Daily Office Readings for Sunday, October 18, 2026: Psalms 63, 98, 103; Sirach 18:19–33; 1 Corinthians 10:15–24; Matthew 18:15–20
Some days I feel deeply in love with God. Prayer comes easily, and I notice reasons for thanksgiving everywhere. Other days, God seems far away. I say the words, but my heart feels dry.
I suspect many of us know both experiences.
In Psalm 63, David prays from the wilderness. His physical thirst gives voice to his longing for God. As I read, I linger over the picture of clinging to God while God’s right hand upholds him.
There are days when my grip feels weak. Yet I can remember the One who holds me. The words “I know whom I have believed” come to mind. My feelings change, but I can return to the love I have come to trust.
Psalm 103 helps me remember that love. The psalmist calls his own soul to bless the Lord and remember God’s gifts: forgiveness, healing, redemption, compassion, and steadfast love.
I need that reminder. Worry has a way of occupying the whole room until I forget how much mercy has already carried me.
Then I come to these tender words: God “remembers that we are dust.”
God knows how we were made. God knows our limitations, our weariness, and the wounds we carry. We can bring our whole selves into prayer—physically, spiritually, emotionally, and rationally. Even where illness remains and healing is unfinished, we can ask for help and rest in God’s compassion.
Psalm 98 opens the windows of that room. Suddenly, the whole earth is singing. The sea roars, the rivers clap their hands, and the hills rejoice before the Lord.
I hear Joy to the World, especially the hope that Christ’s blessings flow “far as the curse is found.”
That is how far I want grace to reach: into every wounded relationship, every place of injustice, every sorrow, and every corner of my own life that still needs healing. God’s reign gives us reason to hope that cruelty and suffering will not have the final word.
But these readings also bring that great hope down to the choices I make today.
Sirach asks me to learn before speaking, examine myself, remember that circumstances change, and practice self-control. There is so much wisdom here for ordinary living.
I have spoken before I understood. I have allowed my emotions to choose my words. I have been quicker to recognize someone else’s fault than to acknowledge my own.
God’s mercy gives me room to admit that—and courage to keep changing.
Paul offers a question I want to carry with me: Does this build up?
Something may be permitted and still cause harm. I may have the freedom to speak, spend, post, or act, but what will my choice do to another person? Will it serve their good? Will it strengthen the life we share?
Even when a correction is necessary, I can consider how to offer it. A true statement can be spoken with care. A boundary can be clear without becoming cruel.
That brings me to Jesus’ teaching about conflict in Matthew 18.
Jesus begins with a conversation. Speak with the person privately. Seek to regain your brother or sister. If the matter cannot be resolved, others may need to help the community discern a faithful response.
I have heard the promises that follow used in ways that trouble me. A church’s decision is sometimes treated as though it must be God’s decision. Two people agreeing in prayer is sometimes treated as a guarantee that they will receive precisely what they request.
But communities can make mistakes. We can agree with one another and still misunderstand. We need humility, honest examination, and a willingness to be corrected.
Gathering in Jesus’ name carries responsibility. We seek his way of truth, compassion, justice, and restoring love. His promised presence gives us courage for that difficult work.
And when we pray together, we can bring our hopes honestly before God. We can ask for a job, healing, reconciliation, or a door to open. We can support one another without claiming to know the outcome. Disappointment does not prove that someone failed to believe strongly enough.
I am learning to hold hope and humility together.
Perhaps that is where these readings meet for me today. I thirst for God. I remember mercy. I rejoice in the hope of creation’s renewal. Then I ask how that mercy might shape my next conversation, my next decision, and my response to the next person who enters my life.
The grace that upholds me is also teaching me how to love.
Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on us.
When our hearts are dry, uphold us in your love.
When we forget your goodness, help us remember.
Teach us to listen with wisdom,
to see with compassion,
to speak with love,
and to discern what is true and loving.
Give us humility to examine ourselves,
courage to address harm,
and patience to seek healing.
Let our words and actions build others up.
May your blessings flow through our lives
into the wounded places of your world.
Amen.
The Curious Pilgrim
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