Every time we gather for Mass, something sacred happens. Not just on the altar, but among us. We arrive from different streets and stories, carrying joy and worry, hope and heaviness, and yet, here we are, together. In this space, no one stands alone.
Naaman knew what it was to stand apart. In the first reading, this powerful man, respected, admired, and yet afflicted, discovers that healing isn’t found in status or strength, but in surrender. Only when he humbles himself, dipping seven times into the Jordan’s muddy waters, does he find new life. His skin is cleansed, yes, but his heart is, too. He’s restored not only to health but to relationship, to belonging.
And in the Gospel, ten lepers cry out to Jesus from a distance. Like Naaman, they know what it is to live apart from their community. Yet Jesus doesn’t turn away. He sends them on a journey, and as they go, they are healed. Still, only one returns, and it’s the Samaritan, the outsider, who recognizes true healing leads to thanksgiving, that gratitude is what brings us home. His faith doesn’t just cleanse him, it connects him, face to face, heart to heart, with Christ.
Paul’s words in 2 Timothy remind us that this is the heart of our faith: “If we have died with him, we shall also live with him.” Even from a prison cell, Paul sees what Naaman and the Samaritan learned: God’s mercy can’t be chained, and God’s love keeps reaching for us, inviting us back into communion, back into community, back home.
I’ll never forget the first time I walked into St. Katharine Drexel Church, one of Boston’s few Black Catholic parishes. The greeter handed me a missal and a music sheet and said, “Welcome home.” My heart stopped. I got chills. I felt seen, not just by that greeter, but by the community, by Christ himself. During the Sign of Peace, people crossed pews to welcome me. That parish would become my home, the place I served as a deacon, where my call deepened into ordained ministry. That radical welcome wasn’t born of a special moment; it was the heartbeat of that community, every Sunday.
That’s what Together Sunday is about. Not just filling pews, but living that same welcome every week. Because we are the Church: the people who open doors, who make healing possible, who remind each other that we are all children of God.
At St. Xavier Church, the table is wide, the welcome is real, and there’s room for everyone.
Because together, we are whole. Together, we are Church.
