay heavy burdens on us. He offers us his easy yoke and his light burden (Mt 11:30): to learn from his gentleness and his humility of heart. This invitation isn’t a call to resignation or passivity. Gentleness is a gift Jesus gives to those who know their littleness and their need for God. Those who live with gentleness are kind and patient. They can be indignant without becoming aggressive, courageous without becoming violent, and firm without becoming intolerant.

Jesus asks us to learn his way of living: gentle, without violence, arrogance, or ambitions of greatness—always ready to do good. Let’s learn from Jesus, who went about doing good without harming or controlling anyone. He found joy in serving, always trusting the Father’s love. He didn’t make life more complicated for us. He made it healthier, simpler, more joyful, and freer. Following Jesus and living as he lived means discovering the true rest that every human being needs.

Let’s stop and learn to rest in God. Jesus is the source of true and lasting rest. Our weary hearts will find it only by encountering him. Let’s learn from his way of loving—gentle yet tenacious—which is the true alphabet of life and the genuine wisdom of the heart. Jesus offers us something even more important than his words: his two hands, where we can lay down our weary lives and recover our courage and desire to live.

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, 5 July 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Making Strangers Out of Friends features a weary woman on the New York City subway. Image credit: Thomas Hawk / Flickr (Some rights reserved).

Quote of the day, 1 July: Silvio José Báez, ocd

For Jesus, that which is generously given to his disciples has an immense value, no matter if it is a simple cup of water: “And whoever gives to one of these little ones even a cup of cold water because he is a disciple, truly, I say to you, he shall not lose his reward” (Mt 10:42).

A cup of water may seem like a small thing, but love makes it great. A cup of water, given with generosity, is a sign of God’s love, as long as it is both cool water that quenches thirst and loving water that communicates joy and hope. In the very end, the whole gospel is found in a cup of cool water, which holds within it our own hearts.

Silvio José Báez, O.C.D.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
28 June 2020

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: A ripe lemon splashes down in a footed glass. Image credit: Izzy Gerosa / Unsplash (Stock photo).

Faith That Sustains Us — Silvio José Báez, ocd

This Sunday, we continue reading the tenth chapter of Matthew’s Gospel, which is entirely devoted to the mission of Jesus’ disciples. The text we hear today reminds us that personal adherence to the word of God is not enough, nor is an intimate experience of the Lord’s closeness. We are all called to proclaim the Gospel in the various settings and situations of life, even where it isn’t understood or is rejected.

God’s design, still “covered up” and “hidden” from many people, will one day be known by all. Throughout history, God’s love, his will to give life, and his demands for justice and peace will continue to be revealed. Those of us who follow Jesus are called to cooperate in this gradual manifestation of the Gospel as it makes its way through history. What Jesus shares with his disciples at home, at nightfall, before they go to sleep, they must proclaim without fear “in the light”; what they hear from him in intimacy, they must proclaim “from the housetops” (Mt 10:27).

The proclamation of the Gospel and the Christian witness are born from a personal, intimate relationship with Jesus. If we are to be credible evangelizers, we must live in deep union with him, setting aside moments of silence—praying, listening to his voice, and placing our anxieties in his hands. We will be strong and mature apostles only if we are men and women of prayer, familiar with the Word of God and accustomed to listening to Jesus in our hearts. Only then will we be able to proclaim in the light what we have heard in the night of faith; only then will we proclaim from the housetops what Jesus whispers in our ears in prayer.

Only by living in deep communion with Jesus will we be able to proclaim, by our lives, the great values of the Gospel: compassion, forgiveness, service, justice, and peace. Through our charity, we show the beauty of fellowship. Through our faith, we invite everyone to trust in God. Through our hope, we lift up those who are cast down. Jesus asks us to announce publicly what God expects of humanity and to denounce everything that opposes his design. A disciple of Jesus cannot keep silent about the truth of God, whether out of fear of being rejected or out of prudence so as not to make others uncomfortable.

The entire Church is called to proclaim the liberating word of Jesus amid the darkness that overshadows the world. She “cannot consider herself outside the dynamics that shape the face of society”; she cannot evade her “responsibility for the way in which social relations are built” (cf. Leo XIV, Magnifica Humanitas, 19). The Church cannot stand by with arms folded or look the other way in the face of societies that define their identity by trampling on human dignity, disregarding human freedom, pushing the poor aside, and leaving victims behind.

That’s why the Church so often has to go against the current in the fulfillment of her mission, faced by dehumanizing ideologies, the deception of false idols, and the cruelty of the powerful. When we take the proclamation of God’s word seriously, when we call things by their name and proclaim the demands of mercy and justice, sooner or later, we become inconvenient for those who live in the darkness of an unrestrained ambition to possess and an insatiable hunger to dominate.

Some people think it’s better to keep quiet, that it’s more prudent not to look for trouble, to act as if we’ve seen nothing at all, and to avoid saying anything that might displease those in power. Of course, it’s more comfortable to stay on good terms with everyone and flatter the powerful so that they don’t come after us and leave us in peace, even granting us privileges. But if we want to live with the courage and freedom Jesus expects of his disciples, we cannot allow ourselves to be conditioned by worldly interests or by fear.

That’s why Jesus encourages us today, saying, “Do not fear those who kill the body” (Mt 10:28). Don’t be afraid of those who denigrate others with slander, send them to prison, or force them into exile. Don’t be afraid of those who shout with hatred, threaten, and run roughshod over others as long as the truth never comes to light and they can continue enriching themselves, controlling the people, and distorting history. They may kill the body, but not our ideals or our faith. They may put an end to the prophet’s earthly life, but they cannot destroy his witness. Saint Oscar Romero once said, “If they kill me, I will rise again in the Salvadoran people.”

The faith that sustains the Christian’s life and mission finds its deepest strength in these words of Jesus, repeated three times in today’s Gospel: “Do not fear,” “do not fear,” “do not be afraid” (Mt 10:26, 28, 31). It’s as if Jesus were saying to us: don’t stop, don’t stay silent, don’t cease proclaiming the Gospel. Fear closes us in on ourselves, distorts reality, and can lead us to sell out our conscience and, in the worst cases, to deny Jesus and renounce the Church.

So that we don’t remain paralyzed or mute, Jesus speaks to us of the Father’s tenderness. The Father cares for what is small and fragile—like little sparrows, or the hairs of our head, and even more for the lives of his children who are committed to the Gospel. Not one little bird falls to the ground without the Father knowing and becoming lovingly involved. God is there in every interrupted flight. Therefore, “do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows” (Mt 10:31). Whoever falls doesn’t end in nothingness, but in the loving embrace of the Father.

The Father doesn’t promise us flights without falls or a life without crosses. He promises to be with us every time we fall, holding us as the nest holds the wounded bird. Faith is not an insurance policy against the stumbles of life, but the serene certainty that nothing will separate us from the Father’s loving hands. We are not even separated in death, because beyond death we’ll find our Father in heaven—who loves us infinitely—and we’ll have Jesus himself at our side, acknowledging us before the Father (cf. Mt 10:32-33).

There’s no reason to be afraid. The opposite of fear isn’t courage—it’s faith. That’s why today, Jesus invites us to trust in our heavenly Father, who has counted even the hairs of our head (Mt 10:30), taking an interest in the smallest details of our life and loving every fiber of our being. Believing in him enables us to live with serenity and hope, even when we are threatened, even when we are persecuted, even when we are full of sorrow, even on the day of our death.

Let’s not be afraid to be prophets of Jesus. Let’s not be afraid to proclaim the Gospel with conviction and to courageously denounce whatever opposes God’s design in this world. “Let us not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul” (cf. Mt 10:28).

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, 21 June 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: A small bird perches on a person’s finger. Image credit: Senuda / Adobe Stock. Asset ID: 618384805.

The Harvest of Compassion — Silvio José Báez, ocd

This Sunday’s Gospel gives us a scene that sums up the life and ministry of Jesus: “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (Mt 9:36). Jesus doesn’t observe from a distance, and he doesn’t regard them with indifference. He draws near. He sees with his heart. What he sees moves him deeply within. Jesus doesn’t just notice people’s suffering; he feels it as his own. He takes it upon himself. This is the compassion of God made flesh: a love that doesn’t remain at a distance from pain, but enters into it and suffers it from within. 

In that crowd, who does Jesus see? He sees people who are weary and cast down, burdened by illness, without hope. He sees men and women with no direction, no clear path, and no one to guide them or protect them. That crowd is like a reflection of all humanity: longing and not finding, struggling and not seeing the fruit of its labor—suffering with no one to offer consolation. Jesus saw the people as “sheep without a shepherd,” a biblical expression Moses used before his death, when he asked God not to leave his people “like sheep without a shepherd” (Num 27:17). 

This image has lost none of its relevance. Today, too, so many people are living like sheep without a shepherd. They are sad, alone, disoriented, and disillusioned by deceptive idols. We see families torn apart by poverty, forced migration, or violence, and entire peoples robbed of freedom and of a future by war or by dictatorial regimes that rule through fear and repression. Today, Jesus would see what he saw then: a humanity weary and cast down, hungry for truth, compassion, and freedom. 

Jesus’ compassion wasn’t merely a feeling. It became words of hope and acts that set people free: “Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues, and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and curing every disease and every sickness” (Mt 9:35). Compassion and action: that is why, when Jesus sees the suffering crowd, he’s moved to do something, and he cries out: “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few” (Mt 9:37). There’s a harvest to be gathered: hope to be restored, wounded communities to be served and set free, and history itself to be redeemed. And that harvest must not be lost.  

But the initiative isn’t ours. It belongs to God. That is why Jesus asks us to pray: “therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest” (Mt 9:38). Prayer is the first and most urgent response to the pain of the world. Not because it replaces action, but because it is the root and foundation of action, making it fruitful and strong. Those who pray recognize that the world won’t be saved by our strength alone. Those who pray enter into harmony with God’s plan and become ready to be part of his response. 

From this prayer and compassion comes the calling of the Twelve. Jesus “summoned his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to cure every disease and every sickness” (Mt 10:1). The number twelve points to the twelve tribes of Israel, the people of the first covenant. The Twelve are the foundation of a new people, born from the Lord’s redeeming will. Jesus doesn’t choose them to hold positions. He chooses them to carry his gaze and his compassion into the world. The Twelve are all of us, the whole Church, chosen and sent by Jesus to proclaim the good news that God is near. 

Before sending the Twelve, Jesus gives them power, but not power to dominate; he gives them power to heal. He doesn’t give them power to humiliate, but to raise up. He gives them one command: “Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons” (Mt 10:8). The power Jesus gives is power placed at the service of life and human dignity. It is exactly the opposite of the power that seduces the world: the power that crushes, controls, terrifies, and keeps people under its thumb. 

This power, received in order to serve and not to control others, did not end with the Twelve. It continues today, through us. Today, too, our first task is to proclaim that the kingdom of God is near, that God himself is near with his mercy and his liberating power. This proclamation becomes visible and credible through the very signs Jesus entrusted to the Twelve, signs that today extend his compassionate gaze over a humanity that is weary and cast down: by curing the sick, raising the dead, cleansing lepers, and casting out demons. 

To heal the sick is to lovingly care for the lives of others: to bring relief to those who suffer in body, to comfort those whose hearts are wounded, and to act with charity, bringing forgiveness and hope into the midst of pain. To raise the dead is to restore hope to those who no longer expect anything, helping them discover glimmers of God’s light in the dark nights of life. It means proclaiming the God of life without growing weary. And it also means opposing oppressive powers that attack life and hold people down, with the conviction that God accompanies and blesses every effort made on behalf of human freedom and dignity. 

To cleanse lepers is to work to restore dignity to those whom society or religion has pushed to the margins, through actions that foster welcome, inclusion, solidarity, and respectful dialogue. To cast out demons is to commit ourselves to processes of liberation, both personal and social, and to help those caught in the grip of idols, fear, or hopelessness recover their freedom. It also means denouncing the irrationality and cruelty of regimes that attack human dignity and multiply people’s misery, often even invoking God’s name. 

And Jesus places all of this—healing, raising the dead, cleansing lepers, and freeing people from demons—under one single criterion: “You received without payment; give without payment” (Mt 10:8). Christians don’t proclaim the Gospel out of ambition or for reward. They’re moved only by the conviction that they’ve been loved without deserving it. From that love they’ve received, they love without conditions and freely give to everyone what they themselves have received. 

Before sending us, Jesus has loved us, called us, and given us his power to proclaim that the kingdom of God is near. Let us go through life seeing others as Jesus sees them, recognizing every human being as someone loved by God. Let us walk the roads of life with his compassion, feeling the pain of others as our own and turning that pain into service and proclamation. Let us go out into the world with prophetic courage, proclaiming God’s truth and defending human dignity, even in situations of risk and conflict. 

The harvest is still plentiful. The laborers are still few. Today, the Lord is still seeking men and women willing to look upon the world with his compassion. May his compassionate gaze become our own.

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, 14 June 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Anonymous crowd of people walking on city street. Image credit: blvdone / Adobe Stock. Asset ID: 58368809.

When God Feeds His Children — Silvio José Báez, ocd

Today, with gratitude and wonder, we celebrate the gift of the Risen Christ, present in the bread of the Eucharist to satisfy our hunger for life and love. Today’s first reading, from the book of Deuteronomy, recalls Israel’s experience as they journeyed through the desert toward the promised land. In that barren place, where there could be no harvest and no food, the book of Deuteronomy reminds Israel: “The Lord fed you with manna, which neither you nor your ancestors knew” (Dt 8:3). Forty years without fertile land, without certainties, without a clear path forward. And yet, in that desert, God was present, feeding his people.

In the deserts of life, when our human securities collapse and we come face to face with our own insufficiency, God remains beside us like a father who lovingly provides for the needs of his children. Let’s think of the personal desert of loneliness and sadness, of discouragement and fear. Let’s think of the desert of our people, subjected for years to an irrational and aging power that deprives them of freedom and a future. Let’s think of the desert of uprooting and exile, which many of us have experienced. And yet, there’s no desert where God leaves us abandoned to our own strength, without sustaining us and feeding us with the power of his love.

But the manna in the desert held an even deeper lesson: “One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Dt 8:3). The desert taught Israel that material bread isn’t enough. There’s a hunger no abundance can satisfy, a thirst no success can calm, a loneliness no noise can fill. The deepest longings and desires of the heart can be fulfilled only by God, who continually offers us the bread of his presence and love.

Using that same image of bread, Jesus speaks in the synagogue of Capernaum the boldest words ever heard: “I am the living bread that came down from heaven” (Jn 6:51). Jesus is bread. Bread is simple, but it’s effective: it satisfies the one who eats it, nourishes life, and sustains existence. That’s what Jesus was, and that’s what he remains: bread. He is the bread that came down from heaven, the one who offered his life to bring us into communion with the Father and make us his children. He is bread that strengthens and heals us, forgives us, and gives us life.

Jesus is the bread that can fill our life with meaning and constantly renew it with his love: “The bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world” (Jn 6:51). The bread that gives us life is his life handed over, his merciful love, his words that enlighten and set us free, his tenderness toward the poor, his faithfulness unto death, his glorious life risen from the dead. All of this is Jesus, the bread that came down from heaven, who wants to be the daily bread of our fragile existence. Let’s not forget his words: “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you” (Jn 6:53).

In a world full of broken promises and deceitful words that try to manipulate our conscience, Jesus is the bread that feeds us with light and truth. In the face of authoritarian regimes that subjugate people through fear and repression, Jesus is the bread that nourishes us with strength and hope. Before unhinged rulers who distort history, calling repression peace and slavery a blessing, Jesus is the bread that sustains our dreams of freedom and keeps us from being deceived. To feed on Jesus is to believe in him, to trust in his love, to be nourished by his words, by his way of living and loving, and to let ourselves be transformed by him.

