Hello, beloved community of Saint Francis Parish and Outreach! As we gather this week, whether in the sanctuary, over coffee, or in the quiet corners of our lives, let’s take a moment to reflect together. I want to invite you into a conversation, a gentle, honest one, about what our sacred scriptures are calling us toward, especially in these turbulent times when the world so often seems divided, anxious, and in need of compassion.

Welcoming the Journey

Here at Saint Francis, our hearts are open to those searching for dignity, safety, and belonging. Whether you’ve been here decades or just arrived, whether your roots run deep or you’re new to town, know that you are part of this journey. This week, as we listen to Isaiah 2:1-5, Romans 13:11-14a, and Matthew 24:37-44, I invite you to consider how these words speak into our lives as we walk alongside immigrants and courageously stand against the rising tides of injustice and exclusion. Let’s reflect on how faith can be a lantern in the night, guiding us with compassion and hope.

Scripture Reflections: Insights and Invitations

Isaiah 2:1-5 – The Dream of Peaceful Pilgrimage

In Isaiah’s vision, all nations stream toward the mountain of the Lord, yearning to learn God’s ways and walk in divine paths. Swords are hammered into plowshares, spears into pruning hooks, every instrument of violence transformed into a tool for nurturing life. Isaiah’s words stand as a dream for our world: peoples walking side by side, not as rivals but as kin, living in peace.

How beautifully this echoes our calling today! We, too, are invited into the gentle work of “walking in the light of the Lord” walking with those who journey from distant lands, war, or poverty, seeking a new home and a safe future for their families. Isaiah’s vision is a radical welcome. It’s a reminder that faith is not just about personal piety but communal transformation, about forging peace where there is division and forging friendship where there is fear.

Romans 13:11-14a – Wake Up, Put on Christ

Paul’s letter to the Romans calls us to wake from sleep, for “the night is far gone, the day is near.” Paul urges us to cast aside the works of darkness and to clothe ourselves with the light of Christ. This is not just a private spiritual practice, it’s a way of life that radiates out into how we treat others, especially the vulnerable and marginalized.

Putting on Christ means seeing the immigrant, the stranger, and the refugee with Christ’s eyes: eyes of love, not suspicion; arms that open, not close. Paul’s urgency is clear, the time for compassion and justice is now, not later. Our call is to live not just for ourselves but for the flourishing of all.

Matthew 24:37-44 – Stay Awake, Be Ready

Jesus’ words in Matthew offer a sobering warning: “Keep awake, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.” He describes ordinary people, going about ordinary lives, unaware of the critical moment at hand. The point isn’t to live in fear, but in readiness, in a spirit of alertness to God’s movement, especially in unexpected places and people.

How easy it is to be lulled into comfort, to close our doors and hearts, to look away from those who suffer injustice. Jesus calls us to stay awake, to respond with courage and hospitality when our neighbors need us most.

Walking with Immigrants: Scripture and Solidarity

So, what does it mean for us, as a parish community, to “walk in the light” alongside immigrants and refugees? It means first listening. Listening to stories of hope and hardship, honoring the courage it takes to leave everything behind in search of safety and opportunity. It means seeing Christ in our neighbors, learning from them, and creating space for all to belong.

But solidarity goes further. It means challenging systems that contribute to injustice, standing up when immigrants and refugees are threatened by exclusion, scapegoating, or violence. It means remembering that our spiritual ancestors were migrants and sojourners, and that the call to hospitality is woven deep into our faith.

When we welcome immigrants, we do not lose; we are enriched, stretched, and transformed. Our parish becomes more like Isaiah’s vision: a gathering of many peoples, learning to live together in peace.

Standing Up Against Fascism: Faith-Based Resistance

Fascism is a word that can feel harsh, but it’s important that we name the realities we face. Wherever there is a force, political, social, or cultural, that seeks to divide us from our neighbors, that stokes fear and hatred, that elevates power over compassion, we as people of faith are called to resist.

