Still Being Changed

Daily Office Readings for Saturday, October 17, 2026: Psalms 30, 32, 42, 43; Sirach 15:9–20; Revelation 10:1–11; Luke 11:1–13

Some mornings I can pray about patience and then discover, before the morning is over, how much patience I still need.

I want to listen with wisdom, but sometimes I am already preparing my answer while someone else is speaking. I want to see with compassion, but an old judgment slips in. I want to speak with love, but frustration gets to my mouth first.

I suspect I am not alone.

We are still being sanctified—still being changed by God’s grace. That change reaches into our habits, our reactions, our relationships, and the stories we tell ourselves about other people. It takes honesty to recognize how much work remains. It also takes hope to recognize that change is happening.

Today’s readings give me room for both.

Psalm 30 celebrates a remarkable transformation: mourning becomes dancing, and garments of grief give way to gladness. But the road to that joy passes through fear, distress, and a cry for mercy.

Some read this psalm as an explanation of how God punished the writer with illness. I hesitate there. Our choices certainly have consequences. We can hurt others, damage relationships, and wear ourselves down through resentment, concealment, and repeated harmful decisions. But illness and suffering have many causes. I do not believe we can look at someone’s pain and confidently declare that God is punishing them.

What I hear most clearly in this psalm is the voice of someone who cried for help and discovered that sorrow would not have the final word.

Psalm 32 brings us to the relief of forgiveness. Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered, and to whom the Lord does not count iniquity.

There is something deeply freeing about being able to stop hiding.

I do not have to defend every choice I have made. I can acknowledge that I was wrong. I can name the harm, ask for forgiveness, and do what I can to make amends.

Forgiveness does not erase every consequence. Other people may still need time to heal. Trust may need to be rebuilt. But receiving mercy means I do not have to keep condemning myself forever.

God’s mercy does not remove my responsibility; it gives me hope that my past choices need not determine my next one.

Sirach makes that responsibility plain. We cannot blame God for the wrong we choose. Life presents us with real decisions, and what we do matters.

I know how easy it is to explain my behavior by pointing to someone else’s behavior. They upset me. They misunderstood me. They should have known better.

Perhaps they did wrong. I am still responsible for my response.

That is where I need grace. Knowing what is loving and choosing what is loving do not always happen together. Sometimes I need to stop, breathe, and pray before I do anything else.

“As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God.”

I used to think of that thirst mostly in terms of quiet moments—prayer, worship, reading the Sacred Writings. Those remain precious to me. But I am learning that I thirst for God at my desk, too.

I need God while doing payroll, answering a question, paying bills, or reading news about war and poverty. Behind the figures on a report are people who need groceries, rent money, and a little security. Behind the opinions I encounter are human beings whose lives I may understand only in part.

My thirst becomes a prayer for help in the middle of ordinary life.

Psalms 42 and 43 remind me that longing for God can coexist with discouragement. The psalmist is downcast and still praying. Faith gives him words to carry his struggle into God’s presence.

“Send out your light and your truth; let them lead me.”

That is a prayer I can take into every part of my day.

Revelation adds another needed lesson: I do not know everything. John hears things he is told not to write. Even within this extraordinary vision, some things remain hidden.

I need that reminder when I am tempted to explain another person’s suffering or speak too confidently about what God must be doing.

Then John eats the scroll. The message becomes sweet in his mouth and bitter in his stomach. I recognize something of that experience. Mercy is sweet to receive. Truth can be painful when it exposes something in me that needs to change.

Before I share these reflections with anyone else, I need to let them question my own life.

In Luke, the disciples ask Jesus to teach them to pray. He gives them words about God’s kingdom, daily bread, forgiveness, and temptation. These prayers reach right into the places where I struggle.

And Jesus assures them that the Father gives the Holy Spirit to those who ask.

We can ask for help. We can bring God the same stubborn habit again, admit the same weakness again, and remain open to being changed. We can also give thanks when we notice a different response: a gentler answer, a willingness to listen, an apology offered sooner.

I still have growing to do. So do we all.

Today, I want to receive the mercy that allows me to begin again—and accept the responsibility of taking the next faithful step.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on us.

Teach us to see with compassion,
to listen with wisdom,
to speak with love,
and to discern what is true and loving.

Give us humility about what we do not know,
courage to receive what challenges us,
and grace to live what you have shown us.

Change us inwardly so that your love becomes visible
in what we say and what we do.

Amen.

—The Curious Pilgrim