About Today
Tuesday 23 December 2025
23 December (optional commemoration of Saint John of Kęty, Priest)
The Lord is at hand: come, let us adore him.
Year: A(II). Psalm week: 4. Liturgical Colour: Violet.
O Emmanuel!
O Emmánuel,
rex et légifer noster,
exspectátio géntium et salvátor eárum:
veni ad salvándum nos,
Dómine Deus noster.
“O Immanuel, you are our king and our judge, the One whom the peoples await and their Saviour. O come and save us, Lord our God.”
One by one the symbols and prefigurations have passed before our eyes and each one has been set in its context, given its true meaning as a sign pointing to what is about to happen at the invisible turning-point of the history of the world. But the time for signs has passed. The title “Emmanuel” says “God-With-Us”, simply, straightforwardly, literally. We say openly what we want. “Come and save us!” That is all.
“The maiden is with child,” says Isaiah, “and will soon give birth to a son whom she will call Immanuel.”
Looking back on the O Antiphons, from the last to the first, they will acquire a familiar ring to speakers of English. We sing them, in that reverse order, in the hymn “O come, O come, Emmanuel”.
In Latin, the more cryptically minded can take the first letter of each of the titles given to Jesus, again from last to first, to get E R O C R A S. That is, ero cras, “I will be tomorrow”. It is possible to believe that this is a coincidence or even that there is something undignified about playing with letters in the face of God. On the other hand, in the Eastern Church, acrostics are used as a vital part of the liturgy: they are characteristic in particular of the form of hymn called a kontakion. Perhaps this civilised habit rubbed off, many centuries ago, on the muddy, half-barbarian West. In any case, even the Jews did it: there are several psalms which are a sequence of meditations strung together in alphabetical order. If the earth and stars, the sun and moon, are singing the praises of the Lord, there is surely nothing wrong in making the letters of the alphabet do the same.
We have come to the end of the sequence of seven ancient antiphons. It may seem as if the countdown has ended early. After all, tomorrow is only the 24th. But this is a reminder that on truly important days we are still Jews, and the day starts at nightfall of the evening before. The 24th of December has no Vespers. The Vespers of that evening are the First Vespers of Christmas. And in many Christian countries children will be sitting staring out of the window waiting for the first star to appear so that the celebrations can begin.
St John of Kęty (1390 - 1473)
He was born in Kęty in the diocese of Kraków in 1390. He became a priest and for many years taught at the University of Kraków; later he became parish priest of Olkusz. He taught and researched in both physics and theology and excelled in holiness and in charity towards his neighbour, in which he was an example to his colleagues and pupils. He died in 1473. See the articles in the Catholic Encyclopaedia and Wikipedia.
Zechariah wrote on a tablet 'His name is John'
Gospel:Luke 1:57-66
The time came for Elizabeth to give birth, and she bore a son. And her neighbours and relatives heard that the Lord had shown great mercy to her, and they rejoiced with her. And on the eighth day they came to circumcise the child. And they would have called him Zechariah after his father, but his mother answered, ‘No; he shall be called John.’ And they said to her, ‘None of your relatives is called by this name.’ And they made signs to his father, enquiring what he wanted him to be called. And he asked for a writing tablet and wrote, ‘His name is John.’ And they all wondered. And immediately his mouth was opened and his tongue loosed, and he spoke, blessing God. And fear came on all their neighbours. And all these things were talked about through all the hill country of Judea, and all who heard them laid them up in their hearts, saying, ‘What then will this child be?’ For the hand of the Lord was with him.
Reflection on the painting
Before a child is born, parents reflect carefully on the name they will give their son or daughter. A name is not chosen lightly; it becomes part of a person’s identity for life. Our baptismal liturgy recognises the importance of a name when the priest asks, “What name do you give your child?” In today’s Gospel, we witness a moment just like this. Elizabeth, with calm conviction, announces that her son will be named John. Her choice astonishes the gathered relatives, since the name held no family precedent. Yes, different people will have different ideas about a good name for the child. Yet the name of John name is confirmed by Zechariah, who writes it boldly on a tablet. It is the name entrusted to them by the angel Gabriel. Hebrew names often carry deep theological meaning, and John means “God is gracious.” The child born to Zechariah and Elizabeth would prepare the way for the Lord who ushers in a new age of grace.
This grace is exactly what we celebrate at Christmas. As the angels proclaimed to the shepherds, “Peace to those on whom God’s favour rests.” With the birth of Jesus, God’s gracious favour rests not just on the Holy Family, but on all humanity. We, too, are “highly favoured” because of the One whose path John the Baptist prepared. At Christmas, we pause to treasure this grace. But this season invites us to do much more than simply receive God’s favour; it calls us to share it! Having been touched by God’s graciousness, we are sent to extend that same grace, through kindness, generosity, forgiveness, and love.
Jan Lievens’ painting of Zechariah in the Temple is a remarkably simple and restrained painting. The palette is muted, dominated by warm browns, soft ochres, and gentle shadows, giving the whole canvas a contemplative stillness. There is no dramatic architectural backdrop, no flourish of colour. Only Zechariah is enveloped in a tender, subdued light, saying quietly his prayers by the altar. This simplicity is deeply reminiscent of Rembrandt, and not by accident: Lievens and Rembrandt were contemporaries, trained together in Leiden, influencing one another in their early years. The shared sensitivity to light and quiet dignity of their figures, all these echo their artistic kinship.
Zechariah in the Temple,
Painting by Jan Lievens (1607–1674),
Painted circa 1640,
Oil on canvas
© Wawel Castle, Kraków, Poland
23 December (optional commemoration of Saint John of Kęty, Priest)
The Lord is at hand: come, let us adore him.
