Daily Reflection
March 21, 2026

Most of us spend our lives praying for God to speak to us or do something for us, but when God does, we become suspicious or apprehensive when the voice comes from a place or a person we do not like. We want the message or miracle, but we demand it arrive via the channels of our own construction, even if we do not say so aloud. In my life, I have found that prophets seem to take many forms and faces—they could show up in the form of strangers experiencing homelessness, people struggling with mental illness, activists, little children, taxi drivers, or even everyday people who dare to advocate for justice. They almost never come with the backing of the crowd. They come with the weight of conviction. Listening to them requires the humility to be wrong: Admitting that my circle, my party, or my institution might have misjudged the situation. Listening to these unexpected prophets requires the courage to be isolated, like Nicodemus, standing up alone in a room full of very opposing opinions. Listening to these prophets requires spiritual discernment to see past the packaging: Recognizing that a message is not disqualified simply because it is unpopular or inconvenient.

Like Jeremiah, these prophets are often met with resistance. Jeremiah’s lament is raw, personal, and feels all too familiar to anyone who has ever faced the sting of rejection and betrayal. He describes himself as “a trusting lamb led to the slaughter,” betrayed by those closest to him—a haunting image echoed much later in the suffering of Christ Himself. Does this not echo the experiences many of us endure—friends turned adversaries, trust violated, or being misunderstood despite good intentions?

It is a gut-wrenchingly human moment: to realize that those we might have broken bread with, those meant to protect us, or at least coexist with us, are plotting and conspiring to no good end. Fear thrives in the shadows of such revelations, feeding on isolation, uncertainty, and the fragility of human relationships. But notice how Jeremiah responds. He does not spiral into despair or retaliate in hatred. Instead, he pivots towards God, laying bare his vulnerability, declaring, “To you I have entrusted my cause.” In that moment, discernment becomes the mechanism by which he surrenders what he cannot control, trusting divine justice over immediate human reaction. In that surrender lies an invitation for us as well. When circumstances drive us towards fear, when betrayal wounds us, or when the temptation to protect ourselves with bitterness comes calling—how do we respond? Do we lash out? Do we cling to control? We can be quick to reject what challenges or unsettles us, but how many times do we dismiss someone—or something—because it does not align with our expectations or biases? How often do we fail to recognize grace in the ordinary, and God in the unexpected? In today’s Gospel, we are drawn into another moment of division, fear, and misunderstanding, this time around the identity of Jesus. Some reject him outright, dismissing his humble origins as inconsequential. For the Pharisees, Jesus does not fit their preconceived notions of what the Messiah should look like. Their hearts remain closed, rooted in pride and fear of change. Yet amid the noise of the crowd, Nicodemus steps forward with hesitant courage. He does not claim to have all the answers, nor does he openly identify as a follower of Jesus. However, he dares to voice a question, to challenge the easy certainty of the Pharisees, he asked, “Does our law condemn a man without first hearing him?” Nicodemus reminds us that the journey of faith often begins with a question and that it takes courage to ask questions with humility and seek truth, even when it is easier to remain silent or go along with the crowd. We, too, like the crowd, often resist truths that challenge us—or reject those we deem “unlikely” messengers of God’s grace—someone who does not look the part, does not speak with familiar words, or does not belong to the right group. We might even find ourselves categorizing them as a “threat” rather than an “invitation.” Lent asks us to confront the stubbornness within us. Are there ways we confine God to our expectations? Do we, like the Pharisees, dismiss Christ’s presence in people or situations that seem too ordinary, inconvenient, or uncomfortable?

Both passages underscore how fear—unchecked, unexamined, and unresolved—can distort collective judgment, leading not only to the misjudgment of truth, but also to the unjust treatment of individuals who embody it. Fear is only one voice in the conversation. It need not be the final word. So, where in your life is fear holding too much sway? Whom are we too afraid to defend because it disrupts our comfort? What and whom do we dismiss too quickly?

God of justice, when our fears and preconceived notions blind us to how you move in unexpected ways, please help us to choose faith, to discern, to pause, and listen, trusting that you always see the full picture when we cannot. We entrust our cause back to you, Lord.