The mute demon is cast out, but its silence lingers — a silence that reveals more than noise could. Christ shows us that every kingdom has a structure, even the kingdom of evil. It has ranks, roles, even strategy — but no love, no center that holds. This is not just a story of exorcism. It is a warning: if we are not gathered with Christ, we are scattered. Even neglect is a kind of fracture. The Spirit does not fill an empty house unless invited.

He does not ease into Lent — he enters the desert like a warrior, fasting, facing down the enemy, answering every temptation with the voice of the Father. His baptism and his battle, womb and tomb, all come at once. This is the shape of redemption: whole, undivided, already underway. We begin our fast not to become strong, but to remember where our strength comes from.

Jesus made His home in Capernaum. It was where He lived, taught, healed — a center of His ministry and the site of countless miracles. And yet, it became a place of indifference. Those closest to Him, like the people of Nazareth, did not believe. Today we reflect on the contrast between proximity and faith — between those who saw and turned away, and a Roman outsider whose belief astonished Christ. We ask what it means to live close to the holy and not be changed. Have we grown so familiar? We should be in awe.