Saturday of the Fourth Week of Lent, April 5, 2025

Today’s Readings, from the USCCB:

Reading 1

Jeremiah 11:18-20

I knew their plot because the LORD informed me; at that time you, O LORD, showed me their doings.

Yet I, like a trusting lamb led to slaughter, had not realized that they were hatching plots against me: "Let us destroy the tree in its vigor; let us cut him off from the land of the living, so that his name will be spoken no more."

But, you, O LORD of hosts, O just Judge, searcher of mind and heart, Let me witness the vengeance you take on them, for to you I have entrusted my cause!

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 7:2-3, 9bc-10, 11-12

R. O Lord, my God, in you I take refuge.

O LORD, my God, in you I take refuge; save me from all my pursuers and rescue me, Lest I become like the lion's prey, to be torn to pieces, with no one to rescue me.

R. O Lord, my God, in you I take refuge.

Do me justice, O LORD, because I am just, and because of the innocence that is mine. Let the malice of the wicked come to an end, but sustain the just, O searcher of heart and soul, O just God.

R. O Lord, my God, in you I take refuge.

A shield before me is God, who saves the upright of heart; A just judge is God, a God who punishes day by day.

R. O Lord, my God, in you I take refuge.

Verse Before the Gospel

Luke 8:15

Blessed are they who have kept the word with a generous heart and yield a harvest through perseverance.

Gospel

John 7:40-53

Some in the crowd who heard these words of Jesus said, "This is truly the Prophet." Others said, "This is the Christ." But others said, "The Christ will not come from Galilee, will he? Does not Scripture say that the Christ will be of David's family and come from Bethlehem, the village where David lived?" So a division occurred in the crowd because of him. Some of them even wanted to arrest him, but no one laid hands on him.

So the guards went to the chief priests and Pharisees, who asked them, "Why did you not bring him?" The guards answered, "Never before has anyone spoken like this man." So the Pharisees answered them, "Have you also been deceived? Have any of the authorities or the Pharisees believed in him? But this crowd, which does not know the law, is accursed." Nicodemus, one of their members who had come to him earlier, said to them, "Does our law condemn a man before it first hears him and finds out what he is doing?" They answered and said to him, "You are not from Galilee also, are you? Look and see that no prophet arises from Galilee."

Then each went to his own house.

 

When They All Went Home, I Stayed With the Ache

“Then each went to his own house.” – John 7:53

I can’t shake that last line.

It’s easy to breeze past it, to treat it like a throwaway transition to whatever comes next. But when I sit with it, it hits differently.

Because I know what it’s like to walk away while something holy is hanging in the air.

To see tension rise, truth be questioned, division swell, and instead of stepping into it – I’ve gone home.

Not because I didn’t care.

But because I was tired. Worn down. Emotionally stretched. Spiritually silent. Because sometimes, walking away is easier than being misunderstood…again.

A Trusted Lamb and the Unspoken Plot

Today’s first reading from Jeremiah feels eerily familiar – “Yet I, like a trusting lamb led to slaughter, had not realized they were hatching plots against me.”

I’ve lived that.

Not in the literal sense, but in the subtle betrayals – the whispered gossip, the half-truths spoken by people I once trusted. The twisting of my words and actions by those who decided they didn’t need to ask me directly.

I’ve had my name treated like an accusation in rooms I wasn’t invited into. I’ve felt the slow erosion of reputation in places that used to feel like home.

And the hardest part? I didn’t see it coming. Or maybe I did, but I ignored the signs because I wanted to believe people were better than that. That I was better than the worst version of their assumptions.

I still carry that ache.

I carry it every time I walk into a room and feel eyes that don’t quite meet mine.

Every time I avoid a place I once loved because too many stories about me were told without me.

Every time I see someone choose comfort or silence instead of standing up for the person I know I am.

The Uncertainty of Home

“Then each went to his own house.”

Another reason that line hits hard is because sometimes I wonder if I’ve even had one.

A spiritual home. A place where I can show up fully – mess and all – and still be received.

I’ve had to rebuild what “home” means over and over…after betrayal, after the loss of my parents, after watching friends vanish when the heat turned up.

I’ve found it in brief moments – watching my sons laugh together, in a conversation at the bar with someone who listens more than they judge, in the dogs that greet me like I’ve always belonged.

But spiritually? That’s harder. I’ve walked into churches and felt like an intruder. I've sat through Mass wondering if my presence disrupted the peace more than it added to it. I’ve wanted to feel found, but settled for unnoticed.

A Voice That Divides – and Heals

Jesus speaks truth, and the crowd splits. Some believe. Others scoff. Some want to arrest Him. Some just...go home.

But the guards? They say something beautiful…

“Never before has anyone spoken like this man.”

That stops me cold.

Because sometimes, I catch myself wondering if I’ve heard that Voice before. Not audibly. But in those inexplicable moments of clarity…or conviction…or mercy. Moments that didn’t come from me.

Moments that made me pause, mid-collapse, and whisper, “Maybe I’m not done yet.”

Moments where something broke through the noise and simply said, “You still matter.”

I’ve ignored that Voice before. I’ve drowned it out with noise, with doubt, with distractions I knew wouldn’t heal me. But it keeps speaking.

And if I’m honest, I don’t think I’ve ever needed it more than I do right now.

The House I’m Building Now

Each went to his own house.

I don’t want to go back to the house I’ve built on guilt.

On silence.

On pretending everything’s okay because it’s easier than unpacking all the damage.

I want a house where grace opens the door, even when I knock with dirt on my hands.

I want a home where I can finally exhale without fear of what others might do with my truth.

I want to be the man who hears Jesus’ voice – maybe not in thunder, maybe not in fire, but in the steady whisper that refuses to give up on me.

A man who walks toward that voice instead of retreating from it.

A man who stays in the tension when it’s right.

A man who risks being misunderstood, because silence has cost him too much.

And if that means I have to carry the weight of the cross I didn’t ask for, then so be it.

But I won’t go home the same.

Not this time.

Because I’m not looking for the home I had – I’m learning to become the home I need.