Reflection: On feeling welcome

I like to think that we're quite a welcoming parish. But I think it's also true that for some that sense of welcome might seem rather superficial, rather provisional, or perhaps highly conditional. We might feel that if people knew everything about us, that we would be rather quickly shown the door.

There can be a variety of reasons for this and I don't propose to give an exhaustive list. It might be that we struggle with believing, that there are things about God and the Church that we're not sure we fully believe or we don't agree with.

It might be that we struggle with belonging, that we don't see anyone like us here in church, that we stick out like a sore thumb, or at least we would if we took our coat off - that we see few people of our age group, of our ethnicity, or just everyone else looks way too posh, or way too together really. Or perhaps we're very conscious of our personal history, that life has taken us to places that we wish we hadn't been to, and we carry the scars now - scars that make us feel way out of place in this environment. Or maybe on the other hand, it's not about our history, but about our present - that life for us is complicated. Perhaps we've heard what the Church teaches about marriage and family life and we feel we don't tick all the boxes - or even any of the boxes. And so, for any of these reasons or more, we stand at the back, we sit in the corner, we hardly dare come up for a blessing, let alone for Communion, and we forever feel like we're sitting in first class without a valid ticket. What if the inspector comes? What if we get found out? Because surely the special treats that God seems to be offering to the bona fide passengers are in fact not intended for us to enjoy - instead they are for other holier, better, nicer people.

It must have been like that for many of those who first met John the Baptist. John was an unusual figure, but he certainly drew the crowds. He talked about how the Messiah would come and how everyone needed to get ready. Now for some, this was apparently very easy, but there were others, perhaps at the back of the crowd who maybe felt there was nothing there for them. And these included two categories of people - soldiers and tax collectors. Both were despised by the local population. Both were highly compromised because of who they were - agents of the hated Romans, or locals who'd chosen to work for them. It must have taken a lot of courage for them to ask John what they needed to do - what if he turned his rather ferocious language against them? But he doesn't. He listens to them, he speaks to them, and he encourages them to do what they can do, rather than what they can't.

I like to think that this is how God is with us. Sometimes we can be afraid to be our true selves. Sometimes we can stand at the edge of the crowd, thinking there's nothing here for us. Yet the preaching of John the Baptist, and the example of Jesus' own life tells us otherwise. God meets us where we are. God assures us that we can be ourselves and that we do belong. Yes, God does challenge us, but rather than expecting us to put the toothpaste of our past back in the tube, rather then telling us that we're all wrong - God invites us to do we can do, rather than what we can't.

So, if it's you I'm talking about - know that God's promise of joy and peace this Christmas is very much for you. And don't be afraid to speak to me or another representative of the Church, if you need a bit of extra reassurance. Ok, I can't guarantee that we won't scream and shout at you - because we're human and we're moody. But we're not God. God is God, it's God's Church, and God says 'welcome'.

Homily for 3rd Sunday of Advent, Year C given by Fr Philip Dyer-Perry, Parish Priest at Our Lady of the Rosary Church in Staines, west London.

LINK

Our Lady of the Rosary Parish, Staines: https://parish.rcdow.org.uk/staines/