A father once told me about his teenage son who had stopped speaking to him. For three years there was silence. No calls. No visits. No conversation. The father had said something hurtful, and the son had walked away.
But every week, that father drove past his son’s apartment. He did not knock on the door. He did not force a conversation. He simply wanted to be near. He wanted to make sure the lights were on and that his boy was safe.
When they finally reconciled, the son asked him, “Why did you keep coming?”
The father answered, “Because you are still mine.”
That is the heart of today’s first reading.
Through the prophet Hosea, God speaks about Israel, his beloved child. Israel has wandered away. They have turned to false gods. They have forgotten the One who first loved them, carried them, taught them to walk, and drew them close with “bands of love.”
And yet God does not speak like a wounded human being seeking revenge. He says, “My heart is overwhelmed, my pity is stirred.” He says, “I will not give vent to my blazing anger.” Why? “For I am God and not man, the Holy One present among you.”
That father driving past the apartment is a small image of the heart of God. God keeps coming near. God keeps watching over us. God keeps waiting for us to return. Even when we wander, even when we forget, even when we refuse to listen, God still says, “You are still mine.”
In the Gospel, Jesus sends out his disciples to proclaim the Kingdom, heal the sick, and bring peace. He also tells them that not everyone will receive them. Some hearts will remain closed. Some doors will not open. But even there, we must remember the larger truth: God is not looking for reasons to condemn us. God is constantly looking for ways to reach us.
He reaches us through a word of kindness, a child’s innocence, a spouse’s patience, a friend’s concern, a moment of prayer, or even a homily on an ordinary Thursday afternoon.
Families understand this very well. We love one another, but we also hurt one another. We disappoint each other. We go silent. We keep distance. Sometimes pride becomes stronger than tenderness.
But real love does not give up easily. Real love keeps hoping. Real love keeps praying. Real love keeps driving past the apartment.
That is what God does for us.
And that is what we are called to do for one another.
So today, wherever there is distance in your family — a child who has walked away, a parent you have not called, a sibling you avoid, a spouse you have stopped truly seeing — ask God for the grace to take one small step.
Maybe today is the day to pray for them again.
Maybe today is the day to send a message.
Maybe today is the day to make the call.
Maybe today is the day to say, in some simple way: “You are still mine.”
Because that is what God says to each of us every day.
“You are still mine."