Lenten Homily, 17 March 2026

Not a question of if, but where and how

When we think about our Lenten journey, the miracle in today’s Gospel is really interesting. You have this man who has been there for 38 years, and people are being healed all around him, but it doesn’t really look like he’s getting healed. It’s such a striking situation.

And if we apply what we were talking about—what Father was talking about yesterday, and what we were reflecting on—it connects with this idea that, for a long time, the Jewish people had been living with very specific rules. And with those rules, they were getting at least some results, right? It was better than what was happening with everyone else. But it was also like: if you managed to get into the water at the right time, then you might get lucky, and it might happen.

It was a difficult process, and it wasn’t a total guarantee of success.

Then, all of a sudden, with Jesus, it’s completely different. The man doesn’t even have to make an effort. He’s not even trying to get to the water anymore—it’s like he’s given up. Jesus comes to him, and it’s taken care of. It’s a totally different way of confronting the problem.

And then the Jews get kind of mad: “Wait a second. You’re not supposed to do it like that. You’re supposed to make the effort. You’re supposed to try.” They can’t fit this into their mental structures. “What? How does that work? How in the world are you being healed in that way?” (John 5:1–9)

But what if we apply that to our own Lenten observance?

When my effort doesn’t seem to “work”

Honestly, that gives me hope, because I think about all the resolutions I’ve made—and haven’t fulfilled. “I was going to do that. I was going to do that.” Or even the ones I’ve done, but they don’t seem to be making the difference I expected.

I was really hoping this would be the Lent: “I’m going to have this great relationship with the Lord. Things are going to change.” And then I find myself constantly trying, like I’m getting halfway down to the water, but it never moves. Someone else is always there ahead of me. Or I never make it to adoration. Whatever it is.

And it raises a question for me: how many times am I still going at things in the same way?

Not that resolutions aren’t important—they are. But instead of staying stuck in my ideas of what I’m supposed to do, there’s a deeper question: Lord, what are you doing? Where are you? How are you encountering me?

Because maybe I do have to be “sitting at the pool” for him to meet me there. But the most important thing is not just what I’m doing—it’s where he is and what he is doing.

When God shows up “the wrong way”

And sometimes I notice something else: Jesus actually does something, and I react like, “Wait—you weren’t supposed to do that. I was supposed to be doing sacrifices, and you weren’t supposed to show up in this other way.”

It’s almost like the Pharisees. It doesn’t fit into my structures. But that’s exactly the challenge: it confronts the way we think God wants to heal us, redeem us, transform us in these days of Lent.

Maybe the Lord is encountering us in the talks we’re hearing that we didn’t expect. Maybe he’s encountering us in spontaneous moments of prayer. Maybe he’s encountering us in a difficult situation we’re facing—and suddenly I realize, “Oh Lord, you’re right there. What are you doing?”

And I don’t want to explain it away just because it doesn’t fit how I thought it would work.

The grace of noticing him in the ordinary

At least for me, I’m noticing a lot that even things that seem “the same” are becoming places of grace. Even community life—on the surface it’s the same, but all of a sudden I’m realizing the Lord is really there. There’s a deep grace in simply experiencing what we’re already doing.

Or in daily life: resting, getting into a healthy rhythm, paying attention throughout the day, finding him in the middle of things. We’re not in the middle of nowhere—most of this is kind of big—but with the people we are with, the Lord is encountering us on a regular basis.

I’ve even really enjoyed being able to dig deeper into Scripture, and I wasn’t necessarily expecting that. But these are specific ways the Lord is encountering us, whether we did or didn’t expect them.

So rather than explaining them away or just going back to what I had planned (which isn’t necessarily bad), I want to ask: Lord, how are you encountering me? How are you changing me, redeeming me, bringing me closer?

A prayer for these last weeks of Lent

That’s the grace I’m asking for, especially in these last couple weeks of Lent.

Because he does come to redeem us. He comes to redeem us.

And even if, for none of you, it hasn’t been 38 years—Father and I, it’s been a little longer—you can name the number of years you’ve been waiting on the redemption of the Lord.

Know that he’s there. And he does encounter us every Lent. And that’s the beautiful part.

Notice: it’s not a question of if. It’s a question of where and how.