Radical Welcome

I grew up in a family that never missed church. We sat in the same pew every Sunday at 11 a.m., attended Sunday school, Wednesday night dinners, and youth group. A lot of it felt routine, even uninspiring—but the stories about Jesus stayed with me.

What moved me were the moments when something sacred showed up in the middle of ordinary life: feet washed, bread broken, wine poured, seeds planted. These weren’t grand miracles—they were gestures of welcome, care, and presence. The stories taught me that the divine isn’t found in perfection, but in how we show up for one another. Especially in the mess—the doubt, the crowds, the fear, the loneliness.

Even as a kid, I sensed that these stories weren’t just about belief; they were about belonging.

In a world that often felt rigid and closed, these moments cracked open a different way of being. Our youth minister helped translate them in a way that made room—room for questions, room for people who didn’t fit, room for the ones on the edges. That’s what felt holy to me: the radical welcome.

Thomas Merton once stood on a street corner and saw strangers all around him “walking around shining like the sun.” He wrote that if we could really see each other like that, “the big problem would be that we would fall down and worship one another.”

These days, many of my friends identify as Buddhist. One of my favorite practices is all the bowing. Hands together in gassho, we offer a deep, intentional bow to another person. It’s simple, humble, freely given. And it reminds me: this is what matters. That we truly see each other. That we honor one another’s presence. That we create space—for the stranger, the wounded, the overlooked.

I think that’s what those Jesus stories were always about.

And I hope, in time, I’ll greet every person, every moment, with that same posture of a deep, wholehearted bow.