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Cover art: Lilies and Birds by Jen Norton. Jennortonartstudio.com.
© 2026 by Order of Saint Benedict, Collegeville, Minnesota. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner for any purpose, except brief quotations in reviews, with the previous written permission of Liturgical Press, Saint John’s Abbey, PO Box 7500, Collegeville, Minnesota, 56321-7500. Printed in the United States of America.
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In a world that is so often dominated by conflict and strife, this journal is an invitation to hope. Here you will find illuminations on various passages from sacred Scripture to help you recognize the living word of God active in your day-to-day life as well as in the larger context of local and global events.
Each of the 52 inspiring reflections, published in previous issues of Give Us This Day, has been carefully curated around the uplifting themes of hope, joy, love, and peace. Created for your lectio, we hope you’ll feel uplifted, fortified, and inspired as you read, ponder, and pray with God’s word. For more details about how to pray with this contemplative Benedictine practice, please see the Guides to Lectio Divina at the back of this book.
Of course, there is no “right way” to utilize this journal. You might ruminate upon a particular passage at the beginning of each week, putting pen to paper as various thoughts arise. Or you might feel called to journey through this journal page-by-page for several days in a row, integrating the various themes and messages into each day. Still another way to make use of this journal would be to read each reflection as a starting prayer activity in your small group gathering or parish event.
However you engage with these pages, it is our hope that it brings you into deeper relationship with God and others. May you rejoice in hope, endure in affliction, persevere in prayer (Rom 12:12).
Happy journaling!
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Romans 15:13
So where was God when I lost my job, when my kid got sick, when the bomb went off? Show me a sign that there is a God—and that God cares.
We’re no different from the people demanding a “sign” from Jesus in John’s Gospel.
It’s not that the signs aren’t there. The problem is we don’t or can’t see those signs—or we don’t know where to look. When disaster hits, we look for God in the calamity itself; we expect God to somehow justify the devastation.
But that’s not where God is.
God is in the unfailing love of family members who walk with us when the road becomes barely passable. God is with us in the support of good friends we can depend on to give us room to vent, a shoulder to cry on, a pep talk or reality check as needed. God is in the selfless generosity and kindness of caregivers who stay at bedsides night and day. God is in the courage of those who run toward the catastrophe and not from it.
God is in every sign of goodness, of reconciliation, of justice. In fact, you may well be such a sign of God’s presence. The good you do can become the wonder in someone’s life.
In John’s Gospel, it’s the royal official—a Gentile, of all people—who gets it. His love for his child enables him to realize that God is in his midst in the person of Jesus. For this dad, it is not about turning water into wine. It is about a parent’s last and best hope. It is about his child’s life. It is about God being right here. So take a look around you, and behold the signs of God’s grace in your life. Through he prism of the Gospel, you may be surprised—and inspired—by what you see.
Deacon Jay Cormier
Jay Cormier, a deacon serving in the Diocese of Manchester, New Hampshire, teaches at Saint Anselm College and Pope Saint John XXIII National Seminary. He is author of The Deacon’s Ministry of the Word and a contributor to Liturgical Press’ Loose-leaf Lectionary.
Agifted gardener, my mother was rehabilitating an orchid even as her ninety-three-year-old body was overwhelmed by an avalanche of medical problems. The plant became my responsibility during the sad and exhausting weeks when hospice care allowed her to die at home. The morning after her death I was astonished to discover six large flowers on what, the day before, had been an arid stalk. Incredulous, I found myself asking Mary’s question to the angel Gabriel: How can this be?
I remember that orchid when I think about the empty tomb and the Resurrection. I wonder if the apostles, too, instinctively uttered Mary’s question as they faced the unknown. Mary believed that what was spoken to her by the Lord would be fulfilled. Do we?
In her amazement, Mary of Magdala could only assume that “they have taken the Lord from the tomb, and we don’t know where they put him.” Now, centuries later, we would do well to ask, “Where have we put the Lord?” Do we leave him in the tomb, so we won’t be bothered by his questions?
“Who do you say that I am?” the risen Lord asks us. If only he would be satisfied with a catechetical answer! But no, he insists on meeting us where we are—at the cradle and the grave, the kitchen table and factory floor. He is always with us—urging faith, astonishing us with Scripture’s hope.
Let us risk hope on this day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad. The enemy has been vanquished and we are safe, hidden with Christ in God.
Rachelle Linner
Rachelle Linner is a freelance writer, reviewer, and a spiritual director. She has a master of theological studies from Weston Jesuit School of Theology.