Thursday of the Fifth Week of Lent, April 10, 2025

Today’s Readings, from the USCCB:

Reading 1

Genesis 17:3-9

When Abram prostrated himself, God spoke to him: "My covenant with you is this: you are to become the father of a host of nations. No longer shall you be called Abram; your name shall be Abraham, for I am making you the father of a host of nations. I will render you exceedingly fertile; I will make nations of you; kings shall stem from you. I will maintain my covenant with you and your descendants after you throughout the ages as an everlasting pact, to be your God and the God of your descendants after you. I will give to you and to your descendants after you the land in which you are now staying, the whole land of Canaan, as a permanent possession; and I will be their God."

God also said to Abraham: "On your part, you and your descendants after you must keep my covenant throughout the ages."

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 105:4-5, 6-7, 8-9

R. The Lord remembers his covenant for ever.

Look to the LORD in his strength; seek to serve him constantly. Recall the wondrous deeds that he has wrought, his portents, and the judgments he has uttered.

R. The Lord remembers his covenant for ever.

You descendants of Abraham, his servants, sons of Jacob, his chosen ones! He, the LORD, is our God; throughout the earth his judgments prevail.

R. The Lord remembers his covenant for ever.

He remembers forever his covenant which he made binding for a thousand generations – Which he entered into with Abraham and by his oath to Isaac.

R. The Lord remembers his covenant for ever.

Verse Before the Gospel

Psalm 95:8

If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.

Gospel

John 8:51-59

Jesus said to the Jews: "Amen, amen, I say to you, whoever keeps my word will never see death." So the Jews said to him, "Now we are sure that you are possessed. Abraham died, as did the prophets, yet you say, 'Whoever keeps my word will never taste death.' Are you greater than our father Abraham, who died? Or the prophets, who died? Who do you make yourself out to be?" Jesus answered, "If I glorify myself, my glory is worth nothing; but it is my Father who glorifies me, of whom you say, 'He is our God.' You do not know him, but I know him. And if I should say that I do not know him, I would be like you a liar. But I do know him and I keep his word. Abraham your father rejoiced to see my day; he saw it and was glad." So the Jews said to him, "You are not yet fifty years old and you have seen Abraham?" Jesus said to them, "Amen, amen, I say to you, before Abraham came to be, I AM." So they picked up stones to throw at him; but Jesus hid and went out of the temple area.

Still His Son, Still His Promise

There’s something sacred about a name. Especially in Scripture. A name isn’t just a label – it’s a declaration. A reminder. A promise.

So when God changes Abram’s name to Abraham, it isn’t just a new identity – it’s a new destiny. A new covenant.

“My covenant with you is this: you are to become the father of a host of nations… I will be your God and the God of your descendants after you.” – Genesis 17:4-7

I read that passage today, and I’m struck not by Abraham’s faith, but by God’s.

Because if I’m honest, I’ve had a complicated relationship with the idea of covenant. With the idea of promise. Of faithfulness.

Not mine.

His.

Because I’ve broken so many of my own promises. To others. To God. To myself.

I’ve promised I’d be better. Promised I’d stop carrying shame like a name tag. Promised I’d stop running from who I was meant to be. Promised I’d be more present for my wife. More patient with my kids. More faithful in prayer.

And I’ve meant every one of those promises in the moment I made them.

But I’ve failed at every single one.

I’ve fallen short more times than I can count. And some days, I still wonder if I’m just too far gone—if God has quietly rewritten His end of the covenant, scratched my name out of the book, and moved on to someone more deserving.

The Covenant and the Silence

There was a time when I thought God and I were good. Not perfect, but good. I felt His presence, trusted in His goodness, believed in the promise of grace.

But then came the silence.

When I prayed for my mother to be healed and watched her fade anyway. When I begged for my son to catch a break, to have something go right after so much pain—and nothing changed. When my father died less than three months after my mom, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was stress I caused that helped usher him home. When the people I thought would always be there… weren't. When the voices of judgment were louder than the whispers of mercy.

The covenant felt broken. Not because God changed – but because I did.

I didn’t stop believing in God.

I just stopped believing He believed in me.

Still His

That’s why today’s readings hit me in such a raw place.

Because even when Abraham had no child…Even when his life didn’t match the promise…Even when his faith wavered and his actions failed…God still kept His covenant.

God still called him Abraham.

God still said “You are mine. And I will be yours.”

Not because Abraham earned it. But because God is faithful.

That hits deep.

Because I’ve felt like the original name before. The one before the promise. The one before the identity shift. I’ve felt more like "Abram" – incomplete, uncertain, flawed – than I ever have like a "father of nations" or man of great faith.

And yet…

God hasn’t walked away.

He still calls me son. Still calls me chosen. Still calls me by the name He gave me, not the names I’ve been called – or the names I call myself.

Even when I don’t feel worthy of the title.

“Before Abraham Was…”

Then comes the Gospel. The one where Jesus makes the ultimate claim. Where He doesn’t just say He knew Abraham – He says He is the source of everything that came before.

“Before Abraham came to be, I AM.” – John 8:58

It’s the kind of sentence that would sound arrogant if it weren’t so undeniably holy.

Jesus doesn’t just exist in our timeline – He exists over it. Beyond it. Through it.

Which means He’s never late.

Which means He’s never forgotten the promises He made to me – even if I’ve forgotten how to believe them.

Which means He still sees me through the fire, through the failures, through the fear.

“I AM” doesn’t change when I do.

And that’s the kind of God I need.

Not one who waits for me to get it together.

But one who holds the covenant steady when I’ve let go.

A Promise That Endures

Today, I think about my own name. Not just the one I sign on checks or write on job applications. I think about the names I carry deep down.

The ones no one sees but God.

Sinner. Failure. Black sheep. Burden. Disappointment.

But maybe God has written something else.

Maybe He’s whispered names I’ve ignored.

Redeemed. Beloved. Restored. Son. Chosen.

And maybe, just maybe, He’s asking me to start living like I believe them.

Not out of pride.

But out of trust.

A Promise That Lives On

There’s a moment I’ll never forget – the moment we named our firstborn.

Not just the name we called him in the hospital room. Not just the one that showed up on the birth certificate. I’m talking about the middle name. The one that carried the weight of a quiet promise. The one we chose not just for how it sounded – but for who it honored.

It was my mother’s maiden name.

She had been diagnosed with cancer a little more than six months before he was born, and even though I held onto hope, something in me knew. I knew she wasn’t going to beat it. I knew she wouldn’t be around to watch him grow. To hold him long enough. To spoil him the way I know she would’ve.

So we gave him her name.

Not out of tradition – but as a tribute.

As a way of saying Your story matters. Your name lives on. You are not forgotten.

That’s what naming really is, isn’t it? It’s memory. It’s belonging. It’s covenant.

And on the days I doubt whether I’ve done enough—whether I’ve honored the people I’ve lost or lived up to the promises I made – his middle name reminds me that something of her remains. That love doesn’t end with a funeral. That legacy can be spoken every time I call out to my son.

The Covenant Continues

I don’t have Abraham’s faith. Not yet.

But I have his questions. His doubts. His messiness.

And maybe that’s good enough for today.

Because God didn’t make a covenant with perfection.

He made it with the willing.

With the broken.

With the ones who keep showing up—shaky, scarred, but still trying.

And He hasn’t walked away from it.

So I won’t either.

Even if I still feel like I’m somewhere between the name I was given and the man I’m becoming.

Even if I still wonder some days if He’s really with me.

I choose to believe that He is.

Because before I was, He is.

And because He is, I still have a name.

Still have a purpose.

Still have a place in the covenant He remembers forever.