Third Sunday of Lent, March 23, 2025

Third Sunday of Lent, March 23, 2025

Year C

Today’s Readings, from the USCCB:

Reading I

Exodus 3:1-8a, 13-15

Moses was tending the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian. Leading the flock across the desert, he came to Horeb, the mountain of God. There an angel of the LORD appeared to Moses in fire flaming out of a bush. As he looked on, he was surprised to see that the bush, though on fire, was not consumed. So Moses decided, “I must go over to look at this remarkable sight, and see why the bush is not burned.”

When the LORD saw him coming over to look at it more closely, God called out to him from the bush, "Moses! Moses!” He answered, “Here I am.” God said, “Come no nearer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place where you stand is holy ground. I am the God of your fathers, “ he continued, “the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob.” Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God. But the LORD said, “I have witnessed the affliction of my people in Egypt and have heard their cry of complaint against their slave drivers, so I know well what they are suffering. Therefore I have come down to rescue them from the hands of the Egyptians and lead them out of that land into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey.”

Moses said to God, “But when I go to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ if they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what am I to tell them?” God replied, “I am who am.” Then he added, “This is what you shall tell the Israelites: I AM sent me to you.”

God spoke further to Moses, “Thus shall you say to the Israelites: The LORD, the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob, has sent me to you. “This is my name forever; thus am I to be remembered through all generations.”

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 103: 1-2, 3-4, 6-7, 8, 11.

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

R. The Lord is kind and merciful.

The LORD secures justice and the rights of all the oppressed. He has made known his ways to Moses, and his deeds to the children of Israel.

R. The Lord is kind and merciful.

Merciful and gracious is the LORD, slow to anger and abounding in kindness. For as the heavens are high above the earth, so surpassing is his kindness toward those who fear him.

R. The Lord is kind and merciful.

Reading II

1 Corinthians 10:1-6, 10-12

I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, that our ancestors were all under the cloud and all passed through the sea, and all of them were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea. All ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink, for they drank from a spiritual rock that followed them, and the rock was the Christ. Yet God was not pleased with most of them, for they were struck down in the desert.

These things happened as examples for us, so that we might not desire evil things, as they did. Do not grumble as some of them did, and suffered death by the destroyer. These things happened to them as an example, and they have been written down as a warning to us, upon whom the end of the ages has come. Therefore, whoever thinks he is standing secure should take care not to fall.

Verse Before the Gospel

Matthew 4:17

Repent, says the Lord; the kingdom of heaven is at hand.

Gospel

Luke 13:1-9

Some people told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with the blood of their sacrifices. Jesus said to them in reply, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were greater sinners than all other Galileans? By no means! But I tell you, if you do not repent, you will all perish as they did! Or those eighteen people who were killed when the tower at Siloam fell on them – do you think they were more guilty than everyone else who lived in Jerusalem? By no means! But I tell you, if you do not repent, you will all perish as they did!”

And he told them this parable: “There once was a person who had a fig tree planted in his orchard, and when he came in search of fruit on it but found none, he said to the gardener, ‘For three years now I have come in search of fruit on this fig tree but have found none. So cut it down. Why should it exhaust the soil?’ He said to him in reply, ‘Sir, leave it for this year also, and I shall cultivate the ground around it and fertilize it; it may bear fruit in the future. If not you can cut it down.’”

 

The Fig Tree and the Flicker of Flame

"Sir, leave it for this year also, and I shall cultivate the ground around it and fertilize it; it may bear fruit in the future." – Luke 13:8

I have to believe these words were written for people like me.

For those of us who have been stuck in spiritual drought.

For those who’ve prayed and waited, and watched nothing grow.

For those who’ve looked in the mirror and wondered, Is this all I’ve become?

Because truthfully, I’ve felt like the fig tree in today’s Gospel.

Planted.

Present.

But fruitless.

Not because I’ve stopped believing in God.

But because, for a long time, I’ve believed He may have stopped believing in me.

The Weight of Wasted Time

I can’t help but think about the lost time.

The Masses I’ve skipped because I chose comfort.

The signs I ignored because I doubted I was worthy of receiving them.

The prayers I abandoned because silence felt like proof that nothing was listening back.

There are days I wonder if I’ve exhausted the soil.

If my doubts, my distractions, my unspoken hurts, have made me a tree that’s taking up space in God’s orchard.

And yet – today’s Gospel doesn’t end with the fig tree being cut down.

It ends with mercy.

With one more chance.

With a promise to cultivate.

“Leave it for this year also.”

That’s all I’ve ever really wanted – to know that God hasn’t given up on me.

To know there’s still time.

Still hope.

Still room for redemption.

The Burning Bush and the Unburned Man

In the first reading, Moses sees a bush engulfed in flames but not consumed.

And that detail always stops me in my tracks.

Because some days, I feel like I am on fire – but not in the good, Spirit-filled way.

I’m talking about the slow-burning fatigue of carrying emotional burdens.

Of wondering if I’ve failed as a father when my kids hurt and I can’t fix it.

Of watching the people I’ve loved turn their backs on me and carrying that hurt silently.

Of giving up my dreams for the good of others – and wondering if I’ve been forgotten in the process.

But maybe that bush is me.

Still burning.

Still scarred.

But not consumed.

Still standing in the presence of God – even when I feel unworthy to approach Him.

 “I Am” and Who I Am Not

When God speaks to Moses, He doesn’t offer a resume. He simply says, “I AM.”

I don’t know about you, but most days, my internal monologue is more like:

“I’m not enough.”

“I’m not faithful enough.”

“I’m not a good enough father, husband, man of faith.”

But God doesn’t need my credentials.

He needs my yes.

Even if it’s broken.

Even if it’s whispered through tears.

Even if it comes with more questions than confidence.

He called Moses – flawed, reluctant Moses – to lead.

He cultivates the fig tree that hasn’t produced anything yet.

He gives one more season to the one who feels like they’ve missed their shot.

And He calls me.

Still.

Where I Stand

I stand somewhere between Moses’ holy ground and the fig tree’s last chance.

I stand in the mystery of “I AM” and all the ways I’m still trying to become.

I stand on the soil of a faith that has been bruised but not broken.

A heart that has been silent, but not stilled.

A soul that still hopes – however quietly – that this Lent might be the year it finally bears fruit.

And if I’m being honest, this reflection isn’t the fruit.

It’s the digging.

It’s the fertilizer.

It’s the patient work of showing up again, of loosening what’s been compacted by years of shame and doubt.

A Little Less Lost

So here I am, Lord.

Still a little broken.

Still a little barren.

Still a little afraid.

But here.

And if today You’re giving the fig tree one more year…

If You’re still calling to the one who feels unqualified…

If You’re still willing to kneel in the dirt and cultivate something from my mess…

Then maybe I’m already a little less lost than I was yesterday.

And maybe…that’s what being found begins to look like.