Saturday of the Second Week of Lent, March 22, 2025

Saturday of the Second Week of Lent, March 22, 2025

Today’s Readings, from the USCCB:

Reading 1

Micah 7:14-15, 18-20

Shepherd your people with your staff, the flock of your inheritance, That dwells apart in a woodland, in the midst of Carmel. Let them feed in Bashan and Gilead, as in the days of old; As in the days when you came from the land of Egypt, show us wonderful signs.

Who is there like you, the God who removes guilt and pardons sin for the remnant of his inheritance; Who does not persist in anger forever, but delights rather in clemency, And will again have compassion on us, treading underfoot our guilt? You will cast into the depths of the sea all our sins; You will show faithfulness to Jacob, and grace to Abraham, As you have sworn to our fathers from days of old.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 103:1-2, 3-4, 9-10, 11-12

R. The Lord is kind and merciful.

Bless the LORD, O my soul; and all my being, bless his holy name. Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.

R. The Lord is kind and merciful.

He pardons all your iniquities, he heals all your ills. He redeems your life from destruction, he crowns you with kindness and compassion.

R. The Lord is kind and merciful.

He will not always chide, nor does he keep his wrath forever. Not according to our sins does he deal with us, nor does he requite us according to our crimes.

R. The Lord is kind and merciful.

For as the heavens are high above the earth, so surpassing is his kindness toward those who fear him. As far as the east is from the west, so far has he put our transgressions from us.

R. The Lord is kind and merciful.

Verse Before the Gospel

Luke 15:18

I will get up and go to my father and shall say to him, Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you.

Gospel

Luke 15:1-3, 11-32

Tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to listen to Jesus, but the Pharisees and scribes began to complain, saying, "This man welcomes sinners and eats with them." So to them Jesus addressed this parable. "A man had two sons, and the younger son said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of your estate that should come to me.' So the father divided the property between them. After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings and set off to a distant country where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation. When he had freely spent everything, a severe famine struck that country, and he found himself in dire need. So he hired himself out to one of the local citizens who sent him to his farm to tend the swine. And he longed to eat his fill of the pods on which the swine fed, but nobody gave him any. Coming to his senses he thought, 'How many of my father's hired workers have more than enough food to eat, but here am I, dying from hunger. I shall get up and go to my father and I shall say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as you would treat one of your hired workers."' So he got up and went back to his father. While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him. His son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son.' But his father ordered his servants, 'Quickly, bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Take the fattened calf and slaughter it. Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.' Then the celebration began. Now the older son had been out in the field and, on his way back, as he neared the house, he heard the sound of music and dancing. He called one of the servants and asked what this might mean. The servant said to him, 'Your brother has returned and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.' He became angry, and when he refused to enter the house, his father came out and pleaded with him. He said to his father in reply, 'Look, all these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends. But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf.' He said to him, 'My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours. But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.'"

 

Still a Long Way Off

"While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion." – Luke 15:20

Those words undo me.

Still a long way off.

That’s where I’ve been for so much of my life.

Some days I feel like I’m limping home, dragging the weight of regret, guilt, doubt, and years of wondering whether God has finally stopped looking for me altogether.

This Lenten journey I’ve committed to – these daily reflections, these quiet confessions I’ve poured out one day at a time – have all been my version of walking back up that dusty road. Not because I know exactly where I’m going. But because I’m hoping, maybe even daring to believe, that someone is waiting for me on the other side of it.

That God is still watching for me…even while I’m still a long way off.

When You’ve Wasted What Was Good

I understand the younger son in today’s Gospel – not in a literal sense, but in spirit.

I know what it’s like to feel like I’ve squandered what was good.

I’ve made choices for comfort over conviction.

I’ve turned inward instead of upward.

I’ve chased validation from the world instead of intimacy with God.

I’ve passed up Mass, ignored the nudge to pray, and let seasons of silence convince me I wasn’t worthy to be seen or heard by the Father.

And I’ve definitely sat with pigs – maybe both figuratively and literally – in the form of guilt, shame, and self-loathing.

I’ve replayed prayers that were never answered.

I’ve wondered if my son’s disappointments were God’s way of punishing me for my own failings.

I’ve watched dreams die, seen doors close, and felt the sting of being cast aside – by people who should’ve stood by me.

Family.

Friends.

Even fellow believers.

And somewhere in that mix of silence and resentment, I started believing the lie – I no longer deserve to be called your son.

The Long Way Off

But then – this moment. This verse.

"While he was still a long way off."

Not after he fixed himself.

Not after he gave a perfect confession.

Not after he earned his way back.

No.

The Father saw him while he was still a mess.

Still hurting.

Still questioning.

Still doubting whether he belonged.

And what did the Father do?

He ran.

He embraced.

He restored.

He didn’t keep a record of wrongs.

He didn’t shame him for leaving.

He didn’t say, “You can stay, but only as a servant.”

No.

He said: “Let’s celebrate. My son has come back to life. He was lost, and now he’s been found.”

Where I Am on the Road

I don’t know where exactly I am on this road home.

But I do know this – I’m walking.

Each Lenten day I reflect, each word I write, each prayer I manage to speak – no matter how uncertain – is another step.

And maybe I’m still a long way off.

But I’m not staying in the pigsty.

I’m not letting guilt or failure or silence keep me from turning toward the Father.

Because deep down, I want to believe He’s still looking for me.

That even if I feel rejected by the world, I’m still wanted by God.

I want to believe that maybe this whole Lenten journey isn’t just me writing to get things off my chest…

Maybe it’s God calling me back.

Maybe it’s His way of saying:

“You’re not too far. You’ve never been too far. I’ve been watching for you. And I see you now, even while you’re still a long way off.”

A Little Less Lost, A Little More Found

That’s all I’m asking this Lent.

Not to be perfect.

Not to be fixed.

Not to have it all figured out.

Just to be a little less lost than I was yesterday.

And a little more found tomorrow.

And maybe – just maybe – that’s enough for God to start running.