A culture of welcome

We live our belief through the lens of our experience. Because of our past, we may find religion comforting or discomforting. We may find ritual affirming, or it may occur for us as a dreary grind. What we notice in our religious observance generally falls into categories, and we dwell on one aspect, which may be a different aspect than what someone else dwell on. In the simplest example, some people find in the risen Christ, the king and judge, and others find in Him the gentle friend. Some notice majesty; some notice radical humility.

I was very affected by my time in the Episcopal community through St. John the Divine. For many years, I was an usher for the congregation, and for the large important ceremonies, we would have an orientation. One topic that has stayed with me all these years was the head of security there discussing how to deal with potentially dangerous people. (In the years after 9/11/2001, the Cathedral was on the top ten list of potential bombing targets, so we were to be extra vigilant.)

Despite the potential for danger, we were urged to be mindful of our primary mission of welcome.

How amazing is that! First, we are to love and welcome. Always, we are to love and welcome the stranger and the friend.

But shouldn't that be obvious? Why does it need to be said at all? Because it doesn't happen everywhere all the time, not there, not anywhere.

He cooks them breakfast!

We were privileged this week to hear again the Emmaus narrative. And I was privileged to listen to an inspiring homily by Fr. Michael Holleran. What is usually quoted is the effect on the disciples: "Their hearts were burning inside them."

Here's what resonated for me:

How intimate and tender Jesus is with the disciples. He talks with them; he cooks them breakfast.

He cooks them breakfast! Yes, of course, he feeds his friends, literally and figuratively. I hate cooking breakfast, but Jesus cooked fish on the shore for the disciples.

This week I am meditating on the ways that Jesus feeds me. I will say grace for every large and small intimate gift, for all the ways that I feel nourished, encouraged and inspired. It's a gentle flame, but my heart is on fire.

Together we form a perfect vessel

Reflecting on the last lecture in the Apostle's Creed catechist class:

I have long noticed how my faith grows the more I allow myself to be a part of my church community. Listening to others, whether it is their struggles or their passions, always helps me, either as inspiration or a guide. (The first time I felt this strongly were in my reaction to four casual words from someone I had not previously taken seriously. She wasn't in my social group, she wasn't an intellectual, but what she said hit me in the core, and reshaped what I chose to do. I believe the Holy Spirit spoke to me through her, inspiring her beyond anything she could have known.)

Sometimes it is experiencing the affection and friendship of the community that helps me experience God’s presence.

The lecture quotes this:

“Not only are we gathered around him, we are united in him. In this unity there is diversity of members and functions. "There is only one Spirit who, according to his own richness and the needs of the ministries, gives his different gifts for the welfare of the Church." (Lumen Gentium 7) This unity with Christ and among ourselves produces charity and breaks down barriers of ethnicities, cultures, gender. societal structures (CCC # 791)

I take this to mean : together, with all our imperfections and strengths and daily sufferings, small and large, we form a perfect vessel for God’s hidden reality. Even though we are, individually, leaky, flawed containers. 

Another aspect of the community of saints that I love is our connection to those gone before, those recognized as saints by the Church. In their lives – and so many different kinds of lives! – we can be inspired or be guided. And we have the extra blessing of our connection through prayer to their living intercession and prayer. 

So that we can be--in community--perfect.