PODCAST: Auspice Maria Ep 8: Accompanying Others in Faith
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Transcript:
Well, welcome to the Auspice Maria podcast. I'm Bishop James Ruggieri of the Diocese of Portland and Maine. And this week, we'll be talking about walking with others, accompaniment and discipleship. And I'd like to begin with the prayer of the Holy Spirit
In the name of the father and of the son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Come, Holy Spirit. Fill the hearts of your faithful, enkindle in them the fire of your love. Send forth your spirit, and they shall be created, and you shall renew the face of the earth. O God, who taught the hearts of the faithful by the light of the Holy Spirit, grant that by the gift of that same spirit, we may be truly wise and ever rejoice in his consolation through Christ our Lord. Amen.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Accompaniment is a word we often hear today in the church, but obviously it's more than a buzzword. It's a fundamental aspect of our humanity. We are made for relationship and relationship always implies presence. Listening, empathy and walking together.
Long before the term accompaniment became popular in pastoral theology, the story of salvation was a story of accompaniment. Because it is first and foremost the story of a God who walks with his people. As Pope Francis said in Evangelii Gaudium, “The church will have to initiate everyone, priests, religious and laity, into this art of accompaniment, which teaches us to remove our sandals before the sacred. Round of the other. The pace of this accompaniment must be steady and reassuring, reflecting our closeness and our compassionate gaze, which also heals, liberates, and encourages growth in the Christian life.” This is from the paragraph #169 of Evangelii Gaudium, The joy of the Gospel of Pope Francis.
And he, again emphasizing the church has a key role to initiate people. All people, priests, religious and laity, into this art of accompaniment, and I love the image removing our sandals before the sacred ground of the other.
But obviously this is not new. As I said earlier, it is as old as Abraham and more strikingly, we see it in the life of Moses. Moses was not only the great lawgiver, he is a man who accompanied a stiff necked people through their liberation and their long journey of conversion. However, Moses himself had doubts. He resisted his calling. In Exodus 3 and 4, we find Moses arguing, maybe that's a strong word but, bargaining with God at the burning bush, saying to God, “who am I that I should go to Pharaoh?”
He questions his own ability to speak and to lead. He even says, “please Lord, send someone else.”
The Exodus text explains that God responds, yes, with anger over Moses fears and self doubt. However, God, ever compassionate, ever merciful. Urging Moses to trust in him, provides for Moses his brother Aaron, to speak on his behalf to assuage his fear.
The call of Moses is also deeply relational. In this exchange between God and Moses, God reveals his name. “I am who am” in Exodus 3 verse 14. This moment is not just theological, it's personal. God is not distant or detached. He is the one who sees the suffering of his people and he comes down to deliver them. He invites Moses to participate in that mission as leader; and Moses, although initially reluctant, accepts the mission and we see him enter deeply into the lives of his people.
In the book of Numbers, Chapter 11, the people complain about the mana. They missed the meat and vegetables of Egypt. They cry out. “If only we had meat for food.”
Their complaint is more than about food, though it is really about trust. They long for the predictability of slavery rather than the uncertainty of freedom. This might seem quite confusing and even unbelievable. But the safety of predictability found in their previous situation of slavery in Egypt for them, at that moment is really more comforting than the uncertainty of the freedom that awaits them in the promised land.
Moses is exasperated and he turns to the Lord. “Why do you treat your servant” (meaning himself) “so badly? Did I conceive all this people? I am not able to carry all this people alone” from numbers 11 versus 11 to 14.
This moment, this dialogue of Moses. With God is full of vulnerability. Moses brings not only the people's complaints, but also his own weariness before God. And God answers by appointing 70 elders to share the burden.
Even accompaniment has limits. We are not saviors. We need help. True accompaniment includes forming others to carry the mission.
