Monday of the 14th Week in Ordinary Time

My dear brothers and sisters in Christ,

This morning’s readings remind us that God often draws near when life is most uncertain. Not in comfort, but in chaos. Not when we feel strong, but when we are tired, lost, or afraid.

In our first reading from the Book of Genesis , we hear of Jacob. He is not on a holy journey—he’s running for his life, fleeing from his brother Esau. He’s alone, with a rock for a pillow in a desolate place. But in that hard place, he dreams. And in that dream, he sees a ladder reaching up to heaven, with angels ascending and descending upon it. At the top, God speaks—not to scold, but to comfort and reaffirm His covenant: “I am with you… I will not desert you”.

When Jacob wakes, he says something that touches the heart: “Truly, the Lord is in this place and I never knew it!” The ground didn’t look holy. It was just a barren place where he laid his head. But it was holy. Because God was there.

So often we live under heavy burdens—grief, regret, worry about work or family. We might not see any ladder or feel any angels. But Jacob’s story reminds us: God is near, even when we don’t realise it, even in our most vulnerable moments.

The Gospel of Mark today shows this again. A synagogue official, Jairus, approaches Jesus with desperate hope; his daughter has just died, but he still dares to believe. “Come and lay your hand on her,” he says to Jesus, “and she will live”. That’s real faith—not perfect understanding, just a heart that reaches out in profound trust.

And before Jesus even gets to Jairus’s house, a woman who has suffered from a haemorrhage for twelve years, having spent all her money on doctors with no relief, reaches out to touch the fringe of His cloak. That’s all. And it’s enough. Jesus doesn’t just heal her—He perceives that power has gone out from Him, and He sees her, calling her “Daughter,” a word that restores her dignity and acknowledges her faith.

These stories show us a God who is profoundly present—on the run, in the crowd, in quiet faith, and in fragile hope. A God who notices, who stops, who restores. He is a God who seeks us out and responds to our deepest needs.

So let’s ask ourselves today:

• Where might God be near me, even if I haven’t noticed His presence in my daily struggles or joys?
• Who around me might be quietly reaching out for care, for a kind word, or for a sign of hope?
• What in my heart is waiting for healing, waiting to rise again through God’s grace?

May we be open to God’s presence—in the silence of our prayer, in the small gestures of kindness we receive and offer, and in the people we meet today. May we, like Jacob, recognize that the Lord is surely in this place, even when we do not know it. Amen.