One of the great joys of my college experience was taking a class on Flannery O'Connor. One of her best short stories is "The Displaced Person." In it, Ms. McIntyre, who inherited a run-down farm in the rural South in some yesterday, has a few African American workers, which she calls by another designation. She also has Mr. Guizac, a war refugee from Poland, who is the displaced person. Mr. Guizac knows his way around a farm, can fix anything, grow anything, and works like a machine. But he doesn't know anything about American racism. And he regularly crosses the line by treating everyone like they belong. 

Ms. McIntyre decides she cannot have Mr. Guizac upsetting the social order and decides to get rid of him. She knows he's the best worker she's ever had and that he has nowhere else to go. But, she says, "I have no other choice because I don't find myself responsible for all the extra people in the world."

It's a tragedy, she admits. But what can she do? Her priest, Father Flynn, pays her a visit and reminds her that Christ calls us to love our neighbor, including, perhaps, Mr. Guizac. She says, "Father Flynn, as far as I'm concerned, Christ was just another [displaced person.] I'm going to let that man go."

The way O'Connor writes the story, you can't tell if she means Mr. Guizac or Jesus. But the truth is, it doesn't matter. If she lets either of them go, she lets them both go. At least that's what Luke says.

We'll explore what else he says in all services this week as we continue to dive into the unique portrait each Gospel writer paints of Jesus. We'll celebrate our Confirmation Class joining at the 11 a.m. Sanctuary service and enjoy excellent music at all.

Come, and bring a friend.

Warmly,