Our scriptures call us to a higher standard. To “put on Christ” is to reject any ideology that denies human dignity or sows the seeds of division. It’s more than a political stance; it’s a spiritual commitment to love over hate, to courage over fear, to solidarity over silence. We are called, not to withdraw from the world’s pain, but to stand together, to speak out, and to act for justice, even when it costs us comfort.

Practical Steps: Faith in Action

What does all this look like in our daily lives? It doesn’t have to be grand or dramatic. Often, faithfulness is found in small acts of welcome:

Greet the newcomer at Mass or during coffee hour. Invite someone new to share a meal or conversation.
Support parish outreach to immigrant families, donate, volunteer, or help organize a welcoming event.
Advocate for just and compassionate policies. Contact local representatives, sign petitions, or join peaceful community actions.
Educate yourself and others about the realities immigrants face. Share stories that build bridges, not walls.
Pray for courage, that we might stay awake, walk in the light, and put on Christ’s love each day.

None of us can do everything, but all of us can do something. And when we move together, our small actions add up to real change.

Encouragement and Hope for the Journey

Dear friends, the journey of faith is never finished. Each day brings new chances to walk together, to grow in love, and to become God’s people of hope. As we listen again to Isaiah, Paul, and Jesus, may we be awake to God’s call, ready to welcome, ready to resist injustice, ready to “walk in the light of the Lord.”

Let’s keep going, side by side, building a parish that truly reflects the kingdom dream: a community where all are welcome, all are valued, and peace is possible. May God give us courage, compassion, and joy for the journey ahead.

With hope and in solidarity,

Bishop Greer

What does it mean to be truly inclusive as a church? The question is as old as the concept of community itself, and as urgent now as ever in an age defined by migration, diversity, and the ongoing struggle for justice and dignity for all. When we turn to scripture—Sirach 3:17–18, 20, 28–29; Hebrews 12:18–19, 22–24a; and Luke 14:1, 7–14—we find not just ancient wisdom, but a living challenge: to be a community where the homeless, immigrants, and LGBTQIA+ people are not only welcomed, but cherished.

The Wisdom of Humility: Sirach’s Invitation

Sirach is a book steeped in practical wisdom, and in chapter 3, it speaks directly to the heart of the matter: “My child, perform your tasks with humility; then you will be loved more than a giver of gifts.” Humility is not self-abasement but the recognition that we stand before God and neighbor with empty hands. The passage urges us to “humble yourself the more, the greater you are, and you will find favor with God.” In church life, humility means refusing to put ourselves above others, regardless of status, background, or identity.

How often do we, consciously or unconsciously, build invisible fences around our churches? Sometimes these are doctrinal, sometimes social, and sometimes simply habitual. The wisdom of Sirach dismantles such barriers by reminding us that true honor is found not in titles or positions, but in lowering oneself to serve. For the church, humility means the conscious choice to open doors wide, not just in theory, but in tangible practice.

Drawing Near to God’s Presence: Hebrews’ Vision

The Letter to the Hebrews contrasts two mountains: Sinai, shrouded in fire and fear, and Zion, radiant with welcome and joy. “You have not come to something that can be touched, a blazing fire, and darkness… But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God.” The author paints a vision of a community gathered not in terror, but in celebration, a festival of angels and saints, with Jesus as the mediator.

This image is a clarion call to inclusivity. At Zion’s festival, there are no velvet ropes, no lists of who is “in” or “out.” The invitation extends to “the assembly of the firstborn,” and that assembly is marked by grace, not pedigree. For those who have known rejection, homeless neighbors struggling for security, immigrants searching for belonging, and LGBTQIA+ siblings yearning for affirmation, this is more than good news. It is a gentle revolution. The church, in its truest form, is meant to mirror this heavenly feast: a place of radical welcome.

The Banquet Parable: Luke’s Table Turned Upside Down

Luke’s gospel is relentless in its depiction of Jesus as a host who delights in upsetting social expectations. In chapter 14, Jesus watches guests scramble for seats of honor and offers a counter-story: “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor… but go and sit down at the lowest place.” He continues: “When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. You will be blessed, because they cannot repay you.”

