Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Lent, April 1, 2025

Today’s Readings, from the USCCB:

Reading 1

Ezekiel 47:1-9, 12

The angel brought me, Ezekiel, back to the entrance of the temple of the LORD, and I saw water flowing out from beneath the threshold of the temple toward the east, for the façade of the temple was toward the east; the water flowed down from the right side of the temple, south of the altar. He led me outside by the north gate, and around to the outer gate facing the east, where I saw water trickling from the right side. Then when he had walked off to the east with a measuring cord in his hand, he measured off a thousand cubits and had me wade through the water, which was ankle-deep. He measured off another thousand and once more had me wade through the water, which was now knee-deep. Again he measured off a thousand and had me wade; the water was up to my waist. Once more he measured off a thousand, but there was now a river through which I could not wade; for the water had risen so high it had become a river that could not be crossed except by swimming. He asked me, "Have you seen this, son of man?" Then he brought me to the bank of the river, where he had me sit. Along the bank of the river I saw very many trees on both sides. He said to me, "This water flows into the eastern district down upon the Arabah, and empties into the sea, the salt waters, which it makes fresh. Wherever the river flows, every sort of living creature that can multiply shall live, and there shall be abundant fish, for wherever this water comes the sea shall be made fresh. Along both banks of the river, fruit trees of every kind shall grow; their leaves shall not fade, nor their fruit fail. Every month they shall bear fresh fruit, for they shall be watered by the flow from the sanctuary. Their fruit shall serve for food, and their leaves for medicine."

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 46:2-3, 5-6, 8-9

R. The Lord of hosts is with us; our stronghold is the God of Jacob.

God is our refuge and our strength, an ever-present help in distress. Therefore we fear not, though the earth be shaken and mountains plunge into the depths of the sea.

R. The Lord of hosts is with us; our stronghold is the God of Jacob.

There is a stream whose runlets gladden the city of God, the holy dwelling of the Most High. God is in its midst; it shall not be disturbed; God will help it at the break of dawn.

R. The Lord of hosts is with us; our stronghold is the God of Jacob.

The LORD of hosts is with us; our stronghold is the God of Jacob. Come! behold the deeds of the LORD, the astounding things he has wrought on earth.

R. The Lord of hosts is with us; our stronghold is the God of Jacob.

Verse Before the Gospel

Psalm 51:12a, 14a

A clean heart create for me, O God; give me back the joy of your salvation.

Gospel

John 5:1-16

There was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now there is in Jerusalem at the Sheep Gate a pool called in Hebrew Bethesda, with five porticoes. In these lay a large number of ill, blind, lame, and crippled. One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been ill for a long time, he said to him, "Do you want to be well?" The sick man answered him, "Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; while I am on my way, someone else gets down there before me." Jesus said to him, "Rise, take up your mat, and walk." Immediately the man became well, took up his mat, and walked.

Now that day was a sabbath. So the Jews said to the man who was cured, "It is the sabbath, and it is not lawful for you to carry your mat." He answered them, "The man who made me well told me, 'Take up your mat and walk.'" They asked him, "Who is the man who told you, 'Take it up and walk'?" The man who was healed did not know who it was, for Jesus had slipped away, since there was a crowd there. After this Jesus found him in the temple area and said to him, "Look, you are well; do not sin any more, so that nothing worse may happen to you." The man went and told the Jews that Jesus was the one who had made him well. Therefore, the Jews began to persecute Jesus because he did this on a sabbath.

 

“Do You Want to Be Well?”

This one hits deep. Because Jesus isn’t just talking to the man at the pool. He’s talking to me. And the question He asks – the one that’s haunted me all day – isn’t about physical healing. It’s about something deeper.

“Do you want to be well?”

I think about all the times I’ve sat with that same ache. Not for healing of the body, but of the heart. The kind of sickness that festers when prayers go unanswered. The kind that slowly calcifies around grief, disappointment, loneliness, shame.

I’ve stood by hospital beds praying for my mother. I’ve grieved a father who died 70 days later, who I still believe carried the weight of my burdens on his chest until it cracked. I’ve prayed for wins for my son when I watched him slowly disappear into himself – picked on, overlooked, then locked away by a pandemic no one saw coming. I’ve whispered desperate prayers, just asking God to throw me a line.

And sometimes...silence.

So when Jesus asks, “Do you want to be well?” my first instinct is to shout back – Of course I do. I’ve begged You for it.

But that’s not what He’s asking. He’s not questioning my desire – He’s questioning my willingness.

Am I ready to stand again?

Am I ready to believe that the water is moving, even if I can’t see it?

Am I willing to pick up the mat of my past – the grief, the regret, the wounds – and walk?

The River That Grows

The reading from Ezekiel paints this beautiful vision of water flowing from the temple, growing from a trickle into a river too deep to stand in. Life springs up along the banks – fruit trees, healing leaves, abundance.

But the water doesn’t start full and flowing. It starts as a trickle.

And maybe that’s how healing begins, too. Not with a flood. Not with some lightning bolt of clarity. But with a slow, steady stream that deepens with every step forward.

Maybe the man at the pool didn’t get better because the water stirred.

Maybe he got better because he finally heard the Voice that had been standing beside him all along.

Stuck in the Portico

I’ve spent a lot of time near the water. Waiting. Watching. Wondering when it would move – when I would move. I’ve been the guy lying there thirty-eight years – not literally, but emotionally. Spiritually.

I’ve been stuck in my own paralysis – paralyzed by guilt over mistakes I can’t take back, by resentment toward people who never really cared whether I stayed or left, by exhaustion from trying to love people who won’t meet me halfway.

And I know what it feels like to be passed over.

To say, “I’m trying, Lord…but every time I get close, someone else gets there first.”

But today Jesus is telling me something different:

It’s not about getting there first.

It’s about believing you were never alone at the edge.

It’s about realizing that healing doesn’t depend on everyone else stepping aside. It depends on me finally standing up.

The Mat I Carry

Jesus doesn’t tell the man to leave the mat behind.

He tells him to pick it up.

And I can’t help but think that’s intentional.

That maybe my mat – my story, my pain, my history – is part of the testimony.

Maybe I carry it because it reminds me of where I’ve been.

Of the nights I sat by the spiritual pool, waiting for someone to notice.

Of the times I felt disqualified from healing because of what I did…or didn’t do.

Of the moments I thought God was done with me.

And maybe carrying it now means I don’t forget. But I also don’t stay there.

A River of Grace

There’s something comforting in knowing that the water flows from the temple – from God – not from me.

I don’t have to be the source of healing.

I just have to be willing to wade in.

Even when it’s ankle-deep and I want it to be rushing.

Even when I feel like I’m dragging all my past mistakes behind me.

Even when I don’t think I deserve another chance.

Because in this Gospel, Jesus sees the man’s full history and still chooses him.

He doesn’t wait for the man to prove himself.

He doesn’t ask for credentials or backstory.

He just says, “Do you want to be well?”

And then: “Rise. Take up your mat. Walk.”

Today, I Walk

I walk – not because I have it all figured out.

I walk – not because I’m suddenly healed from all that hurts.

I walk because I’ve heard the voice that says I can.

Because I’m tired of lying there.

Because maybe wellness isn’t about everything being perfect.

Maybe it’s about choosing not to stay stuck.

Maybe it’s about trusting that even when I feel paralyzed, God still believes I can move.

So today, I walk.

With my mat. With my past. With my fragile faith.

And maybe with a little more hope than yesterday.