FRIDAY OF THE THIRD WEEK OF LENT, MARCH 28, 2025

MASS READINGS:

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 81:6c-8a, 8bc-9, 10-11ab, 14 and 17 

An unfamiliar speech I hear: "I relieved his shoulder of the burden; his hands were freed from the basket. In distress you called, and I rescued you."

R. I am the Lord your God: hear my voice.

"Unseen, I answered you in thunder; I tested you at the waters of Meribah. Hear, my people, and I will admonish you; O Israel, will you not hear me?"

R. I am the Lord your God: hear my voice.

"There shall be no strange god among you nor shall you worship any alien god. I, the LORD, am your God who led you forth from the land of Egypt."

R. I am the Lord your God: hear my voice.

"If only my people would hear me, and Israel walk in my ways, I would feed them with the best of wheat, and with honey from the rock I would fill them.

"R. I am the Lord your God: hear my voice. 

REFLECTION:

How can we hear the voice of our Lord if His language is silence? I imagine what our conversation might be like with me on a swing.

 

Lord, are You even there?

The breeze gently tousles my hair.

 

How can I understand You if I can’t hear a word You say?

A butterfly lands on my nose. 

 

Why do You make me experience momentary blindness from time to time? You know how frightening it is when I can’t see, especially in the middle of something.

 

A memory flashes back: I am crossing the road, the green pedestrian light flashing, signaling that it is safe. Then, a flash of bright white light, and the next moment, a car screeches to a halt just inches from my leg. The driver, a woman, runs the red light, her face filled with shock and confusion as she stops just in time. 

 

Why do You leave me alone, Lord?

 

Another memory floods in: I am walking alone to church, pausing for some inexplicable reason, forgetting a mystery of the rosary just a few meters from the corner. Then, a ute topples over at the traffic lights—the very spot where I would have been standing. Barrels of oil spill across the pavement.

 

Another flashback: I wander into a street in Hong Kong, looking for a net café. I think it is safe, as there is a security guard at the desk. The sign directs me upstairs, and when I open the elevator, I find the floor pitch-black with flickering blue lights. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and instinctively, I hide behind the switchboard, closing the door to make it seem like no one is inside. I walk out to see the security guard getting up from his seat, and as I run into the street, I hear a chorus of men screaming after me. Then — silence. I am safe.

I see now.

I walk away from that conversation with all my questions answered by His silence.