Whether on a church sign or a doormat, the word “welcome” doesn’t always tell the truth. What we do know is that it’s fixed in place. A true welcome is a stance, a practice, a moving thing. It’s most powerful when it’s in loving pursuit, carried in an outstretched hand: Medicine for the wounded, food for the hungry, love for the lonely.
I’m not sure how old I was when dad bought the dog. Unlike the other hunting dogs I helped raise, she came with a name. Babe. She arrived scared, cowering. Something terrible must have happened to her as she made her way to us. She disappeared in the doghouse, refusing to come out. My mom went to work.
A young teenager, pulling hard against the reins I thought she had on me, I wasn’t exactly welcoming. I watched her from the back porch in the morning, out there in the old green robe she wore, gently placing the bowl of food right outside Babe’s door. She shivered inside as my mom sat crosslegged on the far end of the pen, facing her. Mom spoke sweetly, calling her name in the voice that had called mine all my life. Each morning, and I don’t remember how long it took, mom kept singing her siren song, moving closer each day. Welcome can be a long road.
The work of the young prophet was embodied.* And with the grace of The Most High, he made himself a temple, a sacred space that could travel. Wherever he went, he carried welcome in his hands. An embrace and a kiss say more than anything spoken or written. Walking towards those to whom people refused to go, who are never welcomed, Jesus unfolds his hand of blessing, calling to the broken and homeless of heart. The lonely and lost, in search of family who would call them in, reach for his hand. And as we welcome that message, we too will travel like temples, spreading the great blessing that everyone belongs. We are the welcome.
With her hand unfolding, trusting the slow work of God, mom was curled up close to her, still whispering her song, doing to Babe what she did to me when I was scared. Showing me how to do it, without saying a word, she embodied welcome.
A young student learns the way into the broken heart of the world.
-Jim Marsh, Jr.
Further Reflection:
Contemporary mystic and spiritual teacher, Cynthia Bourgault, introduces us to a welcoming practice that has been useful to me over these past few months, and something that helps keep me grounded. This link is from the website for The Contemplative Society, and the content on the page is drawn from Bourgeault’s book The Heart of Centering Prayer: Christian Nonduality in Theory and Practice.
