19th Sunday in Ordinary Time 2025

“Gird your loins and light your lamps!”

It’s a strange phrase to modern ears, but the image is simple. 

In Jesus’ day, people wore long robes. If you needed to move—run, work, travel—you gathered the fabric and tied it at the waist so nothing tripped you up. 

That’s “gird your loins.” 

In our terms: roll up your sleeves, lace up your boots, be ready to move. 

And “light your lamps” means keep the flame of faith burning so you can see in the dark and recognize the Lord when He knocks.

That’s the thread through today’s readings. 

In the Letter to the Hebrews, the author holds up Abraham as the example of faith. God calls, and Abraham moves without a map. Sarah hopes when hope seems impossible. Their faith isn’t a feeling—it’s readiness in motion. 

In Wisdom, Israel keeps vigil on the night of Passover, acting in trust—even in the dark, even in secret. This is the shape of faith: prepared hearts, lamps lit, hands ready.

And Jesus begins by saying, “Do not be afraid, little flock; your Father is pleased to give you the Kingdom.” 

Vigilance isn’t fear. It’s confident expectation. When our treasure is in heaven, our hearts stay awake. 

When our treasure slips to comfort, status, or control, we get drowsy. Jesus warns against that drowsiness and gives us the steward: someone entrusted with people to love and work to do.

“Much will be required of the person entrusted with much.” 

That line lands on all of us—parents, teachers, caregivers, parish leaders, young people with gifts they’re discovering. 

We’re not owners. We’re stewards. 

The question isn’t “How comfortable am I?” but “What am I doing with what I’ve been given?”

So what does “gird your loins and light your lamps” look like this week? 

It looks like choosing a prayer you’ll actually keep—ten honest minutes with the Lord before the day outruns you. 

It looks like confession if a sin keeps tripping your steps. 

It looks like noticing who’s walking through a dark hallway and carrying light to their door. 

It looks like parents showing up again, teachers staying patient again, volunteers giving the quiet hour no one applauds. 

That is how lamps stay lit. That is how the Kingdom quietly breaks in.

Some of the most faithful moments happen offstage: the caregiver awake at 2 a.m., the widow offering her pain for her family, the teenager resisting the cheap laugh to guard someone’s dignity. No spotlight—just lamps in the night. That’s where the Master already walks. That’s where He will find us when He comes.

You don’t need everything figured out to start moving. 

Abraham didn’t. Israel didn’t. 

They trusted the One who calls, and they acted on that trust. 

Today Jesus gives us a posture more than a checklist: tie back what trips you; trim the wick of your soul; keep a little oil on hand; expect Him.

“Gird your loins and light your lamps.” 

Roll up your sleeves in prayer. Keep your lamp burning in charity. Let your stewardship be faithful and your heart unafraid. 

And when He knocks—whether in the second watch, the third, or in the face of the person who needs you this afternoon—may He find you ready.