One of the quiet truths of Scripture is that God often begins something new not at moments of obvious strength, but at moments that feel empty, unproductive, or closed off.
Today’s first reading places us with Hannah, a woman living with a deep and painful barrenness. Her suffering is not only physical; it touches her identity, her place in the family, and her sense of blessing. Even her husband’s sincere affection cannot heal the wound. His question “Am I not more to you than ten sons?” reveals love, but also a misunderstanding of how deep her sorrow runs.
Hannah’s barrenness is more than a private tragedy. It mirrors the state of Israel at the end of the time of the Judges. The people are struggling to produce faithful leadership, uncertain of their future. Nothing seems to be coming forth.
And yet, it is precisely here that God is at work.
In the Gospel, Mark tells us that Jesus begins his proclamation after John has been arrested. What looks like a failure, even a silencing of God’s voice, becomes the moment when something new begins. Jesus steps forward and announces, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand.”
Both readings remind us that God does not wait for ideal conditions.
Hannah cannot fix her situation. The fishermen are not searching for a new mission; they are tending nets, repeating familiar routines. In both cases, God’s initiative breaks into places that are part of life: grief, routine, limitation and more.
That is often where we find ourselves as well. There are seasons when our prayer feels dry, our efforts seem unfruitful, our work repetitive. We may experience forms of barrenness in relationships, in ministry, in health, or in hope itself.
Scripture does not deny those experiences. It names them. But it also insists that barrenness is not the end of the story.
God’s new chapters do not begin with control, but with availability. Hannah’s sorrow will eventually become a prayer. The fishermen’s ordinary day becomes a calling. None of them yet know the outcome; they only know the moment they are in.
And this is perhaps the word we need to hear: God does not require us to manufacture fruitfulness. He asks us to remain present, faithful, and open even when nothing seems to be happening.
When Jesus says, “Follow me,” he does not explain where the path will lead. When God begins to work in Hannah’s life, she cannot yet see how her pain will be transformed. But in both cases, something new begins precisely where human resources run out.
In these readings we are invited not to fear our barren places, but to bring them honestly before God. The places that feel like “same stuff, different day” may be the very places where God is preparing to act.
Because in the economy of grace, barrenness is often not a dead end. It is a beginning.
Image credit: Domenico Ghirlandaio | Calling the Apostles | 1481 | Sistine Chapel, Vatican | PD-US
