Fourth Tuesday in Ordinary Time
Saint Blaise (Blessing of Throats)
3 February 2026
Your blessing Lord
Today the Church brings together three things that, at first glance, may seem only loosely connected: a tragic story of death and grief from the Old Testament, two powerful healings from the Gospel, and the memorial of Saint Blaise with the blessing of throats. But when we listen carefully, they converge around a single human experience: our vulnerability—and God’s desire to meet us there.
The first reading is painful to hear. Absalom, King David’s son, is killed violently, and David’s response is not political or strategic—it is deeply personal. He weeps openly, crying out again and again, “My son Absalom!” This is not the grief of a king losing an heir; it is the grief of a father losing a child. Scripture does not sanitize this moment. It allows us to see the rawness of sorrow, the kind that catches in the throat and leaves a person unable to speak.
That detail matters today.
Because grief, fear, illness, and loss are not abstract ideas in the Bible. They lodge themselves in the body—in breath, in voice, in the very places where we try to speak, cry, or pray.
The Gospel gives us a very different outcome, but it begins in a similar place of desperation. Jairus approaches Jesus because his daughter is dying. At the same time, a woman who has suffered for twelve years reaches out to Jesus from the crowd. She has lost blood, strength, dignity, and hope. Both stories involve people who are running out of options. Both involve fear. Both involve bodies that are failing.
And in both cases, Jesus does not stay distant.
He allows himself to be touched.
He allows himself to be interrupted.
He listens.
He speaks words that restore life.
To the woman, He says, “Your faith has saved you.”
To the child, He says, “Little girl, I say to you, arise.”
In the presence of Jesus, silence is broken, fear loosens its grip, and life returns. What had been closing down—body, breath, voice—is opened again.
This is where Saint Blaise enters the picture in a meaningful way.
Saint Blaise was a bishop and martyr in the early Church, known for his care of the sick. According to ancient tradition, while imprisoned for his faith, he healed a child who was choking on a fishbone by his prayer. From that act of compassion grew the Church’s practice of blessing throats on his memorial.
It is important to say clearly: this blessing is not superstition.
The Church is not performing a magical ritual or promising immunity from illness. What we are doing is praying—asking God to protect, heal, and strengthen one of the most human and vulnerable parts of our body.
The throat is where we breathe.
Where we speak.
Where we cry.
Where we sing.
Where we pray aloud.
Where fear tightens and grief settles.
When the Church blesses throats today, she is acknowledging that our faith is incarnational. God cares about bodies, not just souls. Christ heals in concrete ways. And our physical vulnerability is not separate from our spiritual life—it is often where faith is tested and revealed.
Today’s readings remind us that God does not shy away from human fragility. He enters it. David’s grief is not dismissed. Jairus’ fear is not mocked. The woman’s long suffering is not minimized. And Saint Blaise’s prayer does not bypass the body—it honors it.
So when we come forward today for the blessing of throats, we should do so honestly. We bring our fears, our illnesses, our unspoken griefs, our fragile voices. We ask not for magic, but for grace: the grace to trust God with our bodies, our lives, and our future.
Because the same Lord who hears a father’s cry, who stops for a suffering woman, who raises a child from death, is still attentive to the prayers of His people.
And He still desires to bring healing—sometimes in the body, but always in the heart.