This encounter of faith with Jesus, this feeding on him, reaches its fullest and most concrete expression in the Eucharist. In the broken and shared bread of the Lord’s Supper, Jesus truly comes to us: “My flesh is true food and my blood is true drink” (Jn 6:55). In the simplicity of the eucharistic bread, the real presence of Jesus becomes food that strengthens us and renews our hope. When we receive Jesus in the bread of the Eucharist, our life is born anew again and again. We know ourselves to be freely loved, and we’re impelled to love our brothers and sisters with the same intensity. We can’t receive Christ in the Eucharist and remain indifferent to the suffering of the poor, dismiss those who think differently, foster fruitless divisions, or close our eyes to injustice.

The eucharistic bread is like a fountain of living water that refreshes our withered life and waters our parched heart. As the Pope recalled today at the Corpus Christi Eucharist in Madrid, Saint John of the Cross, in a beautiful poem, imagined the Eucharist as bread from which there flows, in the middle of the night, the living fountain who is God:

“This eternal spring is hidden
in this living bread for our life’s sake,
although it is night.

It is here calling out to creatures;
and they satisfy their thirst,
although in darkness, because it is night.

This living spring that I long for,
I see in this bread of life,
although it is night” (Poetry 8, sts. 9–11).

Saint John of the Cross reminds us that Jesus is present in the eucharistic bread as he is present in the night: he can be recognized and welcomed only through the darkness of loving faith. There is Jesus, “in this living bread for our life’s sake, although it is night” (Poetry 8, st. 9). Jesus is truly present in the simplicity of this bread: humble, silent, and discreet. From this bread, he cries out his love, calls us, and waits for us:

“It is here calling out to creatures;
and they satisfy their thirst,
although in darkness, because it is night” (Poetry 8, st. 10).

Commenting on this poem by Saint John of the Cross, Pope Leo invited us today in Madrid to open ourselves to Jesus, who, by the grace of the Eucharist, “transforms us and makes us protagonists of the transformation of history, a sign of hope.” And he added:

“Let us return to him with sincere love. Let us open ourselves to the encounter with him, let us allow him to quench the thirst of our hearts, so that we may then go forth into the paths of life and history, bringing to the people this stream of fresh water, a stream of love, peace, justice and joy” (Leo XIV, Homily of the Holy Father, June 7, 2026).

Let’s draw near to the table of the Lord with the simple, trusting faith of Israel in the desert, knowing that what we need most isn’t something we make for ourselves, but something given to us by God. Let’s receive Jesus with gratitude. Let’s allow his love, “the fount that flows and runs, although it is night,” to nourish us and transform us into bread, broken and shared for the life of the world.

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, 7 June 2026

John of the Cross, St 1991, The Collected Works of St. John of the Cross, rev. edn, Kavanaugh, K & Rodriguez, O (trans.), ICS Publications, Washington DC.

Leo XIV 2026, ‘Homily of the Holy Father: Holy Mass, Procession and Eucharistic Blessing in the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ, Plaza de Cibeles, Madrid, Sunday, 7 June 2026’, The Holy See, 7 June, viewed 7 June 2026, https://www.vatican.va/content/leo-xiv/en/homilies/2026/documents/20260607-spagna-messa-madrid.html.

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Adriaen van Ostade, Father Feeding his Child, 1610–85, etching. The Metropolitan Museum of Art (Public Domain). Image adapted for 16:9 format with parchment background.

Quote of the day, 28 May: Silvio José Báez, ocd

From her personal experience of divine grace, Mary looks around and contemplates history. Having fixed her gaze upon God, she now looks in the very direction that He is looking. She sees history far beyond outward appearances and discerns the true depth of reality, discovering who, in the eyes of God, are exalted and who are brought low, who are filled and who are left empty, who are near and who are far off:

“He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts; he has put down the mighty from their thrones and exalted the humble; he has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent empty away” (Luke 1:51–53).

“Going beyond the surface, Mary ‘sees’ the work of God in history with the eyes of faith. … Her Magnificat, at the distance of centuries and millennia, remains the truest and most profound interpretation of history, while the interpretations of so many of this world’s wise have been belied by events in the course of the centuries” (Benedict XVI, Recitation of the Rosary, Saint Peter’s Square, 31 May 2008).  

Let’s not forget the prophetic words of the Virgin Mary that have never been disproved by history: “He has put down the mighty from their thrones” (Lk 1:52).

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

El Magnificat: Una Oración Para Tiempos Nuevos

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: This detail of a stained glass window featuring the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary is located in the historic Church of Saint-Laurent in Paris, specifically in the chapel of Notre-Dame-des-Malades (Our Lady of the Sick). The stained glass artists were Antoine Lusson (fils) and Léon Lefèvre. This window was crafted in 1874 by Lusson and Lefèvre. Image credit: Mbzt / Wikimedia Commons (Some rights reserved).

Learn more about Lusson, his collaboration with the Carmel of Le Mans, and the Carmelite stained glass at the Basilica of the Sacred Heart in South Bend, Indiana.

Now We Are Beginning — Silvio José Báez, ocd

Now we are beginning, and let them strive to advance always from good to better.

Saint Teresa of Avila

On this Sunday, the Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord, we celebrate what the Letter to the Ephesians proclaims: God “put this power to work in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places” (Eph 1:20). Human history isn’t moving toward nothingness, death, or destruction. The risen Jesus has gone before us into glory, and from heaven he lovingly draws us to himself. We’re filled with hope by the certainty that, together with all creation, we’re journeying toward the final goal of all things: the day when we’ll see God face to face and share with Jesus in his own glorious life. 

Today’s Gospel tells us that, after the Lord’s resurrection and before his ascension, “the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them” (Mt 28:16). The disciples were in Jerusalem and had to return to Galilee, where Jesus had begun his ministry, had called them, and where they had first begun to follow him. 

To return to Galilee was to recover their memory and rekindle their love. They had to remember the roads they’d traveled together, the lake and the places around it where they’d experienced unforgettable moments with Jesus, the homes they had entered, so many faces, so many bodies healed, so many smiles filled with hope. In Galilee, they would remember how Jesus had sent them out with nothing but a staff and a single pair of sandals, without money or power, trusting completely in the Father in heaven. They had to return to Galilee because they needed to begin again. 

To go to Galilee is to hear the voice of Jesus again as if for the first time, to see his face, to feel his presence, and to begin following him with renewed fidelity. After the betrayal of Judas, Peter’s denial, and the fear that led them all to abandon him, they now prepare to return to the place where everything began. With the risen Jesus, it’s always possible to begin again. 

To return to Galilee means to keep in our hearts the living memory of Jesus’ call: the moment when he crossed our path, looked at us with mercy, and invited us to follow him. And when it’s no longer possible to return physically to our own Galilee, the place where we were born, because others prevent us from doing so, that memory becomes an interior homeland no one can take away. In the face of our failures and sins, our unfulfilled dreams, and the weariness of life, we too must return, again and again, to Galilee. Let’s experience the love of Jesus once more, welcome his forgiveness, and allow him to transform us, renew our strength, and give us new hope. 

We mustn’t stay there, brooding over our mistakes, bogged down in our weaknesses, or blaming one another. We can’t live on nostalgia alone for what we thought would happen and didn’t; it isn’t healthy to keep lamenting or blaming ourselves. We have to take up the journey again. Saint Teresa of Avila wrote, “Now we are beginning, and let them strive to advance always from good to better” (The Foundations, 29.32). We have to return to Galilee, return to the beginning of everything, and begin again and again. Whenever we set out on the road with trust in Jesus, he’ll be waiting for us, giving us the grace to begin again. 

Before ascending to heaven, Jesus leaves behind only a small group. They are no longer the Twelve, as they were at the beginning; one is missing now. Only eleven remain, all of them fearful and confused. They haven’t understood him very well, but they have loved Jesus deeply. That is the only guarantee they need. Now Jesus can return to the Father. He knows that none of them will forget him; they carry him in their hearts, and within them he will live forever. 

When they reached the mountain to which the Lord had directed them, they saw him and “worshiped him” in a gesture of loving adoration. Yet, as the Gospel says, “some doubted” (Mt 28:17). What were they doubting? Not his divinity, since they worshiped him. They doubted themselves: they knew they had abandoned, denied, and betrayed him. We too carry our limits and our doubts: fear of the future, the pain of displacement, and the unanswered question of when and how things will change. 

Nevertheless, Jesus doesn’t choose another group. He still trusts them; to them he gives the task of carrying on his mission in the world: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you” (Mt 28:19–20). Jesus entrusts his Gospel to those who doubt, invites the fearful to set out on the journey, and turns those who do not understand into teachers for the world. It’s as if he were saying to them: “I know you’re afraid and that you don’t understand very much, but I’m sending you.” That group of eleven weak and imperfect men is us. 

Before returning to the Father, Jesus entrusted to us the treasure of the Gospel and the mission of setting out on the journey, bearing witness and teaching what he taught us. We’re not called to wait for better times before we live and proclaim the Gospel. The mission is now, right where life has placed us. It isn’t a matter of doing heroic deeds or solving every problem, but of helping to build the future by proclaiming Christ, God-with-us, the fullness of humanity, and the merciful face of God. 

We must, then, always live as people on the journey, without letting faith grow dim or allowing mediocrity to take hold of us, without becoming indifferent to the suffering of others or the problems of the world. This is how Jesus envisioned us: drawing near to everyone without distinction, so that we might spread the joy of believing and the beauty of living the Gospel and following the Master. In this mission, the Church cannot remain silent about the truth of God or allow herself to be constrained by fear or worldly interests. That is why, without fear of the consequences, the Church denounces injustice and disrespect for human dignity, unmasking those who use power to imprison, banish, and silence their own people. 

Jesus sends us forth, assuring us of his abiding presence among us: “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Mt 28:20). These are his final words in Matthew’s Gospel. Let’s not doubt it: we’ll never be alone. By his presence, Jesus accompanies the life and mission of the Church. In the dark hours of the mission, he shines as a gentle light that illumines and consoles; in weakness and persecution, he strengthens the Church with his love so that she won’t lose heart. 

By his ascension, Jesus has not gone far away from us; he lives forever in the Church, guiding and protecting her with the light of his word and the strength of his Spirit. Jesus blesses our bleak days, our fragile hands, and our broken hearts. Because he is present with us, our humble efforts to love will not be lost; our struggle for truth and justice will bear fruit; our daily weariness will not be in vain. “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Mt 28:20). 

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, 17 May 2026

Teresa of Avila, St 1985, The Collected Works of St. Teresa of Avila, Kavanaugh, K & Rodriguez, O (trans.), ICS Publications, Washington DC.

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Duccio di Buoninsegna (Italian, c. 1255–c. 1319), Appearance on the Mountain in Galilee, tempera on wood, 1308–1311. The panel comes from the Maestà and is held by the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo, Siena. Image credit: Wikimedia Commons (Public domain).

Choose the Way That Leads Home — Silvio José Báez, ocd

On this Fifth Sunday of Easter, we have heard the words that Jesus spoke to his disciples at the Last Supper, just before his death. Everything suggests that his end is near and that the outcome could be tragic. Jesus assures them that his departure will not mean the end—that he will remain alive in their midst.

He urges them not to be troubled by what is about to happen. His words are unforgettable: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God still, and trust in me” (Jn 14:1).

How much we need to hear those words again and again!

Uncertainty, problems, and suffering trouble us in life—they bring sadness and anxiety. There is no such thing as a problem-free life, no life without difficulties to face or struggles to endure.

When these situations overwhelm us, Jesus invites us to trust: “Trust in God still, and trust in me” (Jn 14:1). These words are not a magic formula that makes problems disappear. What Jesus wants is that we live with serenity—the kind that comes from knowing we are loved and cared for by God with a tender love.

There are also painful periods in the history of the peoples, when the ambition for power, the irrationality of violence, and the disregard for human freedom and dignity seem to prevail. We must not despair.

Faith in God is our greatest strength and our surest source of consolation. When it feels as though the paths are closing and solutions seem out of reach, we must not doubt that the God of life—the God “who is just and loves justice” (Ps 11:7)—is at work in history, through our capacity to dream boldly and to persevere in the struggle.

To strengthen his disciples’ trust as his departure draws near, Jesus speaks to them of a house that awaits us at the end of life: “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling-places… I am going now to prepare a place for you… and I shall return to take you with me, so that where I am you may be too” (Jn 14:2–3).

With this image of the house, Jesus speaks of a place that is welcoming, warm, and familiar—where Someone lives: God. A God who desires us, who cannot imagine himself without us, who wants us with him forever.

It is consoling to know that our final destiny is not death or the destruction of life, but an immense house where there is room for everyone.

This house—where the Risen Lord has prepared a place for us—is the very heart of our Father God, toward which we are on our way, to live with him forever. At the end of life and of history, a spacious home awaits us: an embrace of love, immense hands that will receive us with tenderness.

Our final destiny is communion and love. A Father’s house awaits us.

We must begin now to prepare ourselves to live in this house: by welcoming one another with love, by ensuring that human diversity is not a cause of division but the leaven of a deeper communion, by building societies where there are no oppressors or oppressed, where the dignity and rights of all are respected, and where we renounce our own interests so that we may live together in peace and justice. 

We have to walk if we are to arrive. That is why we must choose the right path—one that helps us to anticipate, even now, the fullness of the communion and love of the Father’s house.

This is exactly what Thomas asked Jesus: “Lord, we do not know where you are going, so how can we know the way?” (Jn 14:5). And Jesus answered him: “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life” (Jn 14:6).

“I am the Way.” Jesus presents himself not as a goal to be reached, but as a path to be walked.

We are called to act as he acted, to prefer those he preferred, to stand against what he opposed. Jesus is a way of freedom and love that leads us to the Father, and a way of solidarity and service that draws us closer to others.

He is the one sure path we can follow—sometimes with fatigue, sometimes tempted to turn back, but always moving forward at the humble, steady pace of a believing heart, with the certainty that we never walk alone and that the light and strength of Jesus sustain us.

Jesus is the path that leads us to true life and to God: “No one can come to the Father except through me” (Jn 14:6).

“I am the Truth.” Jesus is not a teacher who came to teach a religious doctrine to be learned and then applied to life, nor a set of ideas that leave the heart dry, nor a system of thought that can go out of date. No. Jesus himself is the Truth.

He is truth made flesh—a living truth that beats with love and that, by enlightening us, sets us free and transforms our lives. Jesus is the one truth on which we can build our lives, with the certainty that we are laying solid foundations to sustain our fragile existence.

Jesus is the Truth because in him the faithful and eternal love of God has been revealed—the one truth that does not pass and never will.

“I am the Life.” When we walk in the way of Jesus and rely on him as the one truth, he opens us to communion with him—a communion that overflows into a life that is meaningful, worthy, and eternal, given to us as a gift.

Jesus is the life that frees us from all the shadows of death that threaten us. He is the life that dies for love and rises again to fill us with divine life.

United to him, life itself is renewed again and again, even in the midst of the desolation of pain and darkness. And united to Jesus, one day we will see brought to fulfillment all that has remained unfinished: our unfulfilled desires, our frustrated efforts, our imperfect loves—our health, our work, our homes, our celebrations, and our embraces.

Drawn by the loving attraction of the Father’s house, Philip says to Jesus: “Lord, let us see the Father and then we shall be satisfied” (Jn 14:8).

