Praise God. Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.
We pray: Come, Holy Spirit. Open our hearts to your presence.
Dear friends in Christ,
Faith is not certainty.
It’s not clarity or control.
Faith is courage in the waiting. It helps us move forward even when the road is dim and the promises feel far away—because we trust the voice, even when the map disappears.
The Letter to the Hebrews tells us:
“Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen” (Heb 11:1).
This is not just theory—it’s the way God’s people have always walked.
Abraham didn’t have a printed itinerary. But he knew the One who called him.
“By faith he obeyed… not knowing where he was to go” (Heb 11:8).
He didn’t chase possessions—he followed promise.
And Israel, on that first Passover, didn’t wait after the miracle—but before it.
“In secret the holy children of the good were offering sacrifice… awaiting the salvation of the just” (Wis 18:7,9).
They moved in faith ahead of deliverance—trusting not the outcome, but the character of the One who spoke.
So here we stand—modern disciples, broken pilgrims, little flocks—with lamps in hand.
And Jesus says:
“Do not be afraid any longer, little flock, for your Father is pleased to give you the kingdom” (Lk 12:32).
But he also says:
“Sell your belongings… Be prepared… For at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come” (Lk 12:33,40).
This waiting is not passive.
It’s not fearful.
It is Eucharistic. It is love as readiness.
And I’ve lived it.
When Janet and I were newly married, we didn’t have much.
I was between jobs. Often, her paycheck was all we had.
Our car was old and well driven.
One night, during the final days of my father’s life, we were driving toward Shreveport on I-20.
Then the timing belt snapped.
No cell phones. No roadside help. Just the two of us—stranded and vulnerable.
Eventually, my uncle arrived. He towed us to his house. And what happened next felt like the Gospel in denim and grease.
Uncles and cousins showed up.
Tools came out.
Parts were found.
The repairs were done by the light of street lamps and flashlights—with love as the fuel.
We got home not because we were strong, but because love arrived.
Grace showed up in that midnight repair.
That night wasn’t just a breakdown. It was a revelation.
Jesus says:
“Blessed is the servant whom his master finds doing so” (Lk 12:43).
Not sitting idle.
Not clinging to security.
But doing.
Loving.
Repairing.
Serving.
Waiting with mercy lit and lamps ready.
That’s the invitation today.
To live not as owners, but as stewards.
To wait not in fear, but in hope.
“Blessed the people the Lord has chosen to be his own… Our soul waits for the Lord, who is our help and our shield” (Ps 33:12, 20).
And when we feel stranded—on highways or in our hearts—may we remember we belong to the God “who is not ashamed to be called our God” (Heb 11:16).
Even when the timing belt snaps.
Even when the answer hasn’t come.
The Kingdom still draws near.
So today, let go of fear.
Let go of shortcuts.
Let go of needing the full map.
Trust the voice.
Light your lamp.
Stay ready.
And walk as one who is loved—because you are.
Live the Gospel simply:
Love well.
Forgive freely.
Serve humbly.
Let your life make God’s nearness believable.
Be good. Be holy. Be light in the ordinary.
Let us pray:
Lord Jesus,
In the dim and in the waiting—be our light.
Slow us when we rush.
Hold us when we panic.
Guide us when we feel stranded.
May your mercy be our map,
And our trust the road we travel.
Amen.
Praise God. Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.
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