In Exodus Chapter 17, the people complain again, this time about water. “Why did you bring us out of Egypt to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” Moses again cries out to the Lord. “What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me.” Again, God responds with mercy, providing water from the rock. But the incident reveals how accompaniment often places the leader in tension between the people and God. Moses becomes a bridge, sometimes strained and weary, tested and tried, but nonetheless a bridge.
One of the most powerful examples of this is. Exodus 32, the incident of the Golden Calf. While Moses is on the mountain receiving the law, the people grow impatient. He's up there for a long time. They demand an idol. Moses’ brother Aaron. In a very surprising fashion, crafts the golden calf. And the people worship it. God is furious, he tells Moses, “now let me alone so that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them.” But Moses pleads, “Turn from your burning wrath. Change your mind about punishing your people.” Moses reminds God of his promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and he goes further. “Now, if you would only forgive their sin. But if you will not then blot me out of the book that you have written.” From Exodus 32, verse 32.
This is the height of intercession. Moses, the leader, the intercessor, the shepherd of his people, puts himself on the line for the people here. He embodies so beautifully, the priestly role, not in offering sacrifices, but in offering himself. And God listens. “Only the one who has sinned against me will I blot out of my Book” the Lord says in response to Moses pleading. “Now go and leave the people where I have told you.” God continues, “See, my Angel will go before you. When it is time for me to punish, I'll punish them for their sin.”
He says he will not destroy all the people and again that is largely because of what Moses did for his people interceding for them. God's justice prevails. However, God's mercy prevails, we could say, even more powerfully. God renews the covenant. God continues the journey with his people.
Under the leadership of Moses. However, again, reflecting more in this moment Moses's willingness to be blotted out points forward, in a way, to Paul's Saint Paul the Apostle, great missionary, St. Paul's anguished love for his people.
In Paul's letter to the Romans in Chapter 9 verses one to three, Paul writes. “I speak the truth in Christ. I do not lie. My conscience joins with the Holy Spirit and bearing thee witness that I have great sorrow and constant anguish in my heart. For, I could wish that I myself were cursed and separated from Christ for the sake of my brothers. My kin according to the flesh.”
Now this is not mere rhetoric from Paul. It is the outcry of a heart bound to his people, his community, the Jewish people. Paul, once a Pharisee, outstanding in practice and nature but now an apostle, loves Israel so deeply that he would sacrifice even his own salvation if it could save them.
This is profound. It is the mark of one who walks with people, not merely teaches them, but weeps with them. True discipleship is not academic. It is sacrificial love and all of this prepares the way for the incarnation. The accompaniment of Moses and Paul is, we could say, but a shadow of the full reality. In Jesus, God walks with us. Not from above, but from within.
We hear those beautiful words of John's gospel, chapter one, verse 14. “The word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.”
I’d like to just pause for a moment on that powerful phrase from the Gospel of John. “And the word became flesh and dwelt among us.”
The Greek word for “dwelt” here doesn't simply mean to live or to reside in the abstract. It really comes from the root Greek word, which means “to pitch a tent or to encamp.” And you can translate this and say, “He, God, pitched his tent among us in Jesus.”
Now this is not casual language, it's not simply poetic, flowery. It really draws directly from the Old Testament imagery of the Tabernacle. The portable tent where the Ark of the Covenant was kept and God's glory dwelled among the Israelites during their long journey through the wilderness.
Exodus Chapter 33 tells us that God would speak with Moses face to face in that tent, as one speaks to a friend. So when John says that the Word dwelt among us, he is telling us that in Jesus, God has once again pitched his tent in our midst. Not metaphorically, but actually, physically, bodily—God has entered our camp, our wilderness, our journey.
And really, this is the climax of accompaniment. God does not remain distant. He takes on flesh and blood. He walks with us. He listens to our doubts, like He did with Thomas. He teaches us truth, like on the road to Emmaus. And He breaks bread with us in Emmaus—and amazingly so, today in every Eucharist.