Jesus insists that they have already seen him and know him: “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (Jn 14:9; cf. 14:7). We have seen the Father in the intimate communion Jesus shared with God in prayer, and in the fidelity with which he obeyed him throughout his life.

We have seen the Father in the compassionate gestures of Jesus, which teach us that, for God, what comes first is not God, but the human person. This is the God in whom we believe—the God who has revealed himself as our Father in Jesus.

God is invisible to our eyes, and only through the humanity of Jesus can we see him. Jesus is the surest way to live, the most reliable truth by which to find our way, the most hope-filled secret of life.

In him, God has told us everything and given us everything. Saint John of the Cross explains this beautifully: “In giving us his Son, his only Word (for he possesses no other), he spoke everything to us at once in this sole Word – and he has no more to say” [Ascent of Mount Carmel II.22.3].

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, 3 May 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Olga Demchishina, Path with lavender in Provence, is a landscape photograph depicting a country path lined with lavender fields and olive trees leading toward a distant dwelling. It is available from Adobe Stock (Asset ID#: 107263712).

The True Shepherd and the Thieves — Silvio José Báez, ocd

In the world of Israel and throughout the Bible, everyone understood the work of shepherds—men who carefully fed, protected, and led their flocks. That’s why Scripture so often uses the image of the shepherd and the flock to describe God’s loving relationship with his people. The psalms pray this way: “Shepherd of Israel, hear us—you who lead Joseph like a flock” (Ps 80:1). And with deep trust, the believer can say: “The Lord is my shepherd; there’s nothing I shall want. He makes me rest in green pastures and leads me beside still waters” (Ps 23:1–3).

In today’s Gospel, Jesus presents himself as the shepherd who brings God’s work to fulfillment—feeding us, caring for us, and leading us into life. Between Jesus the shepherd and us, his flock, there unfolds a relationship of deep intimacy and loving knowledge. He calls his sheep “one by one” (Jn 10:3). Each of us is unique and unrepeatable, known by name and by our personal history. He loves us personally, just as we are. To him, we’re not an anonymous crowd. Turning people into a faceless crowd stands in direct opposition to love, and depersonalization only fosters despotic domination.

After calling his sheep, Jesus “leads them out” (Jn 10:3)—like a new exodus—and once he has brought them out, he “goes ahead of them” (Jn 10:4). He does not leave his sheep confined to closed spaces; he does not want them to live as captives, burdened by fear, sadness, or despair. Jesus calls us to set out from the refuges that suffocate us, from the little nooks of habits that have gone stale and moldy, and he leads us toward new and surprising pastures. He doesn’t allow his sheep to be trapped by any human power either—any power that would threaten their dignity or strip them of their freedom. He brings us out of the enclosures that enslave us and leads us into new lands of abundant life.

Jesus is the shepherd of a “flock that goes forth,” and he goes ahead of them, showing the way. He’s a shepherd of freedom, not of fear. He invites us to trust what lies beyond; he knows that along the journey there are many misleading paths, yet he helps us remain on his path by guiding us with his unmistakable voice. Jesus, “the good shepherd” (Jn 10:11), is followed by his sheep “because they know his voice” (Jn 10:4). His voice is unlike any other. He knows us, and when he speaks, he understands the deepest longings of our hearts and leads us to their fulfillment.

His voice is unlike any other. Jesus doesn’t impose rigid commands; he says nothing that instills fear and speaks no words of deception. His voice sets us free, awakens hope within us, and helps us walk through life with joy and dignity. We can trust him and trust in his love. He isn’t a thief who steals our happiness or a tyrant who tramples our freedom. Jesus has come so that we may have life—“life in abundance” (Jn 10:10). The best thing we can do in life is to listen to his voice and follow him.

Jesus shows us the true shepherd, who enters through the door of the sheepfold with respect, in contrast to “thieves and bandits” who climb over the fence, hide themselves, and resort to violence (Jn 10:1). They “come only to steal, kill, and do harm.” Jesus knows that the enclosure that safeguards our dignity and our life is threatened by such thieves and bandits and remains fragile. We must learn to recognize them and remain on guard against them.

The first enclosure we must care for is the enclosure of our own heart. It’s the most intimate and the most important. If we’re not attentive, our heart can be invaded by relationships, ideas, and feelings that do us great harm. There are relationships that rob us of the joy of living and suffocate our freedom; there are ways of life that trap us in mediocrity; there are distorted ideas that breed prejudice against others or stir up false fears that keep us from living with freedom and joy. There are negative thoughts that enter the heart and erode our sense of self-worth, create deep divisions between ourselves and others, and imprison us in the sadness of selfishness or isolation. We must care for the enclosure of our heart.

We must also care for the social enclosure in which we live, because as a people we too are threatened by “thieves and bandits” who come only to steal, kill, and do harm. In Jesus’ day, the “thieves and bandits” he speaks of were, first of all, the religious leaders of Israel—meticulous in observing the law of Moses, yet treating the people with contempt, even though they were largely simple and poor, often without access to education or led astray morally. “Thieves and bandits” are those religious leaders who become authoritarian, who enrich themselves in the name of God, and who neither care for the people nor stand up for them. We must also be on guard against them.

In Jesus’ day, “thieves and bandits” also included messianic leaders who deceived the people, filling them with false hopes through empty promises of liberation. Today, the “thieves and bandits” are the powerful who seize control of the freedom and the future of entire peoples; dictators and their accomplices who present themselves as politicians but who, in reality, are crooks and criminals. They’re especially dangerous today because, in a blasphemous way, they portray their abuses, corruption, and injustices as if they were a blessing from God. They’re also deeply cynical, constantly speaking of peace while maintaining oppressive systems that leave people without initiative or freedom.

All of these are “thieves and bandits.” Jesus says, “they don’t care for the sheep at all,” because when they “see the wolf coming, they abandon the sheep and flee” (Jn 10:12–13). Jesus, “the good shepherd,” stands in contrast to these “thieves and bandits.” He doesn’t come to take away our freedom, but to free us from all that holds us back and weighs us down; he doesn’t cloud our conscience, but enlightens it; he doesn’t take away our true joys, but multiplies them.

Jesus, the good shepherd, has come so that we may have life—and have it in abundance (Jn 10:10). Life is everything we long for in the depths of our hearts: breath, strength, health, beauty, love, relationships, joy, freedom, and peace. Jesus has come so that we may have not just the bare minimum, without which life isn’t life at all, but life that’s abundant and overflowing—one that reaches others and will one day open into life without end beyond death. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want (…). Even though I walk through dark valleys, I will fear no evil; for you are with me” (Ps 23:1, 4).

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, 26 April 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: A contemplative depiction of Christ as the Good Shepherd standing beneath a star-filled night sky. Image credit: sticker2you / Adobe Stock.

The Cross: The Fullness of God — Silvio José Báez, ocd

On this Third Sunday of Easter, we hear the beautiful story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus. Two of Jesus’ disciples—witnesses of his crucifixion—sad and disillusioned, are on their way back to Emmaus.

As they walk, they talk about everything that happened in those days in Jerusalem (Lk 24:14). The death of Jesus—he in whom they had trusted, the one they had followed—left them deeply disappointed. They need to talk about it. They need to remember. They need to share what they’ve lived through. And yet, even as they talk, they are still trapped in the painful past. They can’t yet see any reason to hope.

Their experience brings to mind, almost spontaneously, the recent history of the people of Nicaragua. Eight years ago, the people rose up peacefully against a criminal dictatorship that reacted with violence—repressing and killing hundreds of Nicaraguans. The regime has imposed a repressive police state that has stripped away all freedoms and left a painful legacy of imprisonment, exile, and death. Like those two disciples on the road to Emmaus, Nicaragua is the walking wounded—often filled with uncertainty, but always longing for freedom, peace, and justice.

When we carry such a painful history on our shoulders, we run the risk of becoming discouraged, losing hope, like the disciples of Emmaus. They were walking, but they were still trapped in the painful events that had occurred just a few days earlier, when they saw Jesus die, without finding a reason to keep going.

Today’s Gospel is a joyful proclamation for the people of Nicaragua. It reminds us that we are not alone. The Risen Lord is alive and walks with us. He shares our suffering, desires to open our eyes, and to give us the strength to rebuild the country and to create a future of justice and freedom for all.

As those two disciples were walking along, Jesus drew near and began to speak with them. They told him about the sorrow caused by the crucifixion of their Master and the disappointment they were experiencing, because they had hoped that he would be the one to redeem Israel (Lk 24:21). They talk about what they’ve experienced, but limit themselves to the surface of events, to what is external, and see only a failure that has deeply disillusioned them.

Jesus begins to interpret those same events, moving beyond the surface and entering into their deeper meaning. He begins to explain to them “everything about himself in all the Scriptures” (Lk 24:27). He shows them that his death on the cross was the fulfillment of God’s entire history of love and salvation for us. His condemnation and his death on the cross were mysteriously part of the divine plan. Jesus explains: “Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” (Lk 24:26).

He speaks to them about his unjust death in light of the admirable action of God, who reorients everything, including criminal hatred, toward the triumph of good, so that, as if by a miracle, the splendid fruit of life springs forth from guilt. He speaks of his Passion and his death as a mysterious action of God, through which from the cross springs forth the victory of mercy and the wonder of divine salvation.

As they listen to Jesus, the two disciples begin to understand that the cross wasn’t God’s absence—it was his fullness. The Crucified One wasn’t a failure—he was the supreme embodiment of the mystery and the love of God.

They’re captivated by Jesus’ words. Later, they’ll say their hearts were burning within them. Jesus helps them interpret what they’ve experienced in the light of his Resurrection, so they can see reality with God’s own eyes. The mighty hand of God has been revealed not in criminal hatred and violence, but in the boundless love of the Crucified One. God’s hand has been revealed on the cross, where everything seemed impossible, where the absurd seemed to prevail.

The Risen Jesus offers reasons to hope and new strength to keep building a better future for the people of Nicaragua. With Jesus at our side, walking with us, the suffering we’ve endured can become a new impetus to keep going; in our powerlessness, we can discover the strength of God that propels us forward; our mistakes can become a lesson that sets us back on the right path; and our sadness and discouragement can become strength to change history.

We mustn’t fall into the illusion that the true victors are those who impose themselves with weapons. Nor should we let ourselves be deceived by the distorted reading of history put forward by those in power, who present themselves as victims and accuse the real victims. The Resurrection of Jesus assures us that, just as his crucifixion once seemed like a defeat, what happened eight years ago has in fact been the great victory of a people who are already rising again, because they refuse to submit to unjust oppression and to the theft of their own history.

The disciples invite Jesus to stay with them. As they sit at table, Jesus takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them (Lk 24:30). Then the eyes of the two disciples are opened, and they recognize him (Lk 24:31). In that broken bread, Jesus is present—he feeds us with the strength of his love in every Eucharist. In the Eucharistic bread, we find the strength that sustains us and the love that guides us. The people of Nicaragua are not only courageous, but also a people who believe. May Jesus, the Bread of Life, always sustain our journey and be our nourishment in moments of doubt and weariness.

Before that broken bread, the disciples finally came to understand the meaning of history. The Eucharist teaches us how the future is built: by becoming bread broken for the life of the world. The people of Nicaragua must not forget this. It’s not about seeking more victories, but about daring to lose out of love—giving ourselves generously so that others may live, and continuing to struggle so that a society marked by freedom, justice, and peace may take shape, without victors or vanquished.

The two disciples return to Jerusalem, where the others are gathered, to tell them what they’ve experienced. They return at night, but illuminated interiorly. Jesus leads us back along the paths of fear, failure, and sadness. He frees us from the temptation to flee to Emmaus. He sends us to others and restores us to our place in history. With the strength of the Risen Lord, and under the loving gaze of Mary Immaculate, Mother of our people, let us walk in hope, share the fire of faith, and always be ready to build, with optimism and generosity, the dignified future our people deserve.

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, 19 April 2026

Note: “Eight years ago” refers to the 2018 Nicaraguan protests, when peaceful demonstrations were met with violent repression.

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Nicaragua’s Mothers’ Day March on 30 May 2018 was a peaceful demonstration in solidarity with the mothers of those murdered, disappeared, and detained by the Ortega dictatorship. In the end, it was attacked by police and paramilitary forces, leaving eleven dead that day and about one hundred wounded. Image credit: Jorge Mejia Peralta / Flickr (Some rights reserved)

Quote of the day, 22 March: Silvio José Báez, ocd

“Lazarus, come out!”

John 11:43

This is the cry that Jesus addresses to each one of us; today, Jesus tells us, “Come out!”

Don’t stay in the tomb of your sin, thinking that you can’t be forgiven. Don’t become discouraged in the face of your worries, thinking that there’s no solution or future for you. Don’t shut yourself up in sadness and uncertainty.

Let yourself be grasped by my hand, Jesus tells us, and come out of the tomb.

When we let Jesus take us by the hand, it’s possible to live in a new way without fear, loving and letting ourselves be loved, living with the wisdom of those who do no harm, with the transparency of a person who doesn’t pretend to deceive others, and with the simplicity of those who trust completely in God.

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, Fifth Sunday of Lent (excerpt)
26 March 2023

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: The raising of Lazarus is one panel in the Neo-Gothic stained glass window depicting scenes from the life of Christ, which was crafted and installed in 1840 by Etienne Thevenot in the Chapel of the Tomb at the Church of Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois, Paris. Image credit: zatletic / Adobe Stock (Asset ID#: 256216395).

Freed from Our Blindness — Silvio José Báez, ocd

Dear brothers and sisters,

In today’s Gospel (Jn 9:1–41), Jesus heals a man who had been blind from birth, someone who had lived his entire life immersed in darkness. He heals him by placing mud on his eyes, making a gesture that recalls what God did when he created the human being, shaping him from the dust of the earth (Gen 2:7). The healing of this blind man is like a new creation. In Latin American culture, childbirth—the birth of a child—is called dar a luz, “to bring into the light.” In that sense, Jesus brought this blind man into the light. He caused him to be born again; he restored his human dignity. Now he will be able to see clearly. He will no longer stumble. He will know how to discern. He will live in freedom. By giving him sight, Jesus has created a new man.

The blind man who passes from darkness to light represents every believer who, throughout life, grows and matures in his knowledge of Jesus. At first, the blind man sees Jesus simply as a man. When the neighbors ask him how his eyes were opened, he answers that “the man called Jesus” put mud on his eyes and healed him. When the Pharisees question him and ask what he says about the one who opened his eyes, he replies: “He is a prophet” (v. 17). A little later, when the Pharisees insist that Jesus is a sinner and cannot come from God because he healed on the Sabbath, the man who had been blind answers: “If this man were not from God, he could do nothing” (v. 33). Finally, after being expelled from the synagogue, he meets Jesus again. Jesus asks him whether he believes in the Son of Man. Then the healed blind man prostrates himself before him, in an act of worship proper to the believer, and says: “I believe, Lord” (v. 38).

While the blind man keeps moving toward the light, toward an ever deeper knowledge of Jesus, the others gradually become blind because of their arrogance, their mental rigidity, and their religious fanaticism. The neighbors of the healed man represent the indifferent people who always keep their distance, who believe that real change is impossible, and who prefer a world in which everything remains the same. The parents of the blind man represent the fearful people who remain silent about the truth out of fear of reprisals and bargain away their conscience and their voice to avoid the consequences.

Finally, there are the Pharisees, who think they know everything, doubt nothing, and impose their own truth. They live obsessed with the observance of the Sabbath rest, yet they are incapable of seeing a man who has been healed. The Pharisees represent a religion that takes no interest in the good of the human person and knows only how to speak about itself and for itself. What good is a religion that exists only to defend its truths, celebrate its rituals, and impose its doctrine? What kind of religion is one that pays no attention to reality and is insensitive to the suffering of people, that does not stand on the side of the weak and does not commit itself to the struggle against darkness?