This passage is not simply a lesson in etiquette; it is a blueprint for inclusion. The kingdom of God is not reserved for the elite or those who arrive with credentials. It is wide open to anyone whose life has left them on the margins. For churches wrestling with how to love those whom society often overlooks or excludes—the homeless, immigrants, LGBTQIA+ persons—Luke’s parable is both comfort and discomfort. Comfort, because it assures us that God’s priority is always those who are pushed to the margins; discomfort, because it calls us to upend our habits and assumptions.

Building an Inclusive Church: Practical Steps and Spiritual Foundations

How can these scriptural calls to humility, radical welcome, and reversal of social order translate into practical action within our faith communities? It begins with listening, a posture of humility that seeks to understand before being understood.

Hospitality Without Conditions: True hospitality means every person is welcomed as Christ Himself. This is not theoretical, but deeply practical: offering food and shelter to the homeless, legal and emotional support to immigrants, and a safe, affirming space to LGBTQIA+ individuals. It also means revising policies and practices that inadvertently exclude.
Representation and Leadership: Inclusion must be reflected in who leads, teaches, and serves. Churches are challenged to seek out and empower leaders from marginalized communities to share the pulpit and the table in ways that honor diverse experiences.
Stories and Testimonies: Sharing stories of struggle, hope, and transformation is a way to build empathy. Testimonies from those who have experienced exclusion and now find belonging in the church can reshape how communities understand their call.
Advocacy and Justice: The inclusive church is not content with charity alone. It advocates for systemic change, housing justice, immigration reform, and protection of LGBTQIA+ rights. This advocacy grows out of spiritual conviction, not mere politics.
Worship that Reflects Diversity: Songs, prayers, and liturgies should reflect the languages, cultures, and identities of the whole congregation. Diversity in worship is not a token gesture; it is a deep acknowledgment of God’s image in everyone.

Obstacles to Inclusion: Naming and Facing the Barriers

The path to an inclusive church is not without its challenges. Historic prejudices, fear of change, theological disagreements, and simple inertia can all conspire to keep the church from living out its call. Sometimes, resistance arises from a desire to “protect tradition,” but Scripture itself testifies to a God who makes all things new.

When barriers arise, it is crucial to return to the spiritual center: humility, as Sirach teaches; a vision of celebration, as Hebrews proclaims; a banquet for the outcast, as Luke insists. Inclusion does not mean abandoning faith but embodying it more fully.

Personal Reflections: Stories from the Margins

Consider the story of an immigrant family finding sanctuary in a welcoming church, their journey marked not by suspicion, but by celebration. Or the LGBTQIA+ youth who, after years of silence and shame, finds affirmation in a congregation that sees their gifts and beauty. Or the homeless elder who, for the first time, is called by name and invited to share a meal not as a guest, but as kin.

Each story testifies to the transformative power of radical hospitality. The inclusive church is not a utopia; it is a community that knows its own need for grace and extends that grace freely. Every time someone on the margins discovers a place at the table, the church itself becomes more whole.

The Table Is Set: Continuing the Banquet

In the end, the church is called to be a banquet, open, abundant, and unfinished. The wisdom of Sirach, the vision of Hebrews, and the parable of Luke converge to challenge us: Who is missing from our table? How might we rearrange our seating so that honor is given where it is least expected? How do we build a church where all are not just tolerated but celebrated?

This is the work of every age. It is the work of humility, hospitality, and hope. The table is set. Let us fling open the doors, rearrange the seats, and serve the feast that God has prepared for all.

Conclusion: A Prayer for the Inclusive Church

God of the margins and the center, of every language and color, gather us as one people, humble in heart, joyful in spirit, bold in welcome. Teach us to honor those whom the world has ignored. Remind us daily that your banquet is for all, and your love knows no boundaries. May our churches become homes for the homeless, sanctuaries for immigrants, havens for LGBTQIA+ siblings, and tables where humility is the seat of honor. Amen.

Walking Together: A Reflection on Scripture, Immigration, and Faithful Resistance