“Love the Lord your God and Love your Neighbor as your Self”

I’ve heard that passage preached a plethora of times. But never with the power that I heard it proclaimed last Sunday.

My sister Sue was visiting me from Wisconsin. She loves the southern part of Colorado, and so we took a little weekend trip down through Punkin Center (real place) to see relatives, on to Ordway to see our friend Lynda and then over to Florence. Florence is in a lovely little location near the Royal Gorge. It is a charming small town in a slightly trashy type of way, situated in the shadow of Super Max prison. Main street is lined with antique shops, enticing the savvy consumer with any type of treasure they might be looking for. The most valuable souvenir that we left with was not purchased, nor did we discover it while seeking bargains on Saturday. Rather we found it for free on Sunday morning.

Sue is a devout catholic, so she wanted to go to church. I acquiesced. St. Benedicts was a short ten minute walk from the Florence Rose bed and breakfast where we stayed. We entered just as the bells were tolling the time to begin the first mass. I was surprised by what greeted my eyes. Not the accoutrements adorning the altar, nor the stained glass window nor the ecclesiastical architecture. All of that was for the most part run of the mill, what one would find in most catholic churches. What took me by surprise was to see an African priest standing in front. And yes, he was African, not African American. His accent belied the fact that he was from some country in Africa, which he would reveal during his homily as being Nigeria.

He introduced the service by saying that we fail to receive the love of God and give it to others. That was a pleasant surprise. A bigger one was ocurred during his sermon. He read the passage from above, which served as the Gospel lesson for the day. And then he moved down the center aisle into the midst of the congregation. He spoke in a humble, yet confident manner. He told us what it is like for him to be an African man living in a community like Florence. He referenced the times when people had been rude or made inconsiderate comments, either to his face or behind his back. This was true even of parishioners. He related the story of going to the home of a family in order to counsel them, and overhearing them speaking of him being a “good priest” in spite of the fact that he was black. He was not asking for pity or sympathy, he wasn’t speaking in a “poor me” manner, but simply matter of factly in order to illustrate the point that he knew what it was to not be loved. And then he asserted the essential nature of love. Love in the family, in the congregation and in the community.

His sermon was well crafted, interspersed with stories to illustrate the point he was making; one from his home country of Nigeria, another from a monastery. It was delivered with a genuine and sincere spirit, yet with authority and conviction. I sat there mesmerized, simultaneously convicted of my lack of love and inspired to love more and better. Powerful! Perhaps the best sermon I’ve ever heard. Not kidding.

Sue agreed. It was the topic of our conversation in most of the car ride home. We conjectured on the context of his message. What was going on behind the scenes? We shared stories of those we don’t love, even after hearing his sermon. We confessed to one another our lack of love for each other. We vowed to do better, but knew as we said it that we’d fail miserably. We told stories of those who hadn’t loved us—so easy to recall those people, isn’t it? We talked about loves that were lost, her husband who died of pancreatic cancer fifteen years ago at a far too young age, our parents, and others. We shared how we think of God’s love, and how we’ve been loved by Him. And we talked about how pleasantly surprised we were to walk into that small church in Florence, Colorado and be gifted by Father Stephen.

This priest provided us and others with a personification of God’s love. He made a powerful impact on my sister and me. And I’m guessing on his little flock as well. And among everything I’ve been wondering these questions have been foremost: Is the Spirit which is working so wonderfully in Father Stephen also working in the people sitting in his pews? And will that spirit enable them to not only love God, but also their neighbor? Especially when that neighbor is Father Stephen?