Year: A(II). Psalm week: 4. Liturgical Colour: Violet.
O Emmanuel!
O Emmánuel,
rex et légifer noster,
exspectátio géntium et salvátor eárum:
veni ad salvándum nos,
Dómine Deus noster.
“O Immanuel, you are our king and our judge, the One whom the peoples await and their Saviour. O come and save us, Lord our God.”
One by one the symbols and prefigurations have passed before our eyes and each one has been set in its context, given its true meaning as a sign pointing to what is about to happen at the invisible turning-point of the history of the world. But the time for signs has passed. The title “Emmanuel” says “God-With-Us”, simply, straightforwardly, literally. We say openly what we want. “Come and save us!” That is all.
“The maiden is with child,” says Isaiah, “and will soon give birth to a son whom she will call Immanuel.”
Looking back on the O Antiphons, from the last to the first, they will acquire a familiar ring to speakers of English. We sing them, in that reverse order, in the hymn “O come, O come, Emmanuel”.
In Latin, the more cryptically minded can take the first letter of each of the titles given to Jesus, again from last to first, to get E R O C R A S. That is, ero cras, “I will be tomorrow”. It is possible to believe that this is a coincidence or even that there is something undignified about playing with letters in the face of God. On the other hand, in the Eastern Church, acrostics are used as a vital part of the liturgy: they are characteristic in particular of the form of hymn called a kontakion. Perhaps this civilised habit rubbed off, many centuries ago, on the muddy, half-barbarian West. In any case, even the Jews did it: there are several psalms which are a sequence of meditations strung together in alphabetical order. If the earth and stars, the sun and moon, are singing the praises of the Lord, there is surely nothing wrong in making the letters of the alphabet do the same.
We have come to the end of the sequence of seven ancient antiphons. It may seem as if the countdown has ended early. After all, tomorrow is only the 24th. But this is a reminder that on truly important days we are still Jews, and the day starts at nightfall of the evening before. The 24th of December has no Vespers. The Vespers of that evening are the First Vespers of Christmas. And in many Christian countries children will be sitting staring out of the window waiting for the first star to appear so that the celebrations can begin.
St John of Kęty (1390 - 1473)
He was born in Kęty in the diocese of Kraków in 1390. He became a priest and for many years taught at the University of Kraków; later he became parish priest of Olkusz. He taught and researched in both physics and theology and excelled in holiness and in charity towards his neighbour, in which he was an example to his colleagues and pupils. He died in 1473. See the articles in the Catholic Encyclopaedia and Wikipedia.
Zechariah wrote on a tablet 'His name is John'
Gospel:Luke 1:57-66
The time came for Elizabeth to give birth, and she bore a son. And her neighbours and relatives heard that the Lord had shown great mercy to her, and they rejoiced with her. And on the eighth day they came to circumcise the child. And they would have called him Zechariah after his father, but his mother answered, ‘No; he shall be called John.’ And they said to her, ‘None of your relatives is called by this name.’ And they made signs to his father, enquiring what he wanted him to be called. And he asked for a writing tablet and wrote, ‘His name is John.’ And they all wondered. And immediately his mouth was opened and his tongue loosed, and he spoke, blessing God. And fear came on all their neighbours. And all these things were talked about through all the hill country of Judea, and all who heard them laid them up in their hearts, saying, ‘What then will this child be?’ For the hand of the Lord was with him.
Reflection on the painting
Before a child is born, parents reflect carefully on the name they will give their son or daughter. A name is not chosen lightly; it becomes part of a person’s identity for life. Our baptismal liturgy recognises the importance of a name when the priest asks, “What name do you give your child?” In today’s Gospel, we witness a moment just like this. Elizabeth, with calm conviction, announces that her son will be named John. Her choice astonishes the gathered relatives, since the name held no family precedent. Yes, different people will have different ideas about a good name for the child. Yet the name of John name is confirmed by Zechariah, who writes it boldly on a tablet. It is the name entrusted to them by the angel Gabriel. Hebrew names often carry deep theological meaning, and John means “God is gracious.” The child born to Zechariah and Elizabeth would prepare the way for the Lord who ushers in a new age of grace.
This grace is exactly what we celebrate at Christmas. As the angels proclaimed to the shepherds, “Peace to those on whom God’s favour rests.” With the birth of Jesus, God’s gracious favour rests not just on the Holy Family, but on all humanity. We, too, are “highly favoured” because of the One whose path John the Baptist prepared. At Christmas, we pause to treasure this grace. But this season invites us to do much more than simply receive God’s favour; it calls us to share it! Having been touched by God’s graciousness, we are sent to extend that same grace, through kindness, generosity, forgiveness, and love.
Jan Lievens’ painting of Zechariah in the Temple is a remarkably simple and restrained painting. The palette is muted, dominated by warm browns, soft ochres, and gentle shadows, giving the whole canvas a contemplative stillness. There is no dramatic architectural backdrop, no flourish of colour. Only Zechariah is enveloped in a tender, subdued light, saying quietly his prayers by the altar. This simplicity is deeply reminiscent of Rembrandt, and not by accident: Lievens and Rembrandt were contemporaries, trained together in Leiden, influencing one another in their early years. The shared sensitivity to light and quiet dignity of their figures, all these echo their artistic kinship.
Zechariah in the Temple,
Painting by Jan Lievens (1607–1674),
Painted circa 1640,
Oil on canvas
© Wawel Castle, Kraków, Poland