By Jonathan Kiehl
“I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (Isaiah 43:19)
Starting over is always challenging and exciting. There are new landscapes, new possibilities, and new blessings; but it can also cause fear. There are so many unknowns, possible failures, and perceived dangers.
My own life has been filled with new beginnings. I am the son of a Baptist minister, and we moved a great deal when I was a young man for a variety of reasons, both economic and religious. Later in my own life, my wife Teresa and I served as Catholic missionaries for nearly 13 years across a variety of Latin American countries and communities, often staying in the same house for less than a year. All that movement has taught me that each move, although difficult (and even scary) at times as we say goodbye to some past reality, is also a new chance to meet Jesus on the way.
In the early Church, before we were ever called “Christians,” the followers of Jesus were known simply as those who belonged to “The Way” (Acts 9:2). This identity reminds us that we are a people In Via—on the way. We are travelers, or viators, whose stability isn’t found in the bricks and mortar of a building, but in the path we walk alongside our Lord, often present to us under the guise of a foreigner or stranger.
I love the story of the Emmaus road. Jesus meets Cleopas and his unnamed companion as they are processing their grief and life transition. In that moment, they notice Jesus (although they don’t recognize Him) walking along the way with them and He begins to explain to them the meaning of their lives and cultural story through the lens of His own person. As their hearts are stirred, they invite him into their home, offering him food, drink and shelter. Later, in the context of hospitality to a stranger, Jesus reveals Himself in the breaking of the bread.
The Eucharist only makes sense in the context of a life lived open to an encounter with Jesus in the “foreigners” we meet. In fact, every time we allow ourselves to be challenged and renewed through our encounter with Jesus in the stranger we participate in a “pre-Eucharistic” moment. The breaking of the bread was the result of their hospitality. Had Cleopas and his companion (perhaps his wife Mary, John 19:25) not practiced the virtue of welcoming the stranger on the road, they would have missed the revelation at the table.
John Chrysostom once said, “If the faithful do not encounter Christ in the poor who stand at the door, they will not be able to worship him even at the altar” (emphasis added). When we offer food, drink, and shelter at CSS, we are not just providing social services; we are creating the conditions for a miracle. We are inviting the stranger in, only to discover that the stranger was Christ all along.
In our new building at 124 S. Colorado Rd., Hastings, we aren’t just moving to a more efficient facility; we are creating a space where the “works of mercy” become the bridge that leads people to the “breaking of the bread.” By honoring the dignity of the person in front of us—the stranger in our wilderness—we prepare our own hearts to recognize Jesus when He reveals Himself in our midst.
The new dining room at 124 S. Colorado allows us to share our lives with our neighbors offering them a level of dignity we have long dreamed of providing. Consider the impact of this space through the lens of one of our Open Table clients. While we have always served them with love, the physical constraints of our old space often limited the depth of our encounter. At the new building, we can sit together and exchange life stories, we will have the room to offer the hospitality of Christ in a setting that reflects His own beauty. As we exit our current building and enter 124 S. Colorado, I know I do so with the confidence of one who has seen God provide in every country and every home I have ever lived in.
St. Anne, patroness of movers, pray for us!
We cannot wait to welcome you home March 9!
