It's every writer's nightmare, one that I have had repeatedly through my decades in advertising to my decade in ministry. Of all the things that could happen to me, or someone I love, it's the blank page that is the most terrifying.

What do I have to say? And who cares to read it? This has been the argument looping in my head these last few weeks. I could blame it on the global pandemic and the isolation I've been experiencing lately.

I am used to having conversations with strangers that often feed the blank page with words. Now, I only have myself to meet. I am the stranger - one of a different ilk.

And no matter how hard I try to resist it, the page will not starve itself to death. It waits patently for me to give it a noun, a verb, an adjective or somekind of pronoun, modifier, or puncuation mark.

This is as far as I have gotten. ​

I'm looking and searching for something, anything, to write about. ​All I have right now is the contents of my desk.

What was once a table in someone elses dining room is now my desk. Only there are no plates or dirty spoons or even a glass half filled with water. It is, however, cluttered. And the leftover contents consists of billions of words from other people who while sitting around some other table they spoke and listened to tales and fables and boring snipets of life. In each one of these books, there is something said, something to add to the conversation.

Nestled among the unused pens and pencils are books with titles like "God Knows" and "Man's Search for Meaning" and "The Art of Living." On the cover of a journal I abandoned at the begining of this pandemic it is written, "Okay fine, I'm grateful." There's so much to be said about that, not to mention all the content previously written inside it.

In front of me is a book called the "Gospel According to Peanuts" which is filled with words from one man and cartoons from another. It's a collaboration between someone people know very well and someone not many have ever heard from. Yet they both had something worth saying that it got written down and published. Next to this book is a book on the TV show Modern Family that captures all the "wit and wisdom from America's favorite family" as it was written by a group of other people who are not the people in the show.

The books that taunt me the most have titles like "The Message" which is one man's translations of many other's words that have passed down from eras and times long ago. And a more modern work entitled, "Yes, And..." which calls out to me to play along. Each written by two contemporaries who culled through the volumes of life to find just the right thing to put down to paper. The kind of immortality I only dream of.

The art work on the walls, the hand carved sculpture and stereo speakers all have something to say. A sheet of paper filled with banjo chords that speaks a different kind of language speaks to me. But I am mute.

​If that wasn’t bad enough, there’s even a unopened box with an Amazon Echo Dot inside it. Ask it anything and it too will fill the blank space with an endless supply of inspiration.

As for me, inside my head space is silence. I feel boxed up, unopen, ignored as if someone has yet to take the time to set me up. I can't help but wonder if it's because my sheet of instructions is blank.

Buried among the clutter on my desk is an index card where I once wrote, "This is what I want you to do." It's in my hand writing but it's signed, "God." As I stare at this blank sheet of paper, in all its emptiness of white, my heart drops. Today, I don't know what the "what" is in what I am to do.

And so I sit and stare at the swirling pastel colored cover designed by the late, great Dr. Seuss who tells me "Oh, The Places You Will Go!" If only I had written down exactly where I needed to go I probably wouldn't be in this predicament.

​

I’m not sure that I’ve shared this yet with you all, but ever since COVID closed down my gym, I’ve been running three times a week. I’m not telling you to brag. Although I am proud of this accomplishment.

I will admit, this wasn’t easy at first. In the beginning, I could barely make to the end of the block without cramping up. It turns out I’m was better at running out of breath than actual running. But I didn’t give up. Instead I committed to taking the next step forward. I’m happy to say that same block only hurts me on my way home. 
 
Don’t get the wrong impression, I still frequently stopped to catch my