Follow Me

“Follow me.”  These words are familiar yet unclear.  At a distance, I nod easily.  Up close, I’m troubled.  How is this call answered?

Do you have the young in mind?  Those whose search is public and painful.  “What will I do with my life?”  “Tell me who I am.”   Peter and Paul don’t scare the young.  Their hearts are restless.  They give themselves away with fewer calculations.

Now we fill out forms without hesitation.  Isn’t our calling clear?  Work all day, care for the family, and sink into sleep.  We who leave a solid print as we walk the earth--balancing responsibilities and generally cheerful--how are we called?

How does wind slip into a well-run life?  Were the shutters not fastened as usual?  Was it seeing my child’s smile cross the stranger’s face? Finding new sounds hidden beneath that grinding voice?  Looking up to discover a world not entirely my own but still inviting?  Realizing my fitness for what’s to be done?

Wind unsettles me.  Still, I try to listen.

Jesus asks: do you love me?  God, that is my question.  I ask it only when conditions are ripe for that resounding yes.  How odd of God to ask my question.  And then the tables turn again.  “If you love me, feed my sheep.”

Surprises do not end.  Your call follows us, after all.  We who were cautious for so long.  Whose flesh has grown heavy.  Engrossed in our sensible lives, your invitation finds us.  “Look for me in the poor.  You are missed.”