Even today there are forms of blindness that dehumanize life.

The blind are those who expect different results while always doing the same thing.

• Those who look upon the suffering of others as one watches the rain fall from behind a windowpane.
• Those who think money can make people happy.
• Those who believe that love is only a passing feeling rather than a free decision that always seeks the good of the other.
• Those who live as though tomorrow did not exist and the future held no memory.

The blind are those who believe that peace can be built through violence or that violating the rights of others makes them powerful.

• Those who remain silent in the face of injustice, imagining that they will never be its victims and believing that their silence will protect them from tyrants.
• Those who naively believe that certain people or political systems are eternal and will never pass away, and who therefore render them homage, giving them their hearts and their consciences.

The Gospel account we have heard today invites us to open our hearts to the Gospel so that we may be freed from our blindness. All of us are like those born blind, unable to see the mystery of existence. Only the light of Jesus can illuminate our hearts and open our eyes so that we may see the truth about life, about ourselves, and about God. Then we become believers like the man healed in today’s Gospel, who represents the believer enlightened by Jesus. He is a new man. In fact, people no longer recognize him. “Isn’t this the man?” some say. “No, it can’t be him,” say others. When we encounter the Lord, we are the same—and yet we are no longer the same. One encounters the Lord and is changed within. Windows of light are opened.

Believing doesn’t mean closing our eyes. It doesn’t mean renouncing reason or the capacity to think. It doesn’t mean turning our gaze away from the world. Rather, believing means looking at life in a particular way. Believing means seeing the world with the eyes of Jesus through the light of the Gospel. Today the Pope said that we need a faith that is awake, attentive, and prophetic (Angelus, 3/15/2026). When we see the world as Jesus saw it, everything looks different. We acquire wakeful eyes that do not ignore the dramatic situations of injustice and violence that make humanity bleed. We look with attentive eyes at the needs of our brothers and sisters, responding with charity and with our commitment to peace, justice, and solidarity. We also see the world with prophetic eyes, denouncing injustices that attack human dignity.

Faith also gives us serene eyes that fill us with hope and humble eyes that help us accept ourselves with our lights and our shadows. We know that we are in the hands of God, who sustains and guides us. Believers are like that. Even though we don’t understand everything, we face life with confidence because we know that we live in the loving hands of our Father God. At times we may even doubt and experience the limits of human reason, but we don’t despair. We know that we weren’t created to live in darkness or to walk alone. Sustained by the love of Jesus and illuminated by his light, we feel secure—without fear, with hope, without narrow-mindedness or fruitless nostalgia for the past. We continue walking toward a brighter light, but also a more humble one.

May Jesus, the “light of the world” (Jn 8:12), illuminate our lives. Let’s not live in deception. Let’s not reject the truth. Let’s not close ourselves within our own ideas. Let’s not resign ourselves to darkness. Let’s not turn our gaze away from the world or from the suffering of our brothers and sisters.

Today we’ve heard Jesus say: “I came so that those who do not see may see, and those who see may become blind” (Jn 9:39). That’s what happens. When we close ourselves in our lies and in our pride, we become blind. When we humbly acknowledge our blindness and welcome the light of the Gospel, we begin to see the truth and to live with joy and hope.

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily for the Fourth Sunday in Lent, 15 March 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: El Greco (Doménikos Theotokópoulos, Greek, 1541–1614), The Healing of the Man Born Blind, oil on panel, c. 1570–1575. It comes from the collections of the Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden, via Wikimedia Commons (Public domain).

Quote of the day, 15 March: Silvio José Báez, ocd

It’s true that God seems to be hidden in the pain, but in reality, he’s present, always working mysteriously for our good, even now.

In the difficult moment that humanity is experiencing, we have to walk with serenity like the blind man in the Gospel of John (9:1-41); we have to face uncertainty without losing our inner peace…

The blind man’s perseverance, walking in the midst of conflict and incomprehensible hostility, teaches us that we recover our sight to the extent that we recognize that we don’t see everything clearly, that we don’t understand everything completely, but we trust in Jesus and resist with the light of faith and the strength of his love.

When we feel tired, anxious, and afraid that this long night won’t end, let’s recognize with serenity that we don’t see clearly—that darkness surrounds us. Jesus came “that those who do not see may see” (Jn 9:39). He wants to sharpen our interior gaze, to cure our blindness, and to give us his light so that we may see more deeply.

During this Lent, we must take time to be silent and pray, to listen to the Word of God, and to pray as a family. It’s time to prostrate ourselves before the Lord and adore him. God may seem to be absent, but right there where he doesn’t even seem to be, he is consoling us and giving us strength, marvelously weaving a plan of life for all of humanity.

God consoles us in our helplessness and pain and gives us the strength of his love so that through everyone’s solidarity and sacrifice we can save ourselves. God is with us— and through Jesus, the light of the world, he sustains us in our littleness and gives us the capacity to see in the darkness, beyond all blindness.

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Lent (excerpts), 22 March 2020

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Christ Healing the Blind Man, Gioacchino Assereto (Italian, 1600–1649), c. 1640 oil on canvas. Image credit: Carnegie Museum of Art, Pittsburgh (Public domain).

The Glory of Love — Silvio José Báez, ocd

The Gospel of this Second Sunday in Lent is filled with sun and light (Mt 17:1–9). Jesus took Peter, James, and John with him and led them up a high mountain. There he was transfigured before them: his face shone like the sun and his clothes became dazzling white (Mt 17:1).

This took place shortly after Jesus had revealed to them that he was resolved to go to Jerusalem, where the Jewish authorities, after making him suffer greatly, would put him to death (cf. Mt 16:24–25). The disciples had been shaken by the Master’s words and filled with fear at the tragic destiny awaiting him. Everything had grown dark for them: they were confused, afraid, and beginning to lose heart.

On the mountain, the three disciples contemplate for a moment, in the intimacy of the mountaintop, the humble glory of God hidden in the humanity of Jesus. He wanted them to understand the path of love he was ready to walk—even to suffering and death. There he chose to reveal to them the secret concealed within his humanity: the glory of love that moved his heart and led him to a boundless self-giving for humanity.

The radiant face of Jesus is an image to be engraved on the heart for the darkest day, when his face will be struck, insulted, humiliated—when it will no longer appear transfigured but disfigured. This is the great challenge that Peter, James, and John must accept. They are called to discover the mysterious thread that unites the Mount of the Transfiguration and Mount Calvary: the disconcerting relationship between blazing light and total darkness, between the transfigured face of Jesus and the disfigured face of the Crucified One.

For the three disciples, such an experience was necessary—one that would strengthen them, enlighten them, and make them feel enveloped in the love that filled Jesus’ life. They needed to step back from daily reality, from their fears and shadows, and open their eyes to something new and luminous. They had to understand that the final word in history does not belong to suffering, injustice, evil, or death. Soon they would live through the night of Jesus’ passion and death; it was important that they experience it knowing that its darkness would not last forever. No night in life lasts forever.

Jesus led them to the summit not to distance them from reality, but so they might step back and gain a broader and deeper vision of life. From above, the landscape can be seen more clearly. It isn’t healthy to live only on the flatlands of routine—conditioned by the pressures of daily life—filled with fear before the challenges we face. We must step back and rise above the quicksands of failure, mediocrity, and hopelessness, and free ourselves from the ideological quagmires that make us rigid or pessimistic.

On the mountain, Peter, James, and John were able to see, beyond appearances, a deeper truth: in the humble humanity of Jesus they contemplated the radiant glory of God. Today this same challenge stands before us: to see beyond appearances with the eyes of faith. The world teaches us to judge by success, outward beauty, and visible power; faith invites us to see with different eyes. On a cross, the world sees defeat; faith sees the triumph of love. In our crises, the world sees failure; faith discovers opportunities for growth. Every difficulty contains a seed of grace; every tear can become a spring of blessing.

Faith is like a new pair of lenses that allow us to see reality clearly. Without faith, we look at life through the eyes of fear, hopelessness, and human calculation. With faith, we see with the eyes of love, hope, and eternity. Faith helps us recognize that God is never absent; he is always weaving something beautiful, even when we cannot see it. Faith allows us to glimpse resurrection in the midst of death, light in the midst of darkness, meaning in the midst of chaos. With that gaze, we can move forward when everything seems lost, because we know that the end of the story will be fullness of life and light.

In society as well, there are moments of confusion. We feel scattered, weak, even unsuccessful in achieving the results we hoped for. Injustice and violence seem invincible; no paths toward resolution appear. Weariness, failed attempts, and disappointments overwhelm us. In those moments we must climb the mountain: step back, rise above the flatlands of personal interests, and leave behind the ideological quagmires that make us rigid or pessimistic. The light of the Risen Lord—which conquers sin and death and is already present, in anticipation, on the mountain—enables us to see reality with new eyes and widens our vision and our hearts.

The new light radiating from Christ transfigures us; it grants us a renewed vision of life and history; it gives us strength to continue striving for a new world and keeps our hope from withering. Illuminated by Jesus, we won’t be sowers of darkness or prophets of doom, but humble sowers of sparks of light where shadows seem to reign.

Like Peter, James, and John, we too must climb the mountain again and again and allow the light of the Risen Lord to shine into the darkness of our existence. We climb the mountain when we pray. In prayer, in silence with the Lord—even for a short time—his light transfigures us. Moments of prayer aren’t useless; they are necessary. We must expose ourselves to that loving light, dedicate time to listening to Jesus, to conversion, and to rejoicing in his luminous presence.

When we contemplate the light of the Risen One, we aren’t blinded, nor do we forget our commitments. Like the disciples, we must always descend into the valley of daily life: the ordinary rhythm, the struggle and fatigue of each day. In this Eucharist we stand on the holy mountain, contemplating the radiant face of Jesus and listening to his voice. When the celebration ends, let us descend into the valley of everyday life enlightened by him. May the light of Jesus make us strong and radiant. May it help us discover the beauty of life, hidden like a drop of light in the living heart of all things.

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily for the Second Sunday in Lent
Miami, March 1, 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Detail from a 15th c. icon of the Transfiguration by the hand of Theophanes the Greek currently in the collections of the Tretyakov Gallery. Image credit: Wikimedia Commons (Public domain)

Quote of the day, 1 March: Silvio José Báez, ocd

On this second Sunday of Lent, we continue our journey of freedom and light, of prayer and conversion, towards the Lord’s Passover.

If last Sunday’s Gospel showed us Jesus up on a high mountain—subject to the temptation to abandon the ways of God, reducing his Messianic character to material satisfaction, the manipulation of God, and the quest for power and fame—this Sunday we contemplate him on another mountain, but one filled with light and glory. We see him as the beloved Son of the Father, the one whose voice we must listen and follow.

This Sunday’s Gospel, which was written according to the model of the theophanies (i.e., the divine revelations of the Old Testament), says that Jesus went up with Peter, James, and John to a mountain to pray.

The mountain is terrain that rises up vertically; it is closest to heaven, the resting place of God’s feet. As the prophet, Amos says: He “treads on the heights of the earth” (Amos 4:13). The mountains are pointing towards the mystery and depth of the cosmos, towards the infinite; they are the land that penetrates heaven. And Jesus climbs a mountain to pray.

Prayer is like climbing a mountain—not physically, but by entering into the depths of our being where we find God’s heart filled with light.

Climbing the mountain means entering within ourselves, beyond feelings and reasons, beyond all the ups and downs of daily life, carrying in our hearts the great problems of the world.

Prayer is about entering within ourselves with our hands full of faces and experiences. When we pray we allow ourselves to be enlightened and transfigured by the loving and peaceful light of God who dwells within our heart, “in its deepest center” (Cf. Saint John of the Cross, The Living Flame Of Love)

Indeed, while Jesus was praying, his face changed appearance. Prayer is transforming: it transforms you into what you contemplate, what you hear, and what you love—and you become like the One to whom you pray. Psalm 34 says: “Look to him, and be radiant!” (Ps 34:5).

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, Second Sunday of Lent, 17 March 2019 (excerpt)
Our Lady of the Assumption Parish, Managua

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Detail from Icon: The Transfiguration, tempera on panel, first quarter 16th century, Novgorod. From the Feasts Tier collection. Image credit: State Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg (Public domain).

Quote of the day, 11 May: Silvio José Báez, ocd

Jesus invites us to trust in God and in him. To believe means to trust, first of all—to surrender, to abandon ourselves to love. In the face of fear, the antidote par excellence is trust in God.

Faced with the tragedy of his crucifixion, Jesus asks us to do the same today as asked his disciples then. He wants us to persevere each day, united to him and the Father, with the awareness that we are loved and cared for with a love so profound, it surpasses understanding.

We won’t always be able to comprehend the bad things that happen to us, but we always will be able to trust in the love of God who cares for us, consoles and sustains us.

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
10 May 2020

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: An image of prayer, dialogue, listening, and trust. Image credit: Lyndon Stratford / Adobe Stock.

Not a Time for Silence — Silvio José Báez, ocd

Today’s Gospel recounts the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. It tells us when he began to preach and what his first message was.

“When Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee … From that time Jesus began to preach, saying, ‘Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven has come near’” (Mt 4:12, 17).

Jesus had been an enthusiastic supporter of the Baptist’s movement—probably even his disciple—and he himself was baptized by John. John’s arrest must have deeply affected Jesus. Yet instead of intimidating him, this act of injustice helped him understand that God’s work had to continue.

People can be silenced, but great ideals endure. They extinguished the voice crying out in the desert, but a stronger voice arose—the voice of Jesus. Even when a prophet is silenced, God’s voice will always be heard, for “the word of God is not chained” (2 Tim 2:9). Jesus knew how to read the signs of the times. After John’s arrest, he could have withdrawn into hiding and lived an ordinary life. Instead, he chose to keep preaching in God’s name, nourishing his people’s hope and proclaiming God’s saving plan with passion.

Jesus teaches us that when everything seems to come to a halt, it’s the perfect moment to recalibrate our inner compass, to be docile to God’s ways, to look to the future with hope, and to keep moving forward. Problems and obstacles can become opportunities to discover strengths we didn’t know we had. When we face challenges without letting discouragement break us, we grow stronger and find creative solutions. The Lord’s strength and love are present in every difficulty we face. Let’s learn to see life with the eyes of Jesus, who knew how to discover new paths when everything seemed to be over.

We must stay attentive to what’s happening around us. We’re living in a decisive moment, one in which global geopolitics seem to be reshaped through the use of force, the denial of law, and contempt and mistreatment toward the most vulnerable people. We also see how economic relations and wealth have been elevated into a power that governs the world, forgetting the value and dignity of persons and nations. It’s time to redirect the course of history. It’s time to believe again in reason, peaceful understanding, human dignity, and in the urgent pursuit of peace and fraternity. As Pope Leo said at the Mass inaugurating his pontificate on May 18, 2025: “This is the hour of love!” It’s the hour to believe in God’s transforming power and in humanity’s ability to build a better world.

In many of our countries, we’re living through times of uncertainty and painful experiences of arbitrary powers that threaten, repress, and imprison. This isn’t the hour to remain silent or to lose heart. Like Jesus, who pressed forward after John’s arrest, we too must stand firm and continue to dream—and to fight for the liberation and democratization of our people, now at hand.

For the Church, this isn’t a time for silence. It’s time to raise our voices: to cast light into the darkness of this present hour, to nourish the people’s hope, and to denounce oppressive structures that have long prevailed but are now on the verge of disappearing.

