Friday of the Twelfth Week in Ordinary Time

First Reading: 2 Kings 25:1-12
Responsorial Psalm: Psalm 137:1-2, 3, 4-5, 6
Gospel: Matthew 8:1-4
Daily readings: https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/062626.cfm

The First Reading today is the bottom of the long fall we have been watching all week. The Temple burns. The walls of Jerusalem come down. Zedekiah watches his sons killed, then has his own eyes put out — the last thing he ever sees is the worst moment of his life. The people are carried away into exile, and Psalm 137 puts their grief into words: "By the rivers of Babylon we sat mourning and weeping when we remembered Zion." They hung their harps on the willow trees. Their captors asked them to sing — and they could not. How could they sing the Lord's song in a foreign land?

It is the cry of anyone who has lost something they thought was permanent. A marriage. A parent. A health diagnosis that changes everything. A faith that used to feel easy and now feels distant. The exile is not just a historical event — it is a season many of us know from the inside. The harps go silent. The songs stop coming. We sit by the river and grieve.

And then Jesus comes down the mountain, and a leper walks up to him. This man has been untouchable — by law, by custom, by everyone around him — for who knows how long. He does not demand. He does not bargain. He says nine words: "Lord, if you wish, you can make me clean." It is one of the most honest prayers in the Gospels. He knows Jesus has the power. He is not sure about the willingness. And Jesus answers immediately: "I will do it." He stretches out his hand and touches him — actually touches someone no one had touched in years. That touch alone, before the healing even registers, must have been everything.

In the middle of a week that ends in exile and burned temples, the Gospel gives us this: Jesus still comes down the mountain. He still sees the one everyone else passes by. And he still says, "I will."


A few questions to sit with today:

1. Is there something I have been afraid to bring to Jesus because I am not sure he is willing — not sure he wants to touch that part of my life? What would it feel like to say, "Lord, if you wish, you can"?

2. Am I in an exile season right now — somewhere I did not choose to be, grieving something I thought was permanent? Have I let myself bring that grief honestly to God?

3. Where have I hung up my harp this week — stopped singing, stopped praying, gone quiet in a way that is more avoidance than rest?

4. Who in my life is untouchable right now — someone others avoid, someone I find it hard to reach toward? What might it cost me to stretch out a hand?


One small thing for tomorrow:

Pray those nine words tonight before you sleep: "Lord, if you wish, you can." Fill in whatever comes after — whatever the thing is you have been holding back. Just say it. You do not have to have faith the size of a mountain. You just have to be honest enough to walk up to him and ask.


Lord Jesus, this week's readings have walked us through exile, burned temples, and silent harps. And then you come down the mountain and touch the one no one would touch. Thank you for that. Thank you for still coming. There are things in my life that feel like the Temple burning — losses I have not known how to pray about, places where my faith has gone quiet. I am walking up to you today like that leper: not certain of your willingness, but certain of your power, and hoping. Touch me there. Say "I will." Help me to trust that you are still coming down the mountain for me. May Mary, who stood at the foot of the cross without losing hope, pray for me to do the same. Amen.


If you'd like to share: is there something you have been afraid to bring to Jesus because you were not sure he would be willing — and can we pray that prayer together?