"Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” Did this sound as extraordinary to the ears of the weary disciples as it does to our warp-speed world? Is this balm to the soul of weary ministers? A divinely-sanctioned vacation, which, like many of our vacations, seems only to last until the next need surfaces!

Jesus cared about these men and women as human beings—not just those to whom he had entrusted his mission, but all the folks. He cared for their weary bodies, he cared about their empty tummies, and he cared about the deep cares and hungers that weighed down their bodies and spirits.

When I ponder the demanding realities that David Seljak and Con O’Mahony set before us in the last three issues of Celebrate!, and of which so many contributors speak in this issue, I can’t help but think of this figure of Jesus, so prominent in the readings of these months.

I think, too, of the commuters who are too tired to get involved in the faith community; of the parents and grandparents who must ferry their children from one activity to the next all weekend. I think of the folks who must work on Sunday. And these days my thoughts turn frequently to the people who no longer have a job, and to the communities that have lost whole industries, where people are looking at a bleak future. I can’t help but recall the pensioners whose retirement savings have eroded with the recession. And then there are the people who struggle with the pain of a failed or failing marriage, and the others who live with addictions. Some people live with violence or emotional abuse. Others live in a war zone—which is sometimes just down the street, not across an ocean. Young and old alike have lost people they love: sometimes to devastating disease, sometimes to suicide, sometimes to the ravages of age or tragic accidents. Mental illnesses, which often are invisible to the untrained eye, sap others of creativity and energy. And I imagine Jesus encountering them. I see the gentleness; I hear the concern in his voice, the deep compassion. Still today, he asks, “Where are we going to find bread to feed these people?”

“Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” I imagine Jesus issuing this invitation to all these people—and, simultaneously, a challenge to us, for we are called to be sacraments of him, of his compassion, his heart—and his whole way of acting. Such an encounter with Jesus is not first about doctrine and laws, but about a relationship of which doctrine and laws are but expressions. It’s about profound hospitality, truly humanizing hospitality, that makes us realize how hungry we have been, and at the same time, gives us a taste of what really satisfies us. It’s about enabling people to encounter Jesus, so that they can be drawn into relationship with him. This encounter comes first—something that we tend to forget or neglect. Establishing these relationships is nothing short of evangelisation. In these connections people meet the living, risen Jesus.

Reginald Bibby, the Canadian sociologist who studies religious trends here, points out that most Catholics don’t leave the church for another Christian community. Our absent brothers and sisters keep their affiliation, but it lies dormant. He suggests that we might awaken it with a simple, Jesus-type question, “What do you need from us?”

It’s a risky question. But in his conversations throughout the gospels Jesus has set the standard for this kind of risk. Jesus engages fearlessly and with great compassion with everyone who’s suffering, from the leper to the prostitute to the tax collector, to the bleeding and excommunicated woman, to the little kid, to the brave soldier who’s been undone by his child’s illness.

“What do you need from us?” Imagine some of the responses: mercy for stupidity that has hurt others deeply … understanding for marriages gone bad. Longing for a place to call home when difference marks you out for alienation or bullying. Food for a soul hungry for meaning. Joy in a time of hard lessons learned only by experience. A decent house to make into a home. Dignity. Forgiveness. Healing. Hope. The touch of a hand that gives life and peace. A community where we’re loved even in imperfection—especially in our imperfection. If you don’t believe that these are the deepest cries of our contemporaries, just go to www.theshackbook.com/forums/, the interactive part of the website of Wm. Paul Young’s unexpected bestseller, The Shack. One line is stunning: “Hurting and imperfect people welcome here.” When I visited, it had 5577 posts. What would our parishes be like if that sign hung outside of every church, and if every community lived that invitation? Just maybe the folks who can’t make time for “church” would find that it was worth their time and effort to get there.

It’s consoling to remember that Jesus didn’t gather round him the perfect; yet too often both lay and ordained ministers labour under expectations of perfection (or long, long hours, limitless energy, unshared sorrows or family crises). As we welcome those imperfect people, let’s welcome each other with the same compassion, hospitality, forgiveness, and nourishment that Jesus offered to his first followers. His invitation is for us, too: “Come away and rest awhile.” And take The Shack with you. You won’t regret it.

Bernadette Gasslein