This is the moment for political leaders not only to address international bodies or the media, but to speak directly to the people—with wisdom and solidarity. The time has come to give the people within the country a central role: to listen to their needs and concerns, to accompany their efforts to organize, and to strengthen their hope. Paraphrasing what Pope Francis said in Bolivia in 2015, we must remember that the future of our people doesn’t lie only in the hands of great powers or political leaders. It lies, above all, in the hands of the people themselves and in their ability to organize (Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia, July 9, 2015).

Today’s Gospel also shows us what lay at the heart of Jesus’ preaching. He left the desert and went to Galilee, a region full of villages and cities. And there, in the midst of the people, he began to proclaim: “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven has come near” (Mt 4:17). In these few words we find a summary of everything Jesus preached. The time of distance from God is over. The Kingdom of Heaven is near. God has drawn close with all his saving power. We’re not alone, weighed down and entangled in our problems, weaknesses, and sufferings.

When Jesus announces the nearness of the Kingdom of Heaven, he adds: “Repent” (Mt 4:17). He invites us to examine how we think and how we act, and to let go of everything that keeps us from living fully.

• To repent is to remove the obstacles that block God’s closeness.
• To repent is to allow ourselves to be transformed by the renewing power of God’s love.
• It means abandoning the logic of selfishness and embracing the logic of love and respect for others, which is God’s very essence.
• It’s a call to go beyond personal interests and self-satisfaction and to build relationships rooted in compassion and solidarity—the foundations of a new humanity.

With Jesus, the Kingdom of Heaven has drawn near. God is among us. We’re not meant to live enslaved by our sins or trapped in a dark and meaningless life. We can be freed from the evil that dominates us and experience the joy of God’s forgiveness. We can live as God’s beloved children, welcoming his will and entrusting ourselves confidently to him. And we can become true brothers and sisters, letting go of a competitive way of seeing life and building together societies that are just and peaceful.

The new world that God’s closeness brings into being may seem like a dream, but God is already making it real. He’s waiting for us to welcome his love, to trust in him, and to be willing to remove the obstacles that keep him at a distance. Let’s receive with renewed joy Jesus’ great proclamation today: “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven has come.”

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily for the Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, 25 January 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Christ’s teaching ministry is featured in this stained glass window from Canterbury Cathedral. Image credit: Lawrence Lew, OP / Flickr (Some rights reserved).

#BishopSilvioJoséBáez #hope #humanDignity #injustice #propheticMinistry

Quote of the day, 25 January: Silvio José Báez, ocd

To be “fishers of men” [Mt 4:18-22] is to be builders of men, that is, people who approach others, seeking their good, serving them, helping them to move forward, supporting them in their difficulties, and above all imparting hope and the joy of believing.

To be “fishers of men” is to be educators of men, that is, people who dedicate themselves to educating new generations integrally in the great human values of justice and truth in order to build a new culture founded on dialogue, respect, and tolerance.

To be “fishers of men” is to be liberators of men, that is, persons who defend people’s freedom and dignity, fighting against everything that oppresses and humiliates human beings.

To be “fishers of men” is the Church’s deepest mission and joy. It is to this that Jesus calls us. For this, he has looked upon us and called us each by name. Jesus’s loving gaze and his word reach their fullness and yield their most precious fruit when our lives become mission.

Let’s not fear to let Jesus look upon us, to listen to his call, and follow him. We will always find something better, greater hope and joy, and life in all its fullness.

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, Third Sunday in Ordinary Time (excerpt), 22 January 2023

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Photographer Steven Van captured this image of sunrise on the Sea of Galilee in 2017. He writes, “I was suppose to wake up early and have plenty of time to get setup….. but I over slept, I ended up basically running up 7 stories of stairs because the elevators in my hotel were super slow, quickly got to the roof access and setup everything just in time to capture a few shots.” Image credit: steven van / Flickr (Some rights reserved)

#BishopSilvioJoséBáez #hope #JesusChrist #liberation #mission

Immersed in the River of Sinful Humanity — Silvio José Báez, ocd

Today’s Gospel shows Jesus coming from Nazareth to the River Jordan to be baptized by John (cf. Mk 1:9). The account does not so much describe the external rite of baptism as it does Jesus’s interior experience—an experience that would be decisive for his future messianic ministry.

As the Messiah, we might expect a glorious appearance and a display of power. Instead, Jesus arrives as one among many, without signs of superiority. He blends into the crowd gathered around John and takes his place in line among those who were confessing their sins. He begins his public life not with a solemn proclamation or a surprising miracle, but by drawing near to sinners and placing himself among them without any display of sanctity. Before being immersed in the waters of the Jordan, Jesus immerses himself in the river of sinful humanity.

The Messiah is the leader par excellence, the leader sent by God who leads us to salvation. Jesus the Messiah shows that authentic leadership is marked by humility and closeness to the people. The true leader doesn’t seek prominence or personal gain; he places the good of others first and shares the burdens of the people. He listens, accompanies, and brings the poorest and those who suffer most to the forefront.

Baptism was a rite of purification and conversion very common at the time: those who immersed themselves in the water expressed their decision to abandon sin and begin a new life. Jesus, “the Holy One of God” (Mk 1:24), who “knew no sin” (cf. 2 Cor 5:21), accepts being baptized in the midst of the people because “God does not look at the world from afar” (Leo XIV, Angelus, 11 January 2026). The Son of God does not come from outside to purify or punish at a distance; he identifies with the human condition and immerses himself in it.

John the Baptist resists baptizing him, affirming that he himself would rather need to be baptized by Jesus (cf. Mt 3:14). Jesus responds: “Do what I tell you, for it is necessary that in this way we fulfill all righteousness” (Mt 3:15). God’s design must be fulfilled: his plan of love for humanity is not to condemn sinners, but to make himself present in human weakness and to rescue human beings from within. In Jesus, God lowers himself to wounded humanity in order to save us.

Jesus made heaven present on earth; his joy was to spread the closeness and compassion of God.

For Jesus, baptism in the Jordan was not a purification from personal fault, but the beginning of his messianic mission on behalf of humanity in need of salvation. That is why, as he came up out of the water, “he saw the heavens being torn open” (Mt 3:16). There is no longer any distance between God and humanity. Jesus made heaven present on earth; his joy was to spread the closeness and compassion of God. However dark the days may be, heaven will always remain open to us, and the provident gaze of the Father will never be withdrawn. Nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God (cf. Rom 8:39).

Then Jesus saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming upon him (Mt 3:16). The Spirit is the breath of God that sustains our fragile life, his power that renews and transforms us, his loving energy that heals us and fills us with good things. From that moment on, it will be the Spirit of God who leads Jesus along the roads and villages of Galilee. Jesus will not improvise; he will not allow himself to be swayed; he will not be driven by any passing interest. Jesus will always act moved by the Spirit. He is the “beloved Son” of God, in whom the Spirit dwells as in a temple.

Anointed by the power of the Holy Spirit, we heard in today’s second reading that Jesus “went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him” (Acts 10:38). We have received this same Spirit in our baptism: he has freed us from sin, made us children of God, and guides our lives in imitation of Jesus.

In a world polarized and blinded by ideologies, today more than ever we need to be guided by the Spirit. Ideologies offer absolute answers that narrow our vision: they simplify and label people, reinforce prejudices, fuel fanaticism, and often protect the interests of those in power, disguised as the common good. Blinded by them, we risk offering easy remedies to complex problems, forgetting mercy, and ignoring or despising those who are different—the weaker ones, migrants, and the poor.

Unlike ideologies, the Spirit disposes us to seek the truth with humility, opens our eyes to see the dignity of each person, enables discernment of the common good, and gives us the courage to denounce unjust structures that divide the world and oppress the peoples. Guided by the Spirit, we will know how to listen; we will have compassionate eyes, a heart ready to accompany others, and words not only to console but also to denounce, always seeking justice and peace.

Finally, after the Spirit descended upon Jesus, a voice was heard from heaven: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased” (Mt 3:17). God says the same of each one of us: “This is my beloved son, my beloved daughter, with whom I am well pleased.” Let’s live with the awareness that the heavens are opened over each one of us like an embrace and a breath of life. Let’s listen each day to the consoling voice of the Father who whispers to our hearts: son, daughter, you are my love, my joy. We will live with greater serenity and fewer fears; we will become more human and joyful.

Thanks to Jesus, we too are sons and daughters of God, precious in his eyes. We are a temple of the Spirit; let’s allow him to lead us. Heaven is open and will never be closed. Let’s not extinguish the joy of living God’s own life and of carrying within us the strength and the light of his infinite love.

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily for the Baptism of the Lord, 11 January 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: The Bruneau River is a tributary of the Snake River that flows through the U.S. states of Idaho and Nevada. Photographer Bob Wick captured this stunning image of the river as is flows through the Bruneau-Jarbidge Wild and Scenic River system in southern Idaho. Image credit: Bob Wick, Bureau of Land Management / Flickr (Some rights reserved)

#BaptismOfTheLord #BishopSilvioJoséBáez #guidance #HolySpirit #presenceOfGod

New Stars in the Darkness — Silvio José Báez, ocd

Dear brothers and sisters,

Today we celebrate that Jesus is the Messiah and Savior of all humanity. That’s why today’s Gospel presents us with “magi from the East”—wise men who studied the stars, searching for some light to guide their lives. They were seekers of God—models for all of us who want to journey toward him. One day, when they saw a star, they sensed that something new had happened. They realized that this star announced “the birth of the king of the Jews” (cf. Mt 2:2). Faced with this sign, they didn’t remain still; they set out on a long and risky journey.

The magi teach us that life is a constant search. Only by seeking do we find meaning in existence, and only then are we able to change the course of history. Life isn’t an immense museum meant to be observed, nor is history an old book that only needs to be reprinted again and again. Life is an ongoing interior pilgrimage that calls for creativity and hope. We can’t resign ourselves to letting everything remain as it always has been.

The magi began their journey without knowing the exact route in advance. In life, uncertainty often discourages us, but we can’t wait to understand everything before moving forward. When an ideal is burning in our hearts, we don’t need all the details. Small signs are enough to show the way. The magi journeyed through the night guided only by a faint star; the dark sky became for them a kind of great map. In the same way, God lights up our nights with his light—sometimes discreet, but always trustworthy and consoling. With God’s light, there’s no darkness that can truly disorient or frighten us.

The magi’s journey was full of mistakes. They lost sight of the star, went to Jerusalem instead of Bethlehem, asked a child-killer about a child, and looked in a palace instead of a manger. And yet, despite so many errors, they didn’t stop; they kept going. People and societies make mistakes.

Making mistakes isn’t the tragedy; the tragedy is refusing to recognize them and remaining fallen. Our falls can teach us; life involves course corrections.

Our history as a people has known dark times and painful errors, but it’s always possible to begin again. The Lord is always kindling new stars to invite us to move forward. Let’s lift up our hearts to God with trust and humility.

The magi traveled in a caravan. They didn’t try to go faster than their strength allowed, they weren’t distracted by secondary things, and they didn’t let weariness defeat them. As a society, let’s learn to walk without obsessive haste. Great social changes are slow and require historical patience. Let’s not give up or diminish the intensity of the struggle. Let’s begin, even now, to live as the society we long for: freeing our hearts from petty ambitions, overcoming indifference, opportunism, and the messianic cult of leaders, and trusting in God who guides and sustains us.

The magi’s journey to Bethlehem wasn’t an individualistic one. Tradition speaks of “three” magi; the Gospel says “some.” They were a small group walking together. Each one didn’t go off on his own. The human journey is made with others—or else it drifts into selfishness, discouragement, or despair. The magi looked at the star, but they also looked at those journeying beside them. They teach us the value of solidarity, the need to slow our pace so no one is left behind, and the nobility of reaching out to those for whom the road is growing heavier.

When we walk together, God walks with us. Let’s journey as brothers and sisters, avoiding traps and fruitless rivalries. Legitimate differences aren’t the same as political cannibalism. Let’s journey together, looking one another in the eye, dialoguing, offering a hand, and giving the best of ourselves.

When the magi arrived in Jerusalem and asked about the newborn king of the Jews, “King Herod was deeply disturbed, and all Jerusalem with him” (cf. Mt 2:3). Tyrants put on a show of bravery and present themselves as arrogant and aggressive, but they live under threat, driven by fear. They turn others—even those in their inner circle—into rivals or enemies to be eliminated. Herod and his court embody the dark world of power where everything is justified, and anything goes: calculation, cynicism, lies, cruelty, and contempt for life. Still, ancient and recent history teach us that all tyrants eventually fall and stand condemned by God and history.

Although Herod tried to deceive them, the magi—reoriented by Scripture—saw the star again and reached the Child in Bethlehem: “They saw the child with Mary his mother, and falling down they worshiped him” (Mt 2:11). They didn’t find a palace or signs of luxury worthy of a prince’s birth, but a child and his mother. They found the true God in that which is little; they recognized true kingship in the absence of power, and the Almighty in the fragility of a newborn.

God reveals himself in the humility of his love. He asks us to welcome him so that we may be transformed by him, who is Love. Finding God in Bethlehem also reminds us of the missionary dimension of life: enlightened by his love, we are called to bring the light and love of Jesus to those who live in darkness and to rekindle hope in those who feel disillusioned or powerless.

In the end, the magi fall down and adore the Child. To adore is to marvel at God’s unfathomable greatness and, at the same time, to savor his close and loving presence that embraces our whole being. To adore God, we must recognize that we are creatures—infinitely small before him, yet infinitely loved by him.

Adoration is wonder. It is love and self-giving. It is placing our very being in God’s hands and remaining in grateful, joyful silence before him, contemplating his mystery from our own littleness. Adoration gives us the strength not to kneel before any idol or power of this world.

Warned in a dream not to return to Herod, the magi “went back by another way” (Mt 2:12). They returned to ordinary life, transformed—enlightened by truth and changed by love. In the same way, when we encounter Jesus, we too begin to journey “by another way.” We keep seeking the Lord tirelessly in simplicity and tenderness, alongside victims and the poor, struggling for freedom and justice, never giving in to despair and never resigning ourselves (cf. Francis, Epiphany Homily, January 6, 2016).

May the example of the magi move us to keep seeking, to persevere, to journey in solidarity, and to adore with humility, trusting that God’s light always leads us toward truth and the fullness of life.

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua,
Homily for the Epiphany of the Lord
4 January 2026

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Galaxy NGC 6946, nicknamed the Fireworks Galaxy. Image credit: NASA, Marshall Space Flight Center / Flickr (Some rights reserved).

#BishopSilvioJoséBáez #darkness #Epiphany #journey #light #seeking

Quote of the day, 28 December: Silvio José Báez, ocd

Yet the powers of this world have tried to halt the power of God’s Word and to extinguish its light. The Gospel tells us that it is “a light that shines in the dark, a light that darkness could not overpower” (Jn 1:5).

At this moment, I’m thinking of the absurd decision of the Nicaraguan dictatorship, which—like other dark powers in the past—has recently prohibited the entry of the Sacred Scriptures into the country. They’re afraid of the power and the light of the Word of God.

These atheistic and shadowy powers forget that the Word of God goes beyond the book known as the Bible. The Word of God is Jesus Christ—the Word made flesh—welcomed into the hearts of believers and lived and proclaimed in the Church. It depends on us, the believers, whether the Word of God continues to enlighten, console, and strengthen our people. It’s not enough to shout and protest on social media about the ban on importing Bibles. We must listen to the Word, meditate on it, celebrate it, and proclaim it tirelessly with our lives. Only then will we show that “they cannot chain up God’s news” (2 Tim 2:9). It depends on us.

