Justice, the work of love made visible…repeat

By Fr Stephan Alexander

General Manager, CCSJ and AMMR

Qohelet, writing in the book of Ecclesiastes, reminds us that “… there is nothing new under the sun.” Indeed, the author says, “what was, will be again and what has been done, will be done again.”

One can understand this statement and the idea it conveys in various ways. For me, it’s a great reminder of why the Church uses the tools of return and repetition in the liturgy to reinforce and remind us of God’s ways. If things really do repeat themselves, then certain lessons may need to be repeated and re-learned.

For instance, the first reading in the liturgy for the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord, from Isaiah 42:1–4, 6–7, which repeats annually, reminds us of Isaiah’s proclamation of the “chosen one” who is endowed with God’s “spirit that he may bring true justice to the nations.”

That “chosen one” of whom Isaiah prophesies is undoubtedly Jesus. As Christians and disciples of Jesus, we are meant to follow Him, to imitate Christ, and as our tradition teaches, to ultimately become “another Christ, Christ himself.”

Hence, we too must be bringers of justice. These are the people whom Matthew identifies as “those who hunger and thirst for what is right” (Mt 5:6). We arguably forget that we are these people. Hence, we need to be reminded of it, and the Church’s liturgical and literary tools help with that.

In the language of faith, justice is not simply about laws, courts, or punishment. Justice is about right relationship: right relationship with God, with one another, and with creation. It is about living in a way that allows everyone to flourish, especially the poor, the vulnerable and the forgotten. Justice is what love looks like in public.

And yet, if we are honest, we know how easily we drift away from this vision. Our world constantly encourages us to look out for ourselves first—our comfort, our pleasure, our success, our convenience.

Without even noticing it, we begin to measure life by what benefits me rather than what builds us. This quiet drift toward selfishness and individualism is one of the greatest threats to justice, because it slowly weakens the bonds that hold our communities together.

We do not have to look far for examples. Here at home, many of us witnessed the extended fireworks display that began on December 30, 2025, and continued well into the first week of January 2026.

Fireworks can be joyful and beautiful. Celebration is not wrong. But when celebration becomes excessive, disruptive, and inconsiderate of neighbours, the elderly, the sick, families with young children and pets, and even the environment, then we must pause and ask: are we still acting in right relationship?

For some, those nights were filled with excitement. For others, they were filled with exhaustion, anxiety and fear. Justice invites us to hold both realities together and to ask whether our personal enjoyment has quietly overridden our responsibility to one another.

On the regional and international stage, the same pattern appears in more troubling ways. Recent events surrounding US involvement in Venezuela remind us how powerful nations often justify their actions using noble language—democracy, security, freedom—while smaller nations and ordinary people bear the heavy consequences.

Once again, what we see is the age-old struggle between power and justice, between self-interest and right relationship. The players change, but the story remains familiar.

Qohelet was right: there is nothing new under the sun. This is precisely why the Church keeps placing before us the same scriptures, the same call, the same challenge. We forget. We drift. We need to be called back, again and again, to the heart of the Gospel.

Justice begins not in parliaments or courtrooms, but in the human heart. It begins when we decide that my neighbour’s peace matters as much as my pleasure; that the dignity of the poor matters as much as my comfort; that the future of our children matters more than my immediate convenience.

Justice grows whenever we choose to live not as isolated individuals but as members of one body, responsible for one another.

In the earlier examples, we see humanity’s recurrent failure to live up to the vision of right relationship that Scripture holds before us. Hence, the liturgy’s annual return to Isaiah’s prophecy and the Gospel’s beatitudes are spiritual guardrails against the forgetfulness that afflicts us.

They remind us that justice is not an optional virtue; it is the foundation of peace and the measure of genuine freedom. We are summoned not merely to avoid wrongdoing but to cultivate a heart attuned to solidarity, mercy, and truth.

To “hunger and thirst for what is right” is not an abstract ideal. It is a daily decision: how I drive, how I speak, how I vote, how I spend, how I celebrate, how I treat the stranger, the worker, the migrant, the elderly, the unborn.

If the world keeps repeating its mistakes, then perhaps we must keep repeating the lesson: Justice is the work of love made visible.

And we, as disciples of Christ, are called to make that love visible again, and again, and again.

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