Lent II, 2026

“Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit.”

It was not so long ago—seven years now—that we were expecting our first child. Intellectually, we knew our lives would change. Everyone tells you that. But the truth of it does not really land until the child is placed in your arms. And when that happened, our whole world shifted.

Once she could crawl, everything within reach had to be secured. Books and records we cared about were moved to higher shelves or tucked behind gates, like rare volumes in a library’s special collections. Coffee cups could no longer be left unattended. In many ways, choosing to have a child is like voluntarily inviting a certain kind of chaos into your life. A friend once said that having a child is “ruining your life”—in the best possible way.

A baby needs the freedom to discover how the world works. When he pushes his food off the table, he is a little Isaac Newton testing the law of gravity. For him, “what goes up must come down” is not yet a settled fact. When he tips over a potted plant and spills dirt across the floor, he is not being malicious. He wants to feel the soil between his fingers. He wants to smell it—perhaps even taste it—because it is new. He is trying to understand. In his own small way, he is seeking truth.

And the person to whom he instinctively turns for guidance—the one he cries out to when he is hungry or frightened—is his mother. In time, he will rely on his father in similar ways. But from the first day, it is the mother’s voice, her touch, her steady presence that soothe and orient the child.

When we are born, we are, in many respects, blank slates. The book of life has been placed in our hands, but we have not yet read the introduction. Birth is the opening chapter of a story we will spend the rest of our lives trying to understand. The baby is simply learning the setting and the main characters. He wants to explore everything placed before him.

That is why young children, as soon as they begin forming sentences, are relentless in their questions: “Why?” “What’s that?” To adults, it can be exhausting. But the child is not trying to irritate us. He is trying to make sense of things. The task of infancy and early childhood is to decode the basic mysteries of the world and to grow in understanding.

In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus tells Nicodemus that “no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and the Spirit.” To enter the kingdom, one must be born a second time. What does that mean?

For many of our evangelical brothers and sisters, this is a central passage. The phrase “born-again Christian” comes directly from this conversation. Some of you may have been asked, “Have you been born again?”

As catholic Christians, we are called to reflect more deeply. Jesus speaks plainly: to enter God’s kingdom, we must be born of water and the Spirit.

One way to grasp this mystery is to remember our first birth.

Entering the Christian life is like being born into an entirely new world. In the waters of baptism—whether as infants or as adults—we die to our old life and rise to a new one. We are made new. As in our first birth, we awaken into a world vast and wondrous, a world that will take a lifetime to explore.

Baptized in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, we are grafted into the life of the Holy Trinity. Through Jesus Christ, we are brought into living relationship with God. We are made adopted sons and daughters of the Father. Baptism is the beginning of that journey. A new horizon opens before us.

Rising from the waters, we are infants in the faith—whether or not we are literal babies. Through the life of the Church and the fellowship of Christian community, we grow. Our vision sharpens. Our understanding of how the world truly works deepens. We begin to know things as they truly are.

Like children, we will stumble. We will place ourselves in spiritual danger through our own choices. At times, we will grieve the God who loves us. But if we listen for His voice—that tender and steady voice, not unlike a mother’s—He will guide us. He will steady us when we are afraid. He will turn us away from the sins that ensnare us. He will remain with us.

The task is simply to listen—and to follow.

To be born again is to enter into new possibility through a living relationship with God. It is the beginning of a journey without end: a life of deepening communion with the Father, through the Son, in the power of the Holy Spirit. In Him, we are born again to eternal life.

Let us take this Lent as an opportunity to grow—like children—curious, attentive, eager to learn the ways of God. Let us listen more carefully for His voice in our lives.

I close with these words from W. H. Auden’s For the Time Being:

He is the Way.
Follow Him through the Land of Unlikeness;
You will see rare beasts, and have unique adventures.

He is the Truth.
Seek Him in the Kingdom of Anxiety;
You will come to a great city that has expected your return for years.

He is the Life.
Love Him in the World of the Flesh;
And at your marriage all its occasions shall dance for joy.