Reflection for January 18, 2026

Feast of the Holy Child Jesus (A)

Isaiah 9:1-6 | Psalm 98: 1-5 | Ephesians 1:3-6.15-18 | Matthew 18:1-5.10 

​As a nation where children make up 34% of the population, Filipinos are known for their deep love for children. The sight of a child brings joy; a child is welcoming, comforting, and non-threatening. Its strength lies in its weakness, and its power is found in love. It is therefore no surprise that Filipinos have developed a long-standing and widespread devotion to the Holy Child Jesus. This devotion began more than 500 years ago, when the first image of El Santo Niño was brought to Cebu and given by Fernando Magallanes as a baptismal gift to the wife of Rajah Humabon. For Filipino Catholics, the Holy Child represents a God who is a source of great joy—a God who is accessible to all and can be approached without fear. Images of the Sto. Niño are commonly found on family altars in homes, as well as in schools, offices, community stores, and even inside jeepneys, quietly witnessing to a faith that is both intimate and enduring.

“I want you to act as if the house is on fire.” When Greta Thunberg spoke those words, the world paused. She was just a child—small in stature, young in years—standing before powerful leaders who had governed nations for decades. Yet her voice carried a weight that could not be ignored. Calm, steady, and unafraid, Greta told them what many refused to say aloud: this was no longer simply climate change; it was a climate crisis. She did not speak with anger for attention, nor with pride for applause. She spoke with the clarity of a child who loved the future enough to protect it. Her honesty pierced through excuses and empty promises. In that moment, titles, wealth, and power faded, and a young girl reminded the world of its responsibility. Greta surprised humanity not because she was loud, but because she was true. She showed that courage does not depend on age, and that even a child can awaken the conscience of the world. Through her witness, she proved that when a young heart burns with conviction, it can spark change far greater than itself—and call all of us to care, to act, and to hope again.
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When the people of Israel stood in the shadow of fear, threatened by the rising power of Assyria, hope seemed to slip away. Darkness surrounded them, and the future felt uncertain. It was precisely at this moment—when their need was greatest—that God spoke through the prophet Isaiah, assuring them that He would never abandon His people. Isaiah proclaimed that light would come, not through armies or force, but through a child. A Holy Child would be born, small and vulnerable, yet bearing names of divine authority: Counselor, Mighty God, and Prince of Peace. In this child, God revealed a surprising truth—that His power is shown not in domination, but in humility. This was no ordinary child. Though gentle, He would liberate the oppressed and establish a kingdom founded on justice and peace. Isaiah’s prophecy reminds us that God draws nearest when life feels most fragile. He does not always arrive with grandeur; sometimes, He comes quietly, wrapped in the weakness of a child, bringing hope, comfort, and light into our deepest darkness.

“I will not be silenced.” Malala was only ten when the war tore through her village in Pakistan. Explosions shattered homes, and streets that once echoed with laughter became silent with fear. She watched neighbors flee, friends vanish, and lives broken—not by children, but by adults whose selfishness and pride had ignited destruction. Amid the chaos, Malala felt pain that no child should endure—hunger, cold, and the loss of safety. Yet even in the darkness, she held on to something no war could take: her childlike heart. She found wonder in small miracles—a flower growing through rubble, a stray bird finding rest, the kindness of strangers who shared what little they had. Malala’s suffering became a voice for the voiceless. She told the world that children should never pay the price for adult quarrels, that innocence and hope must be protected, and that even in the midst of anguish, goodness can shine. Though war tried to harden her, Malala remained childlike—trusting, loving, and full of faith. Her courage reminds us that even the smallest hearts can carry light into the darkest places and inspire a world to choose peace.

The Child Jesus did not remain a child. As St. Paul reminds us in his letter to the Ephesians, Jesus grew into a holy man through whom all grace is given. He is God’s chosen way of reaching us—pouring out love, offering salvation, and blessing us with countless graces. By becoming human, the Son of God opened the way for all people—Jew or Gentile, servant or free, woman or man—to become children of God. St. Paul teaches that our calling as God’s children is to be holy and blameless before the Father. Yet being a child can mean two very different things. Childishness speaks of immaturity and self-centeredness, qualities we are called to outgrow. Childlikeness, however, reflects obedience, humility, and trust—the very qualities that draw God’s delight. Though we grow in years, God desires that our hearts remain childlike. Each day, our choices shape who we become. So we must ask ourselves honestly: Am I childish, or am I truly childlike before God?

Leigh was only five when her life quietly changed the lives of many. Two years before her passing, her parents left the Philippines and the comfort of thriving careers to begin again in Canada, believing that nothing mattered more than their daughter’s health. They arrived as strangers, but they were soon embraced by the Filipino community and their parish, who became family through every hospital visit and long day of cancer treatment. Leigh endured her illness with remarkable patience. On the hardest days, when pain weighed heavily on her small body, she once whispered to her parents, “Mama, Papa, my body hurts—but I still love Jesus.” In that simple confession, she preached without a pulpit. Her brother Gabe stayed close, filling her days with laughter and imagination, playing games and dreaming aloud of what she might someday become. He gave her the priceless gift of presence. Leigh died in 2024, but she did not disappear. Today, as outreach continues for pediatric cancer patients at UP PGH in Manila in her memory, her life still speaks. Cancer claimed her body, but it could not silence her love, her faith, or the hope she planted in countless hearts.

In the Gospel, the disciples argue about who among them will be the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Their hearts are filled with pride, each convinced that greatness belongs to him. Jesus responds in a way that surprises them—and us. He places a child before them and says that to be great, we must turn and become like children. The world teaches us otherwise. It tells us that greatness is measured by wealth, popularity, beauty, titles, and achievements. Yet Jesus gently redirects our gaze. In God’s kingdom, greatness is not found in power, position, or prestige, but in humility. To be childlike is to shift the focus away from ourselves and toward others—to serve rather than to seek recognition. This call becomes urgent in moments of suffering. Let us respond with compassion—by giving, serving, and praying—choosing humility that lifts others in their time of need.

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