A transcript of the Taizé homily given by David Kucharski, on November 15, 2009:

 Sometimes Jesus really scares me.

I wonder if any of you have the same feeling--certain Gospel stories leave me with a lump in the pit of my stomach because what Jesus says, or asks, is so intimidating.

We heard one of those stories earlier this fall. It's from Mark, chapter 10, verses 17-22:

As Jesus was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, "Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" Jesus said to him, "Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: 'You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your father and mother.'" He said to him, "Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth." Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, "You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me." When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

This story makes me uneasy each time I hear it. I think it's because I can imagine myself as that man, approaching Jesus and being given that imposing request. Would I do as the man does and turn away? And would Jesus judge me harshly for doing so?

I'm a therapist by profession, and I frequently tell my clients that when they are intimidated by something, they should resist the impulse to turn away but rather should look closely and see if there's a way to make it less frightening. We therapists are notorious for not taking our own advice, but this time, when preparing this reflection, I did. I looked closely at that Jesus story and here is what I discovered.

One important thing I noticed is that Jesus asks the man to do two things: not only to sell his possessions and give the money to the poor, but also to follow Jesus. Most preaching I've heard about this story focuses on the first request, and there is an important stewardship lesson there. I believe all of us are called to share what we have with those who have less.

But for a moment I'm going to leave aside Jesus' first request of the man to focus on the second request: "Follow me." Now that is a frightening thought--to leave behind what we know, what's familiar and comfortable, and to journey in a new direction, to begin a new life.

Yet how many of us have done just that? I'm guessing that many of us are not originally from DC--we were raised in some other part of the country but school or work brought us here. And how many of us have left behind the churches where we were raised, not only individual parishes but maybe whole religious traditions, to come here to worship at St. Thomas? Isn't it fair to say we did so in response to Jesus' request, "Follow me"?

For me, there have been particular periods when Jesus' invitation to "come, follow me" particularly spoke to me. About 15 years ago I was living in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, a decent-sized Midwest town of about 110,000, which is where I was raised. I was employed doing development work for my alma mater, The University of Iowa, which was an interesting job with lots of fun and stimulating people.

But something was missing. On reflection, I realized that there were lots of people who could do that same job--it wasn't drawing any special gifts or passions out of me. And during moments of prayer I felt a restlessness, a longing to be doing something that meant more directly serving God and other people.

At the Catholic parish I attended at that time, people had occasionally commented that they thought I would make a good priest. I had given some thought to that idea. But what I felt mostly was fear: pursuing the priesthood would mean leaving my home and my job, leaving the town where I had grown up and where most of my immediate family still lived.

So I wrestled with the decision for some months. Until finally, in one moment of prayer I asked Jesus the question, "If I say yes to this decision about priesthood, will you be with me to support me?" And the answer I received was "Yes."

So I left my job, moved out of my apartment, and--in my early 30s--started my priesthood studies. After a few years they led me here to DC, where I was to do Master's work in theology. All told, I spent four years in the seminary.

There were things I liked about seminary, including the opportunities to do one-on-one ministry and also being part of a wonderful, caring community of students. But over time, the things I didn't like about seminary--the politics, the secrets, the feeling I was not cut out to be a sacramental minister--seemed to be weighing more heavily. So once again I was faced with a decision: should I continue in the path I was taking or, with Jesus' help, strike out for something new?

In January of my second year of theology studies I went on a retreat where I had one primary question to pose to Jesus: "What do you want me to do?" And over the course of that week the answer came back clearly: "David, I want you to make up your own mind."

I elected to leave seminary but wanted to stay here in DC and continue doing one-on-one service with people. It took a few more years to discern how to do that, but eventually I completed a Master's in Social Work and have been employed for the past three years as a therapist at a non-profit agency, serving low-income people who have diagnoses of chronic mental illness. It's challenging work but I love it--it feels like I've found the calling that I started searching for so many years ago.

I'd like to return now to the story of Jesus and the wealthy man. As you'll recall, I pointed out that Jesus asked two things of the man: to sell his possessions and give the money to the poor, and to follow Jesus. As I think back to the time I entered seminary, I recall I did sell a number (though not all!) of my possessions, and yes, I did give the money away. And at present, working for a non-profit, I have consciously decided to forego the larger salaries of some of my private-practice colleagues, although when compared to my clients' my income is generous enough.

But as I reflect on the Gospel story I also realize that selling one's possessions, while it does benefit others, is not only an end in itself. Instead, the larger point seems to me to be having the willingness to let go of whatever it is that holds us in place and prevents us from following Jesus. For the man in the story--and Jesus seemed to sense it--it was his possessions. For me, it was largely fear: fear of leaving family, hometown and the comfort of the familiar to go somewhere I never had lived before.

If people had told me 15 years ago that one day I would be living in DC and working as a therapist for individuals with mental illness, I would have thought they were (and my clients would forgive the use of this word) crazy. But today I'm happier and more fulfilled than I ever have been before. And that to me is the best sign that I'm following Jesus' will.

Before I close, I'd like to point out one more element of the Gospel story. When Jesus hears that the man has followed the commandments since his youth, the story says, Jesus looks at him and loves him. Jesus seems to be saying to the man, if you do what I ask, you will not be doing it alone. You will have my love to guide and strengthen you.

As I look back over my own journey, I recognize that I did not arrive here on my own, either. Each time I felt scared or wondered "Can I do this?", I realized that Jesus was guiding and strengthening me, too. And the reason he did so--and continues to do so--is love.