We are a missionary Congregation…
Where the Church is already established, our commitment is to those groups it touches least.
CC&RR, Constitution 5
Fr. Jetté, reflects on the meaning of the word “missionary.”
“To be missionary” means to be sent on a mission of evangelization: it does not matter whether one is sent to the foreign missions or to the home or parish missions. The missionary is a frontier man, one who is always intent on forging ahead, on going farther afield. Zeal, daring, mobility, availability are his characteristic traits! And obedience too: he receives the mission of another, the mission of the Church: he is a man who “is sent”….
Generally speaking, the diocesan priest exists and works within pastoral structures that are stable, in a parish, for example, or a directorship or chaplaincy; furthermore, he is permanently attached to a diocese which he cannot leave. The missionary, to the contrary, is available for the Church’s avant-garde tasks or urgent needs, for evangelization work, both outside and within a given diocese…
F. Jetté, OMI The Apostolic Man, p 60-61
Our former Superior General is reflecting on Oblate brothers and priests, but the whole Mazenodian Family is “missionary.” By virtue of our baptism we are all disciples, we are all missionaries, and if it is the charism of St Eugene that guides and molds us, then we are all “frontier” persons, ready to express our love for our Savior and to share it with those whose frontiers are the distance from knowing God’s love and compassion.\
“Compassion asks us to go where it hurts, to enter into the places of pain, to share in brokenness, fear, confusion, and anguish. Compassion challenges us to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those in tears. Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, and powerless with the powerless. Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human.” Henri Nouwen
Yesterday an Imam came to speak with us, to share his faith and religion (Islam) with us. He was young, vibrant and dynamic; a great scholar and I would say a great teacher. He shared with us the basic tenets of Islam and I found myself having an appreciation of his religion, how he and millions live out their faith. The commonalities were great. The gift I received out of all of this was to become once again aware of others around me (in the room and in my community and my parish and city and in this world) of how alike (even in our uniqueness) we are to others. The second gift that I have received from this experience is that of looking at my own personal beliefs and faith, my religion and my life with God. I came away at the end of the day with immense gratitude that God has planted me where he has, that he has called and forms me as he does.
And then to come here this morning. Am I a frontier person? Will there ever come a time when I do not question and doubt, struggle within myself? I might as well ask will there ever come a time when I am not wounded and broken? I cannot and I do not let these little struggles rule me or deter me. I walk through them. Is this a part of the frontier that I cross?
Frank wrote: “…if it is the charism of St Eugene that guides and molds us, then we are all “frontier” persons, ready to express our love for our Savior and to share it with those whose frontiers are the distance from knowing God’s love and compassion.” ‘those whose frontiers are the distance from knowing God’s love and compassion’. For a small moment in time my heart smiles and sings – thank you God for all that you give me.
Some years ago I was riding on a bus – it was rush hour and the bus was full – we were all going home from work or onto to meet friends. The bus was an ‘Express’ bus and at the last pickup stop a man got onto the bus and his clothes were dirty and torn, his hands and his face were bloody in places and one of his eyes was quite swollen as was his mouth. People looked at him, some of them letting him know of their displeasure with him and I along with them judged that he had probably been in a fight, maybe up to no good. His eyes were dark with pain and he could barely stand on the moving bus. I got up to give him my seat; and as I stood up and he sat down I noticed that he smelled a little bit too. He did not say a word – but looking into his eyes again I found my heart opening. His eyes thanked me and in those few seconds I received a magnificent gift – for looking at him we each of us for a moment knew God’s love and compassion. That frontier was so very small, one step.