He Comes Alongside

A Reflection on the Second Reading for October 3rd, 2021:
Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

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Hebrews
2.9-11

We do indeed see Jesus, who for a little while was made lower than the Angels, now crowned with glory and honour because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.

It was fitting that God, for whom and through whom all things exist, in bringing many sons and daughters to glory should make the pioneer of their salvation perfect through sufferings. For the one who sanctifies and those who are sanctified are all from one. For this reason he is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters.
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“For this reason he is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters.”


He comes alongside. Not from an imposing posture, but from a supportive one. Though He is sovereign, He does not come upon us forcefully, but in kindness, gentleness, and peace. Maybe that’s why it can be so hard for me to hear Him. There’s a lot of noise in my head and in my life. But He is always there, coming alongside me, grace upon grace.


I remember a time from early on in my journey with Christ, when I was sitting with a priest in the confessional and he called me “sister”. I don’t remember anything else he said—only this one word, “Sister”. I don’t quite remember what I was confessing at the time, either. Maybe I was confessing my hatred toward men. I remember that being a hard thing to say to a man of God. Whether this was that time or not, God began breaking down barriers for me as the word “sister” was laid upon me by a man in persona Christi; barriers of protection I had constructed between myself and all men. Barriers that kept me from seeing or receiving my brothers in healthy relationship and in good faith. Barriers that left my heart dry, closed off, and hopeless. The priest came alongside me. He acknowledged me as his equal. He offered me a safe space through his brotherliness. And over and over again, Jesus offers me this same thing: a safe space with my Brother, Father, Friend.


In one such moment I was sitting alone in the blessed tranquility of God’s creation: a quiet inlet. Exteriorly, the only sounds were of the soft breeze and the morning birds’ song. Interiorly though, I was drowning in noise. I could feel the tenderness of freshly opened wounds from my past, though somehow, was also feeling God’s embrace. I could hear the contrasting message in my mind, “You were meant to be protected.” He didn’t mean for me to be wounded by men the way I was. And then, as if out of nowhere, a solitary rowboat moved across the inlet—not imposing itself on me, but inviting me to join my Brother, Father, Friend in the boat.


It was my suffering that led me to the confessional that day—to an opportunity for sanctification through the hands of His servant. It was my suffering that led me to accept His invitation to join Him in the boat. And though I would never wish suffering on anyone, it is inevitable in this life. Some carry greater burdens than others, but we can all relate to the experience of suffering. We can be united with Jesus and with one another because we all suffer. Suffering can also be a helpful reminder that our earthly bodies are passing away—that we were created through God and for God, and only He can be fully present with us in our suffering. His body was broken to make us whole again.


Jesus, my brother, I am so grateful for Your soft touch on the broken parts of my heart. Thank you for leading me by way of Your suffering, so that I know that You know how it feels to hurt. Your redemption of all that was inflicted upon You is my eternal hope.
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Lori MacDonald

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