Every day is a journey and the journey itself is home
By Sister Katrina Alton, CSJP
In Ireland there is the often told tale of the stranger who stops and asks the locals for directions and receives the reply, "Well, you don't want to be starting from here!" But "here" is the only place we can start from, and our CSJP history is littered with examples of our journeying to and fro, our building up and letting go, our celebrations and our sufferings. Religious life today is at a crossroads. Here in Scotland the statistics tell a depressing story of the decline and withdrawal of religious congregations: communities are closing and ministries ending.
So why, you may ask, would anyone want to journey into the heart of religious life today? The simple answer is that God is still calling, and our charism is, I believe, still relevant. Although it may seem that we religious are on a very precarious journey right now, hasn't that always been the case? Aren't all journeys filled with risks and dangers? Look at the risks thousands of people from across the African continent and the Middle East are taking every today to flee war, persecution, and economic poverty. They may have a clear destination in mind, but the journey is treacherous, claiming many lives either in the heat of the Sahara or in the waters of the Mediterranean, and even if they reach their destination, the journey is far from over, as they struggle to find a welcome and a sense of belonging.
Jesus' whole life was one of journeying; being born literally on the move, fleeing and seeking asylum in Egypt, to having nowhere to 'lay his head' during his mendicant ministry. Yet revealed in this precarious and fragile life is 'The Way'; a journey rather than a destination, a path rather than a place, a searching rather than a finding.
Over the last few weeks I've been reflecting on the familiar Gospel story of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, and I keep wondering why they didn't recognise Jesus? Was it grief? Fear? I don't know, but what the Gospel does tell us is that, in spite of this, they still welcomed this 'stranger' into their midst. Even though they didn't recognise Jesus they walked with him, talked with him, and then begged him to come and stay with them.
But imagine, just for a moment, if they hadn't welcomed the stranger; they hadn't walked, talked, or invited him to share a meal and stay with them. Imagine they hadn't broken bread, and that their eyes were not opened, and that they missed this opportunity of meeting the risen Jesus! Instead they would have reached their destination downhearted and afraid; they would have shut the door, maybe never to return to Jerusalem, never to share the joy of the resurrection with their sisters and brothers...Imagine....
I find this very easy to imagine, because allowing the 'stranger' to journey with me isn't something that comes naturally. I've been influenced by the media campaigns of 'stranger danger', and all the negative stereotyping of those that are different from me. I'm as riddled with fear and suspicion as the next person, at times as downcast as the two disciples walking away from Jerusalem, walking away from their community, walking away from Jesus.
Yet Jesus knew only too well what it meant to be on the margins, to be the 'stranger': Jesus speaks from experience. Rumours surrounded the circumstances of his birth, in Egypt this Jewish family must have been viewed with suspicion. The religious leaders frowned upon him spending time in the company of 'prostitutes and sinners', and in the end he dies the death of a criminal and a fugitive.
So it isn't surprising that Jesus tells us very clearly what is involved if we want to journey with him along 'The Way':
"I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was hungry and you fed me, I was in prison and sick and you visited me." (Matthew 25:35-6)
From his own experience of exclusion, hunger, poverty and arrest, Jesus invites us to follow him, to journey with him, to encounter in such pain and suffering the mystery and power of the resurrection. To experience for ourselves, just as the disciples did on the road to Emmaus, that "Perfect Love casts out all fear." (1 John 4:18)
Any journey requires a letting go of the familiar, as our founder, Margaret Anna Cusack, knew only too well:
"How often have I thought, what if I had decided to stay in Newry convent? What a long chain of events depended on my decision! I believe God has His own designs even when we least expect it, and leads us in the way He would have us go, if we are not opposing His will." (The Story of My Life - 1893)
Today, we as CSJP's, are once more trying to discern God's will for us, particularly how to make real our commitment to our 2014 Chapter Call:
Disturbed by the Spirit, we recommit ourselves to Jesus' way of radical hospitality.
We are called to a deeper and wider living of community for mission in company with poor and marginalized people. Our contemplative discernment pushes us, individually and as a Congregation, to action; deeper mutual support enables us to take risks for justice, peace, and the integrity of creation.
As disciples of Jesus, we respond anew to the call of Mother Clare to be "brave, noble, large-minded, courageous souls."
So let us pray that the same Spirit that guided and inspired Mother Clare to respond to the needs of the poor and oppressed people of her day, may ignite in each of us a desire to walk, talk, and welcome into our communities the 'stranger', confident in Jesus' promise; "Whatever you do to the least of my sisters and brothers you do to me." (Matthew 25:45)
Title from a quote by 17th century Japanese poet Matuso Basho