Dig Deeper into Sunday's Gospel: Read Matthew 10:37–42
Over the past few years, I've encountered many articles and posts articulating the importance of a village—a community of people who support each other, show up for each other, and help meet each other's needs; of people who practice the art of neighborliness and kinship; and that is a place to form deeply rooted relationships with those who get you through the hard times and celebrate the joyful. It is longed for not only on behalf of children, but also on behalf of mothers, especially young ones, who uniquely experience isolation and weariness while yearning for age-old wisdom, truth, and companionship.
Largely, I think this desire is a reaction to the growing loneliness our world is experiencing: a byproduct of the internet keeping us hyperconnected, yet woefully disconnected from the very ones we could be seeing face-to-face. Additionally, this longing might be a reaction to some of the pitfalls of the nuclear family, such as parental burnout, increased individualism, isolation, self-reliance, and the family's decentralization.
It's tempting to believe that if only we had a village, life would be easier. But the village, according to the world's standards, is not a cure-all for life's struggles nor is it a utopian place that offers freedom from the errors of the ways of this world, where everyone agrees, shows up perfectly, parents the same way, votes the same way, lives out the faith the same way, or shares the same interests.
Consequently, there's been a shift in "village talk"—people are poking the idea, prodding it, asking questions:
These questions deserve to be answered, pondered, and prayed over because, when you examine them closely, building a village is kingdom work.
Whether your village is made up of carefully chosen friends, neighbors down the street, members of your parish community, extended family, or a combination of it all (which, in my opinion, is the purest and best version), we are called to something deeper than finding people who make life easier or who validate every choice we make. We are called to communion within our village; we are called to persevere in making earth—however small our speck of that earth is—more like heaven.
The work of a true villager in the kingdom requires love, patience, curiosity, and vulnerability with one another and with other humans who are fallen, sinful, and imperfect. It requires us to surrender certain expectations, to assume goodwill, act charitably, be less easily offended, overlook small offenses, and forgive quickly. It asks us to give without counting the cost, to be inconvenienced, to show up authentically, and to let go of the masks and facades we so easily put on to protect ourselves. It asks us to be an image of Jesus Christ to others.
This is messy, non-linear work. But it is holy work. And this village is the actual village our hearts crave and are made for, one that is in the image and likeness of the communion modeled for us by the Holy Trinity.
This Sunday's gospel ends with a promise we can hold on to as a citizen of the kingdom here on earth working toward creating villages that last: "And whoever gives only a cup of cold water to one of these little ones to drink because he is a disciple—amen, I say to you, he will surely not lose his reward" (Matthew 10:42).
The word “little” found in this passage, according to the Greek word mikros, can mean little in stature, as in a child, but it can also be used figuratively: small in dignity, the least.
Think of your village right now, who is it that might be considered small in dignity or the least of them? Could it be those on the fringe, who reside on the outskirts of your village? Who is being overlooked or dismissed? And, might I add a qualifier here, that those we consider might not be a true stranger, but perhaps someone within our own family? Could it be a father or a mother? A brother, sister, or daughter? Who in your village is a little one who needs a cup of water?
Yes, we are instructed in this gospel to love God more than anyone else. But love of God asks of us to love those who are enemies, to forgive over and over again, to live mercifully. Included in the love of God means being with people who think and feel differently from you and loving them. In a world where estrangement almost seems encouraged, loving God more than any of these relationships actually means we're called to go to these people all the more—never over God, of course. We're called to put aside our own preconceived notions, inconveniences, fatigue, weariness, and love them as God loves them, and as God loves us.
And guess what? In His eyes, they, too, are His little ones. His precious children. No one is on the outskirts of God’s kingdom, is overlooked, or is left thirsty. We are called to be generous toward them, even if all we can offer is a mere cup of cold water. Every child in the kingdom of God deserves even this.
Extending this charity, loving as God loves, does not mean that we've endorsed every choice they've ever made nor does it mean that their sins are being rewarded. The reward of faith and the kingdom of heaven is to be given to the disciple, to the one who gives, to the one who loves without condition, and to the one who trusts, much like Saint Therese, that small acts of charity can transform the family, the village, and the world.
Food for thought or journaling ...
Revisit the bulleted list of questions in this blog. Which prods your heart most right now? Who do you need to offer a cup of water?
Heavenly Father, I want to be a kingdom builder. I long for people who love me as I am, who support me in each season of my life. But more than that, I long to be a person who gathers people together and forms the very foundation of the community for which I am desiring. Help me to love and welcome others as Your Son did. Increase in me the ability to be less offended, to forgive more quickly, to be willing to build bridges even if it means risking misunderstanding or requires me to swallow my pride. May I be instrumental in hallowing Your name and accomplishing Your will in my lifetime. I love You, and I adore You. Amen.