“The Word was made flesh” (Jn 1:14). He pitched his humble and fragile tent in history. He did not choose palaces from which the powerful impose themselves and dominate others. On the contrary, the fragility of the Word is a radical and unequivocal “no” to unjust power and to totalitarian systems. The Word of God entered the world humbly and discreetly because he respects our freedom; he does not violate us, he does not impose himself.

The Word of God has come to us poor and unarmed, knocking at the door of our hearts so that we may welcome and embrace him in love. He has come not to judge us, but to grant us forgiveness and to free us from every form of bondage.

However dark the nights of this world may be, no night lasts forever. The eternal Word of God was born as a child who cannot yet speak, to teach us that when God seems silent, he is speaking to us in another way.

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily for Christmas Day, 2025 (excerpts)

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Detail from The Rest on the Flight into Egypt (1615–1620), oil on canvas by Orazio Gentileschi (1563–1639). Birmingham Museums Trust (Public domain).

#Bible #BishopSilvioJoséBáez #JesusChrist #persecution #WordOfGod

The Journey Is the Cure — Silvio José Báez, ocd

“Now as they were going away they were cleansed.”
— Luke 17:14

In this Sunday’s Gospel (Lk 17:11-19), we heard that as Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem, entering a village, “ten men suffering from a virulent skin-disease came to meet him. They stood some way off and called to him, ‘Jesus! Master! Take pity on us!’” (Lk 17:12-13).

As we know, lepers were people whom the Law of Moses prohibited from coming into contact with others. They lived excluded from social life and from worship. They had to dwell on the outskirts of the city, hopeless and alone. They were like the living dead. Today the physical disease of leprosy has been almost totally eliminated, but unfortunately our world suffers from other forms of leprosy. Authoritarian systems and the powerful create new lepers. Today’s social leprosies divide humanity by excluding or subjugating the weakest, exploiting the poor, mistreating and expelling migrants, or silencing those who think differently or speak truths that challenge such systems.

The Cry of the Excluded

The lepers in the Gospel see Jesus from afar and cry out to him: “Jesus! Master! Take pity on us!” (Lk 17:13). It is a brief, heart-wrenching cry that springs from the depths of human suffering. Those poor men, disfigured in their bodies, still have eyes to see and a voice to cry out. They are an icon of authentic faith. Although they do not physically approach Jesus, with their eyes and their voices they enter into relationship with him, the only one who can free them from isolation and pain—from the humiliation of being excluded. We are believers when we have eyes to see Jesus as a gateway to hope, and when we have a voice to cry out to him from our suffering.

Cultivate Resistance

The ten lepers in the Gospel not only trust Jesus; they also resist a system that excludes them and a religion that ignores them. They refuse to resign themselves to living as outcasts, dwelling on their own pain and watching their lives fade away in suffering and solitude. Today such resistance is necessary.

In the face of oppressive systems and criminal regimes that subjugate peoples, we must cultivate:

• Spiritual resistance to free ourselves from pessimism
• Intellectual resistance to continue thinking freely
• Moral resistance to continue denouncing injustice
• Faithful resistance to keep trusting in the God of life and liberation

There are historical stages when the future of peoples is uncertain, when social weariness sets in, when attempts fail and disappointments mount. These are not failures—they are the birth pangs of a new society. In those moments we must not fall into discouragement. Following the example of today’s lepers, we must preserve our spirit of resistance so as not to become accustomed to the forced normality that the oppressor wants to impose, and so as not to lose the capacity to dream of a just and free society.

Healing on the Way

Jesus does not approach the lepers, but he knows that God wants them whole and does not want them to suffer even one more second. Therefore, he immediately asks them to go present themselves to the priests of the temple, so the priests can verify their healing and the lepers can reintegrate into their homes and their people (cf. Lk 17:14). Still sick, still covered with leprosy, those men set out on the road, fulfilling Jesus’ command without delay and with complete trust. Surprisingly, the Gospel says that “as they were going away they were cleansed” (Lk 17:14).

The lepers were not cured while standing in front of Jesus, but afterward, when trusting in his word they set out on the road. In reality they were already healed the moment they encountered Jesus, though they could not yet see it or know it. They simply trusted and did not hesitate to walk as Jesus asked them. We must place our trust in God, even in the darkest moments, and believe in his word before we see it fulfilled.

Walking Together

Each person’s life is a journey—sometimes rough, full of obstacles, exhausting, uphill. Yet Jesus invites us to always keep walking. He assures us that God acts in our lives when we accept the risk of moving forward, of dreaming, of taking risks, of building. Resignation and mediocrity make us spiritually sick and diminish our dignity. We must walk forward, supported by trust in God, continually invoking Jesus, never stopping.

Society’s life is also a journey we make together, but too often it is full of potholes that obstruct fraternity and assault human dignity. The ambition for power, the idolatry of money, authoritarianism, the oppression of the poor, and the selfish indifference of those who prefer to remain silent—these are some of the great potholes on the path toward a free, just, and equal society. Yet nothing should stop us from dreaming and fighting for a better, more humane world. The best way to predict the future is to create it.

The path itself is healing because it is the leaven of hope. Sick people and sick societies are healed by walking, not by remaining paralyzed and defeated by pessimism or fear. The healing of persons and societies happens not when we reach the goal, but when we have the courage to walk, even slowly. In each step of hope, a drop of healing is deposited; in each step fighting for freedom and justice, a new future emerges.

The lepers in the Gospel walked together, sharing the same faith and the same hope. In life we must learn to walk together, never alone. We need one another. In life, on the path of faith, and in our life together in society, we are not rivals but brothers and sisters, responsible for one another. Coherent living means taking responsibility for the one who has stopped walking and for the one who has lost the way. We must not walk in order to arrive first and monopolize privileges and applause, but rather to build together a new way of living in which we share our goods and interests in peace and justice, and where dissenting from power is not a crime.

The One Who Returned

All the lepers were cured, but the Gospel tells us that one of them, “finding himself cured, turned back praising God at the top of his voice and threw himself prostrate at the feet of Jesus and thanked him” (Lk 17:15-16). This man, instead of going to present himself to the priests, returned to Jesus to give thanks. He never reached the temple. He understood that salvation comes not from a religion indifferent to human suffering, but from a personal relationship with Jesus. He realized that more important than his healing was encountering once again the one who had healed him.

That leper was not only healed of leprosy, but received the fullness of life and salvation that only Jesus can give. When we thank God, we recognize the source of life and immerse ourselves in it as in a river of living waters. When we joyfully celebrate our faith in Jesus and are able to praise and give thanks to God, life is illuminated and flourishes, the heavens draw near, and the new world begins to emerge.

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily for the 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time
12 October 2025

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0FyXetawls

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Jesus places his hand on the head of a healed leper in a gesture of compassion and comfort. Image by James Middleton / Adobe Stock (Asset ID: 915162531) | Generated with AI

#BishopSilvioJoséBáez #ChristianLife #healing #journey #socialJustice

The Just Will Live by Faith — Silvio José Báez, ocd

Homily for the 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Miami, October 5, 2025

In the first reading this Sunday, we heard a passage from the book of the prophet Habakkuk, one of the smaller and lesser-known books of the Bible. Habakkuk is different from the great prophets who came before him, who publicly denounced sin and injustice. His prophecy, by contrast, resembles more a passionate prayer of solidarity. The prophet complains and protests to God.

A Cry from the Midst of Injustice

What was happening in Habakkuk’s time, in the seventh century BC, confounded him and filled him with a strong sense of powerlessness. The emerging Babylonian empire was imposing itself with the might of its powerful army, dominating the small kingdoms of the ancient Near East. Within the kingdom of Judah, local authorities—kings and magistrates—oppressed the people, stripping them of their freedom and impoverishing them more and more each day.

In that international scenario of violence and injustice—dominated by the power of arms, oppression, and wrongdoing—the prophet Habakkuk raises his voice, not to protest injustice publicly among men, but to appeal to God. He reproaches God for failing to carry out justice, defend victims, or intervene in history to restore the law that has been violated.

Let’s hear the dramatic words the prophet addresses to God:

“How long, Lord, shall I call for help without being heard?
I cry out to You about violence, but You don’t intervene.
Why do You let me see injustice and remain indifferent to oppression?
I see destruction and violence, disputes and conflicts” (Hab 1:1–2).

These are strong, sincere, passionate words from a believing heart that refuses to resign itself to evil.

Wrestling with God

Habakkuk denounces the oppression and violence of the powerful, but he also expresses his bewilderment and indignation before the Lord, the supreme judge, the Holy and Just God, who doesn’t intervene, remaining a spectator to suffering—but without acting. The words Habakkuk addresses to God are intense, almost scandalous.

This prophet teaches us that we can’t be indifferent to tyrants who impose their will through repression and violence. He also teaches us that we shouldn’t resign ourselves to being intimidated by the wicked and their cynical words. Above all, he shows that in situations of injustice and oppression we must turn our hearts to God in prayer.

Habakkuk reminds us that prayer isn’t just asking, much less crossing our arms and expecting everything from God. Prayer is also struggling with God in the night of His apparent absence, crying out to Him, protesting, and breaking the silence. Prayer is presenting ourselves to God with the oppression of the people, the suffering of the victims, and the anguish of seeing the wicked still triumph in history.

In the darkest and most painful moments, in situations that seem impossible to overcome, we mustn’t sink into solitude. We must learn to cry out to God from the contradictions, conflicts, and challenges of life.

The Lord’s Reply

In the end, the Lord answered the prophet Habakkuk—not by offering a magical solution or sparing him the effort to keep fighting, but with mysterious words inviting him to wait and trust.

“The Lord answered me and said:
Write down the vision I’ve revealed to you; make it clear on tablets so that it can be read easily.
It’s still a vision of the distant future, but it’s coming and won’t fail.
If it seems slow, wait for it; it will surely come.
The wicked won’t survive, but the just will live by their faith” (Hab 2:2–4).

The prophet, a direct witness to the course of history, now receives an invitation from the Lord to contemplate history from a different perspective, with the assurance that evil and injustice will never prevail. God promises to intervene and bring justice, ensuring that the oppressor and tyrant will disappear completely, leaving no trace in history.

He also asks the prophet to write down this promise as evidence of His faithfulness:

“The wicked won’t survive, but the just will live by their faith” (Hab 2:4).

The time will come when the cynical tongues and the criminal weapons of arrogant tyrants are silenced forever. One day, they’ll be defeated. The Lord tells Habakkuk, “This time will come, and if it seems slow, wait for it; it will surely come” (Hab 2:3).

Faith that Transforms

Waiting isn’t easy, because to wait isn’t just to let things happen, but to trust in the Lord’s promise and cooperate with Him to bring about historical change. What’s asked of Habakkuk is to have faith in God’s promise.

Today’s Gospel also speaks about faith. The disciples ask Jesus to increase their faith (Lk 17:5). Surprisingly, He tells them that they don’t need enormous faith; even faith that’s humble and small, like a mustard seed, can achieve things that seem impossible—like uprooting a tree and planting it in the sea (Lk 17:6).

Faith that’s humble and small can change our lives, give us a new mindset, and energize our commitment to justice. It’s a matter of quality, not quantity.

Living by Faith

The faith we need isn’t extraordinary or miraculous. In our fragility, it’s a faith that makes us feel a greater need for God. In our littleness, it leads us to live with deeper trust in Him and encourages us to abandon ourselves to the Lord and trust Him more intensely each day. As believers, we mustn’t be discouraged by what seems impossible.

Through faith in the Lord, believers become “useless servants.” “Useless” doesn’t mean someone is good for nothing or incapable. The Greek word in the text describes people who expect no benefit for themselves, seek no personal advantage, live without craving recognition, need nothing but to be themselves, and desire nothing more than to serve others with love.

This is the power of faith that the Lord asked of the prophet Habakkuk, His disciples, and of us today.

Holding Fast to Hope

Let’s let our lives be guided and strengthened by faith, even if it’s as small as a mustard seed. Faith doesn’t mean ignoring what’s happening or leaving everything in God’s hands. Rather, it gives us the courage to speak out against evil and never accept injustice as inevitable.

Let’s take history seriously, refusing to grow numb to the oppression of the people or the suffering of the victims. Let’s fight with hope, staying strong, supporting one another, and holding on to optimism. God promises that good and justice will triumph.

All it takes is a handful of humble, compassionate hearts, a tiny bit of faith, and a fresh vision of hope.

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, 5 October 2025

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Cardinal Leopoldo José Brenes, Bishop Silvio José Báez, and Apostolic Nuncio Waldemar Stanisław Sommertag lead a Eucharistic procession in Masaya, Nicaragua, on June 21, 2018, during a moment of national crisis. Image credit: Courtesy of Bishop Silvio José Báez, ocd (By kind permission).

#BishopSilvioJoséBáez #faith #hope #injustice #trust

Quote of the day, 28 September: Silvio José Báez, ocd

This Sunday, we will listen to one of Jesus’ most famous parables, the one about the rich man and the poor man Lazarus (Lk 16:19-31).

What separated the rich man from poor Lazarus was a door.

Our heart has a door, too. We should ask ourselves if it’s a steel security door, which makes us hard and indifferent to others—especially those who suffer the most—or if it is an open door, through which we look outside ourselves, go out to share with others, and invite them in.

We must open the door of our hearts, our homes, our churches, and our society to see if there is someone outside who is waiting for something from us—someone we can help, who perhaps doesn’t have the confidence or the strength to knock on our door.

This parable teaches us that we live in a righteous manner when we don’t spend our lives in a virtual safe room but instead open our eyes and hearts to see the needs of others and help them. This parable teaches us that the other person is a gift (cf. Francis, Lenten Message 2017, 1). Poor Lazarus, lying at the rich man’s door, wasn’t an annoying burden but a call to open the door of the heart.

Every person is a gift, every life we meet on our path is a gift that deserves welcome, respect, and love. We are called to welcome the lives of others, to love them, and help them, especially when they are weak, fragile, or threatened—as in the case of the homeless and immigrants, the sick and elderly.

If we listen to the Word of God, we’ll learn that God is the Father of all humanity and that other individuals are our brothers and sisters. Listening to the Word of God will also give us the strength to open the doors of our hearts to others, to recognize their dignity, reach out to them, and help them.

“The word of God is alive and powerful, capable of converting hearts and leading them back to God. When we close our heart to the gift of God’s word, we end up closing our heart to the gift of our brothers and sisters” (cf. Francis, Lenten Message 2017, 3).

The secret to living in fullness and not ending up in the abyss of damnation like the rich man in the parable is this: listening to the Word of God.

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, 25 September 2022 (excerpts)

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured Image: Medieval illumination depicting the parable of Lazarus and the rich man from Somme le Roi, created by Master of the Somme le roi de la Mazarine, 1295. Image credit: Bibliothèque Mazarine, Paris (Public Domain)

#BishopSilvioJoséBáez #charity #gift #humanDignity #WordOfGod

Quote of the day, 18 September: Silvio José Báez, ocd

Almost instinctively, we think that one evil can be “repaired” by another evil, harming the person who has harmed us, excluding the individual who has offended us, or holding a grudge against the one who has wronged us.

However, this doesn’t heal the wound we received; neither does it restore our lost dignity nor give us the strength to start anew.

Instead, it increases the degree of pain and violence.

You can’t heal one wound by inflicting another wound. Being cruel, harboring hatred, holding onto resentment in our hearts, and the desire to take revenge—these are actions that deeply damage our lives and produce serious emotional imbalances.

Whoever harms another person, harms himself.

Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Homily, 24th Sunday in Ordinary Time (excerpt)
17 August 2023

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Photographer Thomas Hawk captured this graffiti mural on concrete in San Francisco on 17 December 2008. It features a well-known quote by the Servant of God Dorothy Day: “Love is the only solution.” Image credit: Thomas Hawk / Flickr (Some rights reserved)

#anger #BishopSilvioJoséBáez #emotions #hatred #relationships

Quote of the day, 15 March: Silvio José Báez, ocd

“Love your enemies” (Mt 5:44). This does not mean feeling sympathy or affection for those who have harmed us. Rather, it means refusing to hate, seeking no revenge, and being willing to do good to those who do not love us or have wronged us. It means loving with the same love with which God loves us.

Loving an enemy should not be confused with the demand that the guilty party be held accountable before a court of law.

This is not hypocrisy.

One may still feel antipathy and rejection toward the wrongdoer, but one chooses to go beyond feelings—deciding not to seek revenge or harbor hatred, and, if necessary, even to do good to them and pray for them. This is a gift from God.

Love for one’s enemy does not exclude but rather presupposes the need for the guilty party to face justice.

Silvio José Báez, O.C.D.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
16 June 2020

https://twitter.com/silviojbaez/status/1272859024648802310

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d. (left) and Archbishop Leopoldo Brenes (right) join in prayer at the Metropolitan Cathedral of Managua. Earlier that day, they had traveled to Saint Sebastian Basilica in Diriamba, Nicaragua, where they were attacked by pro-government sympathizers. Image credit: sj.baez / Facebook (Used by permission).

🕊 What does this quote mean for you? Share your thoughts in the comments below!

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When the Wine Runs Out — Silvio José Báez, ocd

Thank you for being here this afternoon! I’m so happy to celebrate the Eucharist with you on this special occasion—the 40th anniversary of my priestly ordination. I truly wanted to share with you my gratitude and praise to the Lord for calling me to the priesthood forty years ago. I couldn’t celebrate this alone, because you—the holy people of God—are the ultimate and essential reason for my priesthood.

Today, I’m celebrating forty years of God’s faithful love in my life and the joy of serving as a humble witness to the Gospel and a shepherd of God’s people. Through all these years, Jesus has always been by my side—holding me up with his love, bringing me comfort in tough times, showing his strength in my weakness, and guiding my ministry, even when things got difficult and uncertain.

Looking back, I’ve experienced exactly what Pope Francis wrote to the people of Nicaragua last December: “In the most difficult moments, when it becomes humanly impossible to understand what God wants from us, we are called not to doubt his care and mercy.”

Today’s Gospel is the story of the wedding at Cana, where Jesus performed his first miracle—turning water into wine. He and his disciples were invited to the celebration, and it was right there, in the middle of a party, that he chose to reveal God’s love. Jesus didn’t pick the desert, Mount Sinai, or the temple in Jerusalem. No, he started his signs among ordinary people—singing, laughing, dancing, eating, and drinking at a wedding.

In Scripture, wine is a sign of the joy God promises us—the deep joy our hearts long for and the love that lights up our lives. Today’s Gospel reminds us that our relationship with God isn’t just about rules, penance, or sorrow. It’s about love, joy, and friendship.

But at that wedding, the wine ran out—unexpectedly. And without wine, love and joy were at risk. In our own lives, and throughout history, the wine often runs dry. It happens when we feel overwhelmed, when pessimism takes over hope, when love loses its spark, and dreams seem to fade away.

In the Church, the wine runs out when faith lacks inner strength, when religion starts feeling like a burden, or when fear and selfishness get in the way of service and speaking the truth. In society, the wine is gone when people stop listening to each other, when dialogue breaks down, and when no one is willing to make sacrifices for the common good. An oppressed society lacks the wine of life, joy, and love.

At Cana, Mary noticed the wine had run out, and instead of accepting it, she quietly turned to Jesus and said, “They have no wine.” In that moment, she became the voice of Israel and all of humanity, bringing our needs and hopes to her Son. And we shouldn’t settle either—we shouldn’t get used to sadness, the loss of hope, or the absence of love.

Mary then told the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” Those are her last recorded words in the Gospel, and they’re so simple yet powerful. Listen to him, trust his words, and live them out. And when we do, the empty jars of our hearts will be filled. Jesus transforms everything—turning emptiness into fullness, darkness into light, and ordinary water into the best wine.

Today, as I celebrate forty years of priesthood, I want to take Mary’s words to heart. As a priest, Jesus has called me to be one of the servants at the great wedding feast between God and humanity. I want to fill the jars of my life with trust, believing that Jesus will turn it into an abundance of joy for everyone. With everything I have, I renew my commitment today—just as I did forty years ago when I first said yes, full of youthful generosity and innocence.

Now, with the wisdom that’s come from years of ministry and the purification that’s come through moments of uncertainty and darkness, I’m reaffirming my desire to let the Gospel be my passion, my light, and my path. I trust that Jesus will keep sustaining me, turning scarcity into abundance, and bringing something great out of the little I have to offer.

Like Mary, who noticed when the wine ran out, I don’t want to ignore the pain and despair of my brothers and sisters. I want to be close to those who’ve run out of wine—those who feel like they’ve got nothing left but suffering and disappointment. I want to be a pastor who walks with God’s people, witnessing to Jesus and serving them, reaching out to bless, to lift up, and to walk alongside those who are far from God or weighed down by life’s struggles.

I ask the Lord to strengthen my heart with trust, patience, and hope. Like Mary at Cana, I want to keep coming to him in prayer, interceding for everyone. And I want to live with a peaceful and joyful heart, knowing that the best wine is still to come.

May Mary, Mother of Priests, help me stay faithful in my ministry with the same loving surrender to Jesus that inspired my first “yes” forty years ago.

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily for the 40th Anniversary of Priestly Ordination
19 January 2025

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Bishop Báez offers words of encouragement to the Nicaraguan faithful for the traditional feast of the Gritería, the Nicaraguan celebration of the Vigil of the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, December 7. Image credit: Silvio José Báez ocd YouTube channel (screenshot)

#anniversary #BishopSilvioJoséBáez #Cana #hope #JesusChrist #joy #ministry #priesthood #VirginMary #wine

Quote of the day, 20 January: Silvio José Báez, ocd

A faith that makes no incision into the social and political spheres is incomplete. Believers must always question themselves, from their faith in Jesus Christ—what’s their perception of reality? What they can contribute to its improvement is not a matter of politicizing the faith or making it an ideology.

Sometimes faith has been reduced to extremely individualistic religious experiences, centered only around parish and family life, which indeed fosters encounters among others, however, they are restricted to small groups. Those encounters also must be built further, because that’s not all there is.

Faith is also manifested in the struggle for a better world, and in building relationships that are more just—that’s why there’s also a social, political, and ecological dimension. The risk in taking this step is to make such a departure that ends up emptying the faith, that is why it is so important to continuously feed the inner experience of a personal encounter with Jesus Christ, as well as life in the community of believers.

Therefore, an education in the faith is also necessary, which takes into account all these dimensions. When I was speaking to the priests in Nicaragua, I told them that either they would be mystical prophets, or they would be nothing.

A life of faith that becomes prophetic has a share of consolation and another of denunciation. A faith that is reason alone is cold: you have to integrate feelings, which also include negative or frustrating experiences.

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
“Silvio José Báez: Una fe individualista, sin incidencia en lo social y lo político, es una fe incompleta”

Read the complete interview with Bishop Báez

Pere Mari. “Silvio José Báez: Una fe individualista, sin incidencia en lo social y lo político, es una fe incompleta.” Mater Purissima, No. 164, June 2019, pp. 20-21.

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Bishop Báez is seen with pilgrims at World Youth Day in Panama, January 2019. Image credit: Silvio José Báez Facebook page (Used by permission)

#BishopSilvioJoséBáez #faith #JesusChrist #Justice #prophetic #society #struggle

Quote of the day, 24 December: Bishop Silvio José Báez, ocd

“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace for those he favours” (Lk 2:14). These words conclude tonight’s Gospel reading for this holy night of Christmas. They are the joyful proclamation of the angels who praise God at the birth of Jesus, the Savior. Heaven lifts up its voice. The interpretation of what was unfolding that night in the humble inn of Bethlehem could only come from on high. Only God himself, through his angels, could lead us into the grandeur of this mystery of love and tenderness: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace for those he favours.”

The birth of the Child is a manifestation of God’s glory. In Scripture, God’s glory is his loving and saving power poured out for humanity. It is not vanity, not a self-centered display of greatness, nor a boastful show of power. God reveals his glory by loving us and giving us life. He revealed his glory in creating the universe for humanity’s sake, as the psalmist says: “The heavens declare the glory of God, the vault of heaven proclaims his handiwork” (Ps 19:1). Similarly, the Lord “covered himself in glory” when he liberated the Israelites from Pharaoh’s power, leading them through the sea on their way to the land of freedom (cf. Ex 15:1). God is glorified when he creates and when he saves. His glory is revealed in the universe and in history. He shows his glory by giving us space and time to live, but also by delivering us from every form of slavery so that we may live as free men and women.

The space of his glory is not only the heavens but, above all, a humble manger in the village of Bethlehem. His birth is not a resounding event like the Israelites crossing the sea. Yet tonight, from the modest inn of Bethlehem, God’s glory is revealed. This is the great mystery we celebrate at Christmas: the Almighty has made himself little; the Eternal has become mortal; the Omnipotent has become weak; the Holy One has become the friend of sinners; the Invisible has made himself visible. From the night of Bethlehem onward, God is not only present among us but he is one of us: sharing in our humanity, the brother of every human being in the world.

In the Child, we contemplate God’s glory—not the glory of a strong, powerful, and demanding God, but the glory of a God who is small, weak, vulnerable, and in need. He has come with great simplicity, humility, and meekness. God does not impose himself or dominate us. “He makes himself small, he becomes a child, so as to attract us with love, to touch our hearts with his humble goodness; to unsettle, with his poverty, those who scramble to accumulate the false treasures of this world” (Pope Francis, December 18, 2015).

God was born fragile, like us, in Bethlehem, to understand us and stand by our side, consoling us and filling us with joy. He was born full of tenderness to give us his forgiveness and to set us free from all our enslavements. He was born as our brother so that we might love our humanity and recognize that every human being is a brother or sister to be welcomed and loved, not a rival or enemy to be defeated and subdued. He was born bringing light to the night, instilling the hope that the injustice prevailing in our society today will not last forever. He was born poor so that we might welcome God in the poor, in those who weep, who are lonely, and those deprived of freedom and dignity. In them, God comes to meet us. For this reason alone, Christmas comes to us only if we are in solidarity with the most marginalized and forgotten people, the victims of injustice and the wickedness of worldly powers.

On the night of Bethlehem, the glory of the Lord shone brightly. We are no longer lost in immense solitude or submerged in total darkness. God has entered history to share our life. With him, we can be reborn; his presence rekindles joy, hope, and fellowship. Only the Child of Bethlehem, from his birth to his death, speaks to us of God and reveals God to us through his life, words, actions, and acts of tenderness. With his hands embracing and healing, with his body offered and surrendered to humanity, on the cross he became a victim of the unjust powers of this world. The Child of Bethlehem is the same Christ who was crucified on Calvary and rose in glory, conquering the world’s injustice, violence, and sin! This is why the night of Bethlehem points us to another night, the night of Easter. In both, God says the same thing: “Be not afraid.” He doesn’t want us to be afraid; he wants us to have no fear. In Bethlehem, the Child smiles at us, conveying his tenderness; at Easter, the Risen One looks at us with mercy, freeing us from despair, evil, and sin.

Let’s experience this Eucharist with the same gaze as the Virgin Mary, who—filled with wonder—contemplated the mystery and, with her heart overflowing with joy, embraced the child of her womb. May she, who “was able to turn a stable into a home for Jesus with poor swaddling clothes and an abundance of love” (Evangelii Gaudium 286), help us to welcome the glory of the Lord manifested in the Child of Bethlehem. He is “the Savior,” the only one in whom we can place our ultimate hope. May his glory enlighten our hearts and guide our steps.

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, The Nativity of the Lord
Christmas 2018, Mass during the Night

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: This icon of the Nativity comes from St. Paul Orthodox Church in Dayton, Ohio. The iconographer is Dmitry Shkolnik. Image credit: Fr. Ted Bobosh / Flickr (Some rights reserved)

#Bethlehem #BishopSilvioJoséBáez #BlessedVirginMary #Christmas #God #humanity #humility #invisible #nativity #poverty #resurrectionOfChrist

Quote of the day, 18 December: Silvio José Báez, ocd

[Today] the liturgy of the word is centered on the person and experience of Saint Joseph, a young worker from Nazareth engaged to Mary, whom he loved and who he was going to marry. Before living together, Joseph discovers that she is expecting a child whose paternal origin is not entirely clear to him. The Gospel says that Joseph was “just,” that is, he faithfully fulfilled the law of the Lord; and not wishing to disown her in public, he decided to do so in private, sending her away quietly (cf. Mt 1:19). Was he surprised to see that Mary was pregnant since they had not had relations? Is it possible that his fiancée didn’t involve him in the event by sharing with him what she had understood from God about this birth?

Something unexpected and unpleasant is interjected in the marriage plans of the two young people. That pregnancy could only be the fruit of betrayal and, from the point of view of the cultural and religious customs of the time, Mary was considered an adulteress and according to the Law of Moses, she was to be stoned to death for her infidelity. Adultery was a break with the patriarchal order that dominated society; since the woman was deemed as belonging to the husband, so the aggrieved husband could denounce her and have her killed for her sin.

Joseph was just, that is, a faithful observer of the Lord’s law, but not in the style of the Pharisees, attached to the letter of the law. Joseph fulfills the law of the Lord by acting with profound humanity. With Joseph, justice means humanity, as the Book of Wisdom says: “the righteous must be kind” (Wis 12:19). He breaks with the logic of domination and possession. The other person is not first and foremost a sinner, a personified error, or a traitor, but a human being who has received life as a gift and commitment; a person who has the right to make changes and to live. Joseph proves to be truly just.

Joseph is not ashamed, he doesn’t belittle Mary and he doesn’t act in such a way as to expose her to shame and death. He doesn’t react in an impulsive and disciplinary fashion, but he looks for a solution that respects the dignity and integrity of his beloved Mary. Joseph’s justice is manifested in the fact that he was “unwilling to expose her to shame,” in not acting as if he owned her by deciding that she had to suffer and die. Nor does he care about his image as a man whose honor has been tarnished and whose rights have been violated by his future wife. Joseph acts with humanity and love.

Joseph’s actions were a huge, painful inner struggle for him. How many questions, how many doubts, how much uncertainty assail Joseph! It’s at this moment that God intervenes by revealing to Joseph in a dream the mystery of the conception of Mary’s son: it is the work of the creative power of God’s Spirit (Mt 1:20-21). That dream obviously not only tried to resolve the conflict that had arisen between two spouses, but its ultimate aim was above all to reveal the identity of the child that was growing in Mary’s womb. Her child is the result of the power of the Holy Spirit; he is a creature that only God could give us. Joseph, accepting divine revelation about the divine origin of Jesus and accepting his role as the legal father of the child, presents himself as a “just” man, again not on the ethical-legal level of the old covenant like the Pharisees, but in the evangelical sense of the new covenant, as one who thoroughly fulfills the divine will—even without thoroughly understanding it—with absolute trust in God. He is the just and obedient man, open to God’s ways and docile to his will.

