Saturday, September 26, 2026
Saturday of the Twenty-fifth week in Ordinary Time
Luke 9:43-45
Listen to the whole reading — MP3
First reading
Ecclesiastes 11:9-10,12:1-8
Rejoice, young man, in your youth, and let your heart cheer you in the days of your youth, and walk in the ways of your heart, and in the sight of your eyes; but know that for all these things God will bring you into judgment. Therefore remove sorrow from your heart, and put away evil from your flesh; for youth and the dawn of life are vanity. Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come, and the years draw near, when you will say, “I have no pleasure in them”; Before the sun, the light, the moon, and the stars are darkened, and the clouds return after the rain; in the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those who look out of the windows are darkened, and the doors shall be shut in the street; when the sound of the grinding is low, and one shall rise up at the voice of a bird, and all the daughters of music shall be brought low; yes, they shall be afraid of heights, and terrors will be on the way; and the almond tree shall blossom, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail; because man goes to his everlasting home, and the mourners go about the streets: before the silver cord is severed, or the golden bowl is broken, or the pitcher is broken at the spring, or the wheel broken at the cistern, and the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it. “Vanity of vanities,” says the Preacher. “All is vanity!”
Responsorial psalm
Psalms 90:3-4,5-6,12-13,14,17
You turn man to destruction, saying, “Return, you children of men.” For a thousand years in your sight are just like yesterday when it is past, like a watch in the night. You sweep them away as they sleep. In the morning they sprout like new grass. In the morning it sprouts and springs up. By evening, it is withered and dry. So teach us to count our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Relent, the Lord! How long? Have compassion on your servants! Satisfy us in the morning with your loving kindness, that we may rejoice and be glad all our days. Let the favor of the Lord our God be on us; establish the work of our hands for us; yes, establish the work of our hands.
Gospel
Luke 9:43-45
They were all astonished at the majesty of God. But while all were marveling at all the things which Jesus did, he said to his disciples, “Let these words sink into your ears, for the Son of Man will be delivered up into the hands of men.” But they didn’t understand this saying. It was concealed from them, that they should not perceive it, and they were afraid to ask him about this saying.
Lectio
Qoheleth and the psalmist both stand at the same window, watching the light change. The Preacher does not scold us out of our joy — "rejoice in your youth," he says first, walk in the ways of your heart. But he holds that joy against the darkening sky: the almond tree blossoming even as the mourners gather, the silver cord that will one day be severed. He is not trying to spoil the morning. He is trying to make us awake in it. And the psalm turns this awareness into prayer: *teach us to count our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.* Wisdom is not the knowledge that we will die. It is what happens to the heart once that knowledge has been allowed all the way in.
In the Gospel, Jesus tries to let this same truth sink into his friends' ears. He has just dazzled them — they are still astonished at the majesty of God — and into that dazzle he says quietly, the Son of Man will be handed over. They cannot hear it. And Luke tells us why with startling honesty: they were afraid to ask him. Not because they misunderstood, but because they understood enough to be frightened, and would rather live in the marveling than face the shadow inside it. How like us. We can hold the glory. It is the mention of what glory will cost that makes us go silent and change the subject.
The invitation running through all three readings is not to become morbid, but to become honest — to let the whole truth of our lives sink into our ears, including the parts we keep at arm's length. The dust returns to the earth, yes, but the spirit returns to God who gave it. To count our days is finally not despair. It is how we learn to receive them.
What is the question you are afraid to ask God right now, the one you keep changing the subject to avoid?
If you truly let it sink in that this particular season of your life will not last, what is the one relationship or task you would stop postponing today?
Saint of the day
Sts. Cosmas & Damian, Martyrs († c. 283)
Ora reads this aloud, every morning, free. Ora