So the incarnation isn't just a theological event, it's a tent-pitching moment. A God-moving-into-our-neighborhood moment. A declaration that we are not alone. And if the God of the universe would pitch His tent and walk among us, then how can we do any less for each other?
I'd like to look more deeply for a moment at the Emmaus account found in Luke Chapter 24. It's Easter Sunday. The two disciples are walking away from Jerusalem. They are broken, confused, and full of grief. Jesus comes near and walks with them. But they don't recognize Him. He listens to their pain. And they say, "We had hoped that He was the one to redeem Israel." Again, those words reflecting deep pain, sorrow and disappointment, found in Luke Chapter 24, verse 21.
However, then—amazingly so, and compassionately and beautifully so—Jesus, beginning with Moses and all the prophets, explains the Scriptures. Their hearts begin to burn. However, they still do not fully understand. It is only when He breaks bread with them does the veil lift. Their eyes are opened and they recognize Him.
Now this is not just a nice post-resurrection story. It is really, in many ways, a model for accompaniment. He begins with presence—Jesus walking with them. It includes listening—letting them speak their sorrow. Then comes teaching—offering clarity and truth. Finally, breaking bread—entering into communion.
But really, how do we live this art of accompaniment practically? What does walk, listen, teach, break bread look like in real life? Well, let's break this down for a moment.
"Walk" means go where people are. Be present in ordinary spaces. For example, a teacher who lingers after class to talk with his or her students. A priest—parish priest—who takes time to visit the homes of his parishioners. A friend who sits beside someone in the hospital, keeping simply quiet, peaceful vigil with that person. Walking really means showing up for others.
"Listen." This means suspending judgment, letting others speak. For example, the parent who listens to their teenager’s crisis without jumping to fix it. The spiritual director who hears a penitent’s confusion with compassion. Listening builds trust.
Teach. This means speaking the truth with love. Once the door of the heart is open, we offer the Gospel not as a hammer, but as healing. We share Scripture, connecting people's experiences with God’s promises. For example, the catechist who, with great conviction, gently explains the Eucharist to his or her students. The friend who shares their testimony with another friend in a moment, perhaps, of great vulnerability.
And then finally, breaking bread. This could involve, for example, inviting someone to Mass—to come with you to Mass. Maybe on a parish level, your parish can offer an occasional community meal, really with no agenda other than for fellowship. Or perhaps the parish could host a potluck for those who are seeking. Breaking bread is sacramental and also very relational.
So accompaniment is not a technique. It is a way of life rooted in humility. As Numbers Chapter 12, verse 3 says, "Now the man Moses was very humble, more than anyone else on Earth." Humility makes space for others. Humility silences our egos, allowing us to truly serve, to truly be present to others.
To accompany well, we must ourselves be accompanied. This is important. Let Christ walk with you. Let Him teach you. Listen to you. Feed you. Then you will have something real to offer others.
Who has walked with you? Who needs you now? What is one step, perhaps, you can take today to become more present, more attentive, more loving?
Accompaniment is not about getting people to a destination. It’s about being a companion on the way and pointing to the One who walks with all of us, even to the end of the age.
Perhaps to conclude, some reflection questions for us to think about, pray with, in the private quiet of our hearts with the Lord:
Who accompanied me in my journey of faith?
What does their presence and example mean to me?
How is God inviting me to accompany someone in my life right now—through presence, listening, teaching, or sharing life?
I'd like to close with this prayer, inviting us again just to be open and receptive to the Spirit:
Lord Jesus Christ, you are the Way, the Truth, and the Life. You walked with your disciples, listened to their hearts, and revealed the Father's love through word and deed. Help me to follow your example: to walk humbly with others, to listen with compassion, to speak the truth with love, and to share in the breaking of bread that nourishes faith. Send me forth as a faithful companion on the journey—rooted in your presence, guided by your Spirit, and always pointing to you, our hope and salvation. Amen.
And again, entrusting this all to our Blessed Mother, putting it all under her loving maternal protection, I pray:
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.
