ALMIGHTY, BUT STILL FOR ME

V/​ I will turn to you O God, 

R/​ to God who gives joy to my youth

V/​ Give me the Wisdom that sits by your throne; 

R/ that I may be counted among your children

Lord, in your all-providential plan, you have led me to this moment to rediscover me in your Word and Wisdom. Aid me to make this time of meditation and prayer enriching, transforming, and liberating for my well-being and others. Amen!

Third Sunday of Lent, Year C

23rd March 2025

Exodus 3:1-8, 13 -15; Psalm 103 (102): 1-4, 6-8, 11; 1 Corinthians 10:1-6, 10-12; Luke 13:1-9

On this third Sunday, the readings take us into the heart of the Lenten message. There is the desert, the prospect of the journey to freedom, and a call to repentance. But the scriptures give us more even than this. They lift the veil on the encounter of the human and the divine. The entire reading from Exodus is like holy ground, for here, God reveals his presence and his name. The details of this episode are very significant.

Moses, having escaped from Egypt, is now a shepherd, and we hear that he leads his flock to Horeb, the mountain of God. This is the mountain also known as Sinai, and it is here that he encounters the Lord in the burning bush. One day, Moses will lead the flock of the chosen people to this very mountain, where God will again reveal his presence.

But the episode of the burning bush gives us a unique insight. It shows us God initiating his plan of salvation. What we see is that our God, who is glorious and transcendent, has at the same time a heart that is lovingly immersed in our human story. He sees his people’s affliction, he hears their cry. I know their sufferings, he says. I have come down to deliver them.

Edith Stein perceives that it is through empathy that God understands people. She also says that empathy is what helps believers to understand God. And when we truly take on board the compassion of God, and how much he cares for us, how can we not respond with a heart full of love? Moses needs to know God’s name, as the Israelites may well ask him.

The Lord’s response, I am who I am, is so enigmatic, so fascinating. This can give us food for thought. Long before Jesus came to us, both divine and human, God’s two names, revealed here, are a kind of parallel. The first name is beyond our understanding, the second is not only clear but homely, he is the God of our ancestors, his connection with us is like that of family. These two names can have an impact on how we pray, we can bow down in adoration, but also pour out our hearts spontaneously to our loving Father. The Gospel again gives us a glimpse into the heart of God coming alongside us for our salvation.

The parable of the fig tree is so simple, so brief, that its appearance is deceptive, for its message is, in fact, powerful and moving. We are prepared for this parable by the reading from Saint Paul, conveying the sad fact that in the wilderness most of the Israelites displeased God. The parable seems to begin in the same vein. The barren fig tree represents us, we who have failed to live up to God’s call. And now, it is almost too late. But just as the order is given to cut down the tree, the vinedresser offers a last chance, one extra year, before which he will plant nutrients around the tree to help it grow.

This last detail is a source of great hope. The tree isn’t just being given extra time while left to its own devices. Instead, it is being given a helping hand. The nutrients for the tree recall Saint Paul’s reading of the desert journey in terms of the sacraments, being baptised, eating spiritual food, drinking that spiritual drink from the rock that is Christ. The Eucharist is our food for the journey. While we are on this earth, we can stand here and imagine ourselves like the fig tree.

Jesus is there, looking at us with concern, offering us his help, and willing us to accept it. Lent is a chance to look searchingly at our Christian life, to recognise the immensity of the gift that God is offering us, to do our best to bear the fruit he longs to see, and to know, like Saint Therese, that what pleases him is the blind hope we have in his mercy.

Dr. Joanne Mosley