Thursday 6 November 2025

Paul’s words in Romans are among the most comforting in all Scripture.
He says, “The life and death of each of us has its influence on others.
Whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord.”

That’s the foundation of Christian hope.
We are not our own — we are His.
The world says, “You do you.”
The Gospel says, “You are His.”

That changes everything.
It means our life isn’t an accident and our death isn’t the end.
It means our worth doesn’t depend on how useful, clever, or successful we are.
We matter because we are the Lord’s — in life, in death, in eternity.

That’s the truth that gives meaning to every hospital bed, every funeral, every hidden act of faithfulness:
even in silence or weakness, we still belong.
And that belonging means we can live — and die — without fear.

Then Jesus gives us a picture of what that belonging looks like from God’s side.
The shepherd counts his hundred sheep, finds one missing,
and leaves the ninety-nine to go searching.

It’s reckless, really.
From a human point of view, the risk doesn’t make sense.
But that’s divine logic — the math of mercy.

To God, one soul matters more than all the statistics.
He doesn’t say, “Well, ninety-nine percent is pretty good.”
He says, “Until I find that one, I’m not finished.”

And when He finds it, He doesn’t scold or punish;
He rejoices and carries it home.
That’s the image of salvation —
not us crawling back to God, but God lifting us on His shoulders.

Then Jesus gives a second image — a woman who loses a coin.
She lights a lamp, sweeps the house, searches until she finds it.
And when she does, she throws a party over one small coin.

Again, the point isn’t economics; it’s love.
She rejoices because what was precious to her is restored.
So too with God.
Every person who turns back to Him —
no matter how long they’ve been lost —
becomes a reason for heaven to sing. “There is more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine who have no need of repentance.”

That’s not a rebuke; it’s an invitation.
God isn’t interested in perfect statistics.
He’s interested in conversion.

If you ever wonder what God is like,
look at these two stories.
He’s not a judge waiting to condemn you.
He’s a Father searching, calling, lighting lamps in the dark.

He doesn’t give up when you wander.
He doesn’t stop loving when you fail.
And He doesn’t rest until you’re home.

That’s why the Church calls us again and again to repentance —
not to shame us, but to set us free.
Confession isn’t a courtroom; it’s a rescue mission.
It’s the shepherd carrying you back on his shoulders, saying,
“Rejoice with me, I’ve found what was lost.”

If we really believe we belong to the Lord,
then we must also live like people who belong to one another.
Paul says our life and death influence others —
meaning holiness is contagious, and so is selfishness.
Your fidelity strengthens the whole Church;
your prayer lifts someone you may never meet.

That’s the Communion of Saints in action —
God’s mercy moving through ordinary people who refuse to give up on one another.

So today’s readings are not just about being found once;
they’re about living as people who never stop being found. “Whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord.” “Rejoice with me — I’ve found what was lost.”

That’s the Gospel in two lines.
You belong. You are sought.
And heaven will never stop searching until you are home.