(Gospel for Sept. 8)
This gospel lesson is painful to read because it confronts me with the half-heartedness of my efforts at discipleship. It forces me to recognize how far I am from making the kind of total commitment that Jesus is demanding. I still use family responsibilities as an excuse for my cowardice. I have not given up my possessions, either. In fact, I am so attached to my own comfort and sense of security that I have not even tried to follow Jesus very far.
However good my intentions, I tend to chicken out when faced with the hard and risky work of discipleship. When I'm concerned about hunger or homelessness, I usually just write a check. It would take more time to volunteer at a pantry or shelter, and what else might I feel obligated to do if I actually got to know some folks who live in poverty? When I read about injustices in the prison system, I sometimes get indignant enough to post something on Facebook or discuss the problem with like-minded people, but there my action stops. What might happen if I were brave enough to try becoming an advocate for prison reform, or visiting prisoners, or helping an ex-offender find housing or a job?
Could Jesus' words in this gospel be calling me to take the kind of risk I've been avoiding? Could he be calling you too?
This gospel lesson is painful to read because it confronts me with the half-heartedness of my efforts at discipleship. It forces me to recognize how far I am from making the kind of total commitment that Jesus is demanding. I still use family responsibilities as an excuse for my cowardice. I have not given up my possessions, either. In fact, I am so attached to my own comfort and sense of security that I have not even tried to follow Jesus very far.
However good my intentions, I tend to chicken out when faced with the hard and risky work of discipleship. When I'm concerned about hunger or homelessness, I usually just write a check. It would take more time to volunteer at a pantry or shelter, and what else might I feel obligated to do if I actually got to know some folks who live in poverty? When I read about injustices in the prison system, I sometimes get indignant enough to post something on Facebook or discuss the problem with like-minded people, but there my action stops. What might happen if I were brave enough to try becoming an advocate for prison reform, or visiting prisoners, or helping an ex-offender find housing or a job?
Could Jesus' words in this gospel be calling me to take the kind of risk I've been avoiding? Could he be calling you too?
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