Joseph—who never speaks, of whom the Gospel doesn’t recall even one word, a silent and strong man, simple and energetic, practical and free—is also a dreamer. The fate of the world was entrusted to his dreams because the just man has the same dreams as God. Today we need dreamers who are committed to making their dreams come true. It takes courage to dream, not mere imagination. Dreaming means not being content with the world as it is, but rather having the courage to see and imagine the most humane and the happiest future for everyone. Shakespeare said, “we are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep” ( Shakespeare, The Tempest, 4.1.1887–1889).

“When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him” (Mt 1:24). He doesn’t hesitate. Now he knows that God is asking him to do the hardest, not the easiest thing, and he decides not to leave Mary—not to run away; he abandons his doubts and decides to do God’s will (Mt 1:24). Maybe he knew the saying of his wife, Mary: “Behold the handmaid of the Lord” (Lk 1:38) because in silence he repeats the same thing with his attitude when he gets up: “Here is your servant. Use me”. His willingness to choose God’s will, even if it is the most difficult and incomprehensible, his courage of faith not to run away but to stay and collaborate with God, changes Saint Joseph’s life forever. It will be his rule of life. Saint Joseph is like Abraham. He always walked without knowing where God was taking him, but he journeyed in serenity, knowing that he was in God’s hands.

Joseph accepts the legal paternity of the child; he will give him his last name. In this way, Jesus, the son of the Virgin Mary, is directly linked to the dynasty of King David. The Son of God is now also the son of David. He receives his name from his legal father. Joseph names him as the angel has indicated: Jesus, in Hebrew yehoshua, means “The Lord saves.” The divine origin of Jesus and his saving mission are wonderfully condensed in his name. That is why he was born, that is why he came into the world, as the angel explained to Joseph: “He will save his people from their sins” (Mt 1:21). From now on Joseph will be the father of Jesus. He will walk in faith before the mystery of that son who is growing up before his eyes, who was his own but at the same time was not, welcoming the mystery of God in him through loving care and the silence of faith.

Saint Joseph’s life isn’t the life of a man who seeks his own fulfillment no matter how much it costs, who wants to do what’s convenient for him, whatever he pleases, and whatever sets him apart; but rather, his is the exemplary life of a man who denies himself, who doesn’t run away in the face of difficulties, and who humbles himself to let God lead the way. He hasn’t allowed himself to be paralyzed by doubt and fear in the face of the incomprehensible, nor has he allowed himself to be guided by a reasonable plan that he himself organized in human terms; rather, responding to God’s wishes, he has renounced his will in order to give himself over to the will of the Other, to the magnificent will of the Most High. In this way, he shows us that a person is completely fulfilled through this complete renunciation of self in order to do God’s will.

May he teach us that to be righteous is to be human; that to be a believer is to trust and obey God; and, that to be a believer it isn’t necessary to speak much. Joseph never spoke in the Gospel, because, as Saint John of the Cross says, “what is wanting, if anything is wanting, is not writing or speaking—rather these usually superabound—but silence and work” (Letter 8).

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Le Songe de Saint Joseph (The Dream of Saint Joseph) is an oil on canvas painting by French artist Georges de La Tour (1593–1652). The painting was executed ca. 1630–1635 and is one of the masterworks in the Fine Arts Museum in Nantes, France. Image credit: Wikimedia Commons (Public domain)

#BishopSilvioJoséBáez #dream #faith #Jesus #Justice #law #mercy #obedience #righteous #StJoseph #trust #VirginMary

Quote of the day, 9 December: Silvio José Báez, ocd

In Mary’s life, the grace of God, which had filled her from the first moment of her being, was not “received in vain” (cf. 2 Cor 6:1). She was always “full of grace,” the “tota pulchra,” as we call her in the Marian antiphon.

What is the secret behind the beauty of Mary’s life? The Virgin Mary was the transparency of God.

Mary used to listen to God and spent much time in dialogue with Him. “The Word of God was her secret: close to her heart, it then became flesh in her womb. By dwelling with God, in dialogue with him in every circumstance, Mary made her life beautiful.” (Pope Francis, Angelus, 8 December 2017).

It is not the outward appearance that makes a person beautiful. What makes a life beautiful is having a heart that is open to God, docile to God, and full of God.

Beauty is like the gleam of harmony. It is essential to the notion of the beautiful that beauty should be united to truth and goodness. The irradiation of that harmony between truth and goodness is beauty.

God is supreme goodness, supreme truth, and supreme beauty, which in Christ has been fully revealed as redeeming love. The famous Russian writer Dostoyevsky said that beauty would save the world. Beauty awakens our spirituality, brings out the best in us, captivates us, makes us transcend the merely material, and makes us enter the world of generosity and contemplation.

Unfortunately, many people are deprived of beauty because where sin breaks down dialogue with God and distances us from love, beauty disappears. For this reason, we must turn our eyes to Mary, whose beautiful, luminous, inspiring existence continues to attract us, the disciples of her Son, who contemplate in her the best realization of the Gospel and the ideal of the Church’s vocation.

The Virgin Mary, the “all beautiful,” the “full of grace,” is the creature in whom the paschal beauty of the new life of the Risen Lord was reflected in the purest way.

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Giovanni Battista Tiepolo’s majestic image of The Immaculate Conception was part of a cycle of seven altarpieces commissioned in 1767 for the new royal church of San Pascual Bailón at Aranjuez, founded by Charles III in the same year.  The symbols in the altarpiece refer to the virtues and significance of the Virgin. She vindicates the original weakness of Eve by trampling on the serpent. The palm tree symbolizes her victory and exaltation and the mirror symbolizes her freedom from all stain. The crescent moon and twelve stars refer to the Woman of the Apocalypse (Rev 12:1-10), while the crescent itself is an ancient symbol of chastity. At the same time, the moon’s light derives from the sun, just as the special grace of Mary derives from the merits of Christ. The shimmering profile of an obelisk shape in the background is a further reference to traditional symbols associated with the Immaculate Conception—the Tower of David and the Tower of Ivory—with their evocations of impregnability, virginity, and purity. Image credit: Copyright ©Museo Nacional del Prado (Public domain)

#beauty #BishopSilvioJoséBáez #BlessedVirginMary #God #homily #ImmaculateConception #inspiration #spirituality

Quote of the day, 6 December: Silvio José Báez, ocd

Mary always listens to us, leading us to Jesus— not only “after this our exile,” when she desires to show Him to us, nor only “at the hour of our death,” but “now,” as the Hail Mary reminds us.

She always listens, walking beside us, as discreet as the cloud in Exodus—refreshing when the heat intensifies, radiant when shadows fall (Ex 13:21–22). Her mission is to go before us and accompany us as we journey toward the promised land of heaven, walking with us as our mother, yes, but also as our sister and friend—a cloud of good company.

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua

Báez, S 2014, ¡Cual Un Botón de Rosa! : Reflexiones Bíblicas Sobre Los Cantos a La Purísima, Hispamer, Managua.

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: The workshop of Sassoferrato (Italian, 1609–1685) created a stunning Madonna and Child, which shows the Mother of God as one who is awake and aware of her surroundings, looking at the viewer. Similar paintings by Sassoferrato of the Slumber of the Infant Jesus depict His Mother sleeping with Him, instead. This detail of the “wide-awake Madonna,” executed in oil on canvas (date unknown), comes from the Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields. The United States Postal Service selected the painting to be featured on the 2024 Christmas stamp. The museum’s conservation team proceeded with investigation and conservation treatment to prepare for the artwork’s unveiling. Image credit: Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields (Public domain)

#BishopSilvioJoséBáez #BlessedVirginMary #friend #journey #listen #mission #Mother #now #sister #walk

Quote of the day, 4 December: Silvio José Báez, ocd

The believer believes and doubts at the same time, but God rejoices when we raise doubts and ask Him questions. Many times things don’t happen the way we imagined them, events happen that we don’t understand, the most clear-cut certainties fall apart, and when everything is going well, suddenly it seems that the world is turning against us.

In these situations, we have to be sincere with God and ask him questions, share with him our confusion, and express our doubts.

This is the way faith works.

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop, Archdiocese of Managua

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Photographer Chen YiChun captures this image of a man standing in his boat on a lake using traditional methods for fishing at night. Image credit: Chen YiChun / Unsplash (Stock photo)

#BishopSilvioJoséBáez #doubt #faith #inspiration

Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. In fulfillment of his own purpose he gave us birth by the word of truth, so that we would become a kind of first fruits of his creatures.

Welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls.

Be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves.

Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.

James 1:17-18, 21b-22, 27

Authentic Christianity is not based on words but on concrete deeds. The believer has been brought forth by the Father through the “word of truth,” that is, through the gospel of Christ, “so that we would become a kind of first fruits of his creatures” (v. 18).

For this reason, believers must live in fidelity to the Word that has brought them forth and has the power to lead them to the fullness of salvation: “Welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls” (v. 21b). The Word must be received with humility, without resistance or violence, so that it may be planted in our lives; it will then bear fruit when put into practice.

For James, the ultimate point of listening to the Word is reached when it becomes life: “Be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves” (v. 22). It is of little use to listen to and know the Word of God if it is not put into practice.

Those who live in obedience to the Word of God will overcome the temptation to live a ritualistic and external religion, focusing their existence on two aspects that are fundamental in the life of a believer according to divine revelation: (a) The practice of works of mercy towards the poorest, symbolized in the text by the expression “orphans and widows”; and (b) “To keep oneself unstained by the world,” that is, to live a life guided not by self-centeredness (cf. 1 Jn 2:15-17).

Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.

Auxiliary Bishop of Managua

Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.

Featured image: Flemish artist Michiel Sweerts (1618–1664) painted Clothing the Naked around 1661, most likely for a Catholic patron while Sweerts was living in Amsterdam in the 1650s and early 1660s. Around this time he joined the Paris Foreign Missions Society (of which St. Thérèse’s spiritual brother Adolphe Roulland was a member) and left for a mission in the Far East. This painting, executed in 1661 in oil on canvas, exemplifies the profound conversion of the artist. It is on display at the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Fifth Avenue, New York. Image credit: Metropolitan Museum of Art (Public domain)

https://carmelitequotes.blog/2024/08/31/quote-of-the-day-1-september-silvio-jose-baez-ocd/

#authentic #BishopSilvioJoséBáez #humility #mercy #salvation #truth #WordOfGod #worksOfMercy

As we celebrate the Sunday of the Word of God, Discalced Carmelite scripture scholar Bishop Silvio José Báez, ocd reminds us that "The entire life of Jesus is the greatest book alive in which we can read the Word of God."

Read more of this quote:
http://carmelitequotes.blog/2023/01/21/baez-verbum/

#bishopsilviojosebaez #wordofgod #sunday #deiverbum #scripture #bible #jesus #reading #study #catholic #carmelites #dailyquotes

Bishop Silvio José Báez says that goodness, truth, justice, and non-violence are like the mustard seed of the Kingdom of God.
🏔 Learn more:
https://carmelitequotes.blog

#MLKDay #nonviolence #BishopSilvioJoseBaez #Gospel

"The Lord’s resurrection assures us that despite fears, failures, and threats, no effort we make to defend life, human dignity, and freedom ever will be lost."
#BishopSilvioJoseBaez

#Jesus #resurrection #justice #peace #peacemaker #defense #life #dignity #freedom #humanity #humanrights #religiousfreedom #sosnicaragua #nicaragua #catholic #carmelite #quotes

We join the faithful in celebrating the 38th anniversary of Bishop Silvio José Báez’s priestly ordination. Here's a homily excerpt: "The best expression of faith in the Risen Lord is not to forget the victims and to place ourselves at the service of the crucified."

Read more quotes from the bishop:
https://carmelitequotes.blog/2023/01/13/baez-15jan85/

#bishopsilviojosebaez #anniversary #ordination #priest #nicaragua #justice #solidarity #compassion #commitment #sacrifice #catholic #carmelite #homily #sermon #quotes

"The Virgin Mary learned to be a mother by welcoming Jesus into her womb and within her heart," is the message of Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d. for the feast day of the Immaculate Conception. In a video message to all Nicaraguans worldwide, he reminds us that "Our Lady was a tender mother to Jesus, her son, and she is a tender mother also to us, her son’s disciples."

Read more of this excerpt on our #blog
💙 https://carmelitequotes.blog

#BishopSilvioJoseBaez #VirginMary #Catholic #Carmelite

On the vigil of the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d. guides our meditation on the beauty of the Blessed Virgin’s life: she was the transparency of God.

Learn more from the bishop!
💙 https://carmelitequotes.blog

#VirginMary #ImmaculateConception #beauty #BishopSilvioJoseBaez #Catholic #Carmelite #quote

"On the eve #LaGritería, I can't forget Rolando, my brother #bishop of #Matagalpa. I ask the Virgin to take care of him & give him strength, and I demand, together with all the people of #Nicaragua, that he be released. #BlessedVirgin take care of Rolando and give him back to us!"
#BishopSilvioJoseBaez

#Catholic Bishop #RolandoAlvarez is a #politicalprisoner in Nicaragua. He was kidnapped on 19 August 2022 after being sequestered in his residence. His whereabouts are unknown.

In this Advent season, Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d. urges us to adopt the prophetic rebelliousness of St. John the Baptist so that we don’t resign ourselves to interior mediocrity or injustice in the world around us.

Read his quote on our blog!
🟣 https://carmelitequotes.blog

#Advent #BishopSilvioJoseBaez #bishopbaez #StJohnTheBaptist #rebellious #rebel #mediocrity #injustice #freedom #prophetic #catholic #Carmelite #quotes #inspiration

Meeting With a Mother in Rome

“Encuentro con una madre en Roma” is a personal reflection written by Bishop Silvio José Báez, O.C.D., auxiliary bishop of Managua. First published online on 5 October 2018 by Confidencial—an award-winning independent Nicaraguan media outlet—and later on 10 October by Religión Digital, the piece recalls his encounter with President Violeta Barrios de Chamorro during her visit to Rome in the 1990s. Carmelite Quotes is honored to offer this original English translation with the bishop’s kind permission. Doña Violeta was born in Rivas, Nicaragua, on 18 October 1929, and died in exile in San José, Costa Rica, on 14 June 2025.

In the mid-1990s, while I was in Rome pursuing my doctorate in Sacred Scripture, Doña Violeta, then President of the Republic, came on a visit to the Eternal City. Through the Nicaraguan Embassy to the Holy See, she graciously invited the few Nicaraguan priests studying there to meet with her. She welcomed us at the door of the embassy with a warm smile and a big hug:

“How lovely to see you, my beautiful boys!” she said. “It makes me so happy to see you! Come in!” Then, turning to some of the embassy staff, she added, “Go on, bring the fathers a little Coke and a piece of cake.”

We had come to visit the president of our country—but what we found was a mother. We were expecting formal diplomatic protocol—but there was none, only warm and human hospitality. A couple of hours passed in simple, friendly conversation with her about the situation in Nicaragua and the challenges of her presidency. But she also asked about what clearly mattered deeply to her: how our studies were going, what needs we had in Rome, how our families were doing, and more.

It was an unforgettable meeting.

I understood then that Nicaragua—wounded by years of war and suffering, authoritarianism and poverty—was now in the hands of a mother. The country needed peace and rebuilding, and that mother, a woman both gentle and strong, intelligent and unpretentious, was striving to make our society into a great family. She did what she could—and she did a great deal.

In the profound political and social crisis we are living through today, we feel such a deep need for her human style, her honest leadership, and her great ideals of peace and democracy.

Doña Violeta will live forever in the heart of God, whom she loved and worshipped. And she will always be remembered as an admirable protagonist of one of the most glorious chapters in Nicaragua’s history.

Thank you, Doña Violeta!

#BishopSilvioJoséBáez #Carmelite #DiscalcedCarmelite #Nicaragua #Rome #SilvioJBaez #VioletaChamorro