So what might it look like to see yourself as enough, as fully beloved? Claiming belovedness, at its root, means claiming a sense of connectedness: a sense that you are part of God’s cosmic project of love and redemption. Claiming belovedness, therefore, automatically begins to synchronizes us with the heartbeat of the universe...so that we find ourselves beginning to experience

communion with all of life, in all its diversity.

We have a tendency to believe the entire universe was put here to give birth to us, focusing on ourselves, forgetting to look around, look up, with wonder and awe at the diverse beauty of God’s creation. But if we look around we see that the universe has a story to tell—one that does not necessarily star human beings—one that includes everything God made—and that reflects the beauty of the Creator. The story of the universe, our origin story, stars God.

Francis was able not to differentiate: not to classify in order to embrace some parts and reject others. Rather, Francis found himself drawn into relationship with the entirety of of God’s creation. Francis understood that all of God’s creatures are made beautiful and good by the transfiguring love of God. Indeed: all of creation is itself the miraculous result of God’s endless, overflowing, creative love. And as such, nothing in all of creation...nothing can possibly be beyond God’s love, or exempt from God’s love. Nothing can be left out. Absolutely nothing.

The truth here is one we continually miss, that we are victims of our own way of life. That in our society where we have succeeded in cutting ourselves off from one another, where we learn how to live with the misery of other people by convincing ourselves that they deserve it, where we defend our own good fortune as God's blessing and decline to see how are lives are woven together with all other lives, we are the losers. And not because God is punishing us, but because we punish ourselves.

We’re all implicated. And there’s no easy way out. Structural sin happily coexists with the authentic goodness that so many of us are trying to cultivate in our personal lives. But, as today’s parable shows us, unmasking lies is the first step to collective liberation. And that is something we all can do. It certainly takes some courage, and we have to be willing to feel the pain of others, but as Jesus promises: the Kingdom of God waits for us just beyond our fears.

Our idols might be different shapes—credit card shaped, calendar shaped, cellphone shaped. Shaped like a job that will finally give us true security. Or a house that will give us real comfort. A relationship that finally makes us safe. A car that confers prestige. A position in the community that gives us real power. A veritable row of little golden calves neatly lined up on the shelf. These things are not bad in and of themselves—just bad when we place them high on our spiritual shelves and bow down to them regularly. The problem is when we take a good thing and make it into an ultimate thing. Because these things have not, and never will be, God.

The call of the Gospel, as I see it, is a radical call to move toward other human beings, and not just those humans we would choose for ourselves, but rather, whatever humans God happens to put before us.

Jesus is inviting us, through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, to become answers to one another’s prayers and openers of doors to all who knock. In God’s economy, all prayers shall indeed be answered. Because there IS enough to go around…and there will be enough for tomorrow, too. Which means that we can safely release some of our surplus to benefit the common good, in order that everyone can have what they need for today.

I will always and everywhere proclaim that Black Lives Matter, rather than that All Lives Matter. Because the Gospel points us specifically to wounded bodies, and Black bodies are disproportionately wounded in this nation. So this is where we must place our attention and our focus. Because if we can find a way to honor and dignify Black lives, we’ll be well on our way to honoring the dignity of every human person. We must start where the pain and inequity are the greatest.

The cross stands as a repudiation of violence—it is the ultimate symbol of the emptiness, the dead end, to which violence leads. But though we killed Jesus, we did not take the life out of him, for that belonged and belongs to God. To the God who sent him to lead us into another way to live.