In the quiet moments of my prayer this 3rd Sunday of Lent, I find myself standing with Moses before the burning bush, walking with the Israelites through the wilderness, and listening to Jesus speak of tragedy and fig trees. These readings weave together a powerful message of God's call to repentance and His abundant mercy that waits patiently for our response.
In today's first reading from Exodus, scripture reveals God's self-identification to Moses: "I AM WHO I AM." This is not merely a name but an invitation into a relationship with Almighty God, an unchanging God who sees our suffering and comes down to rescue us. Just as God noticed the Israelites' affliction in Egypt, He notices our struggles today. He reveals Himself as a God who is present and active in human history, calling us to turn toward His voice that speaks from unexpected places - even burning bushes that are not consumed.
In today's second reading, Paul's warning in Corinthians echoes through the centuries: "These things happened to them as an example, but they were written down for our instruction." The Israelites' journey through the wilderness becomes our spiritual roadmap. Despite witnessing God's mighty acts - the parted sea, the supernatural food and drink - many still turned to idolatry and complaint. Their story reminds me that mere knowledge of God's goodness or participation in sacred rituals is insufficient; the heart must be transformed. Their example warns us against presumption, against thinking we stand firm when we may be on the verge of falling.
Jesus' words in Luke startle with their urgency. When questioned about those who perished in tragic circumstances, He redirects the conversation from blame to personal examination. "Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish." I'm struck by how Jesus refuses to indulge our human tendency to focus on others' sins while ignoring our own. The tragedies He references - Pilate's massacre and the tower of Siloam - weren't divine punishments for exceptional sinfulness but reminders of universal human fragility and our shared need for repentance.
The parable of the barren fig tree offers hope within the urgent call to turn back to God. The gardener intercedes: "Sir, let it alone this year also until I dig around it and fertilize it." I see in this the beautiful tension between God's justice and mercy. The tree deserves to be cut down for its fruitlessness - consuming resources while producing nothing - yet is granted another season through the gardener's intervention. This is the Lord's patience with us, not willing that any should perish but giving time and opportunity for authentic conversion.
As I reflect on these readings together, I understand that repentance isn't merely feeling sorry but actively turning toward God's presence, allowing Him to cultivate my heart as the gardener tends the fig tree. True repentance produces visible fruit in a life transformed. The fig tree doesn't apologize for being barren - it must bear figs! Like Moses who turned aside to see the burning bush, like the faithful Israelites who resisted idolatry in the wilderness, I am called to a deliberate reorientation of my life toward the God who declares "I AM," who provides living water in deserts of difficulty, and who patiently tends to my soul, waiting for the sweet fruit of a life lived in loving response to His mercy.
A Prayer of Turning
Eternal Father, who revealed Yourself to Moses as "I AM,"
You who led our ancestors through wilderness and water,
You who tend the garden of our hearts with patient care - Draw near to us now as we turn our faces toward You.
Like Moses, may we notice Your presence in unexpected places,
In the burning bushes of our ordinary lives that are not consumed.
Give us the courage to remove our sandals and stand on holy ground,
To hear Your voice calling us by name into a deeper relationship.
When we stumble like our ancestors in the wilderness,
Forgetting Your deliverance and turning to idols of our own making, Remind us that we drink from the same spiritual rock, Christ Himself, and call us back before we fall.
Lord Jesus, Your words pierce our hearts with their urgency:
"Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish."
We confess that we have been barren fig trees,
Taking up soil yet bearing no fruit worthy of Your kingdom.
Be our gardener, we pray.
Dig around the hardened soil of our hearts.
Nourish us with the fertilizer of Your Word.
Grant us one more season to respond to Your mercy.
We turn to You now, O Lord—
Away from sin and toward Your unfailing love.
Make us fruitful in word and deed,
That our lives might glorify Your Holy Name.
We ask this through Christ our Lord.
Amen.
©2025 James Dacey Jr.
