Today’s Daily Office readings have me looking back over my years in ministry and asking a question that feels more important with each passing day: Am I a faithful steward of God’s message?
There was a time when attendance figures, offerings, programs, and fundraisers occupied much of my attention. Those things were part of a pastor’s responsibilities, and I felt their weight. Today, my concern is more personal: How will I respond to God’s call to welcome the next person who enters my life?
I will never forget a woman who came to see me in my pastor’s office. She was trembling, unsure how I would receive her. When she told me she was a lesbian, I offered her acceptance and love. Her whole demeanor changed. I still remember what happened when she realized she was welcome.
I remember another situation with sorrow. Deacons refused to help a single mother because they disapproved of the way she lived. In making that decision, they also withheld help from her innocent children. I did not object. I let their decision stand.
I could not remain silent about that today. But I wish I had spoken then.
These memories belong beside each other. One reminds me of the good that can happen when we welcome someone with love. The other reminds me that compassion sometimes requires the courage to speak up.
Psalm 26 invites us to place ourselves before God for examination. As I pray it today, I cannot claim that I have always acted wisely or lovingly. I struggled with my emotions for years and often allowed them to govern my actions. I have not always treated others as I wanted to be treated. I have not always been compassionate.
Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.
Psalm 28 asks God to shepherd and carry his people. Psalm 36 opens before us the vastness of God’s faithful love. Psalm 39 reminds me how brief our lives are. I want to use the days I have been given with greater care.
Sirach speaks of faithful friendship as shelter and healing. It makes me ask whether I am becoming that kind of friend. Can someone trust me to listen, keep their confidence, respect their boundaries, and remain present when life becomes difficult?
Then Revelation gives us that great vision of people from every nation, tribe, and language gathered before God. I hear an echo of Galatians 3:28, where our divisions no longer determine our belonging in Christ. The Lamb shepherds this multitude, and God wipes away their tears.
I look at that picture, and then I look at how I treat people every day.
Does my welcome reflect the wideness of God’s mercy?
In Luke 10, Jesus sends his disciples to offer peace, receive hospitality, heal the sick, and announce that God’s kingdom has come near. Their message takes shape in actual encounters—in homes, around tables, and among people who need care.
I wonder about some of the methods we have used to spread the gospel. Have people experienced the love of Jesus through them? Have we listened to those who were wounded by our words or our actions? I must include myself in those questions.
I think of the woman at the well, returning to her town to tell people about her encounter with Jesus. I think of the man born blind, speaking from what he knew: he had been blind, and now he could see. Their witness began with what Jesus had done in their lives.
That is the kind of witness I want to offer: an honest account of grace, accompanied by a life still being changed by it.
A meal for someone who is hungry. A patient conversation. An apology when I have caused harm. A word spoken for someone being overlooked. These are places where the gospel can become visible.
Thank God, it is never too late to allow him to transform us. Mercy helps me face what I regret. Grace calls me to respond differently in the next encounter.
So today, I want to take the next step. I want to pay attention to the person God places before me.
Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.
Help me welcome those who come into my life.
Teach me to see with compassion,
to listen with wisdom,
and to speak with love.
Give me courage to act when someone needs help,
humility to acknowledge when I am wrong,
and grace to make what repairs I can.
Make me a faithful friend
and a faithful steward of your message.
Guide my next step. Amen.
—The Curious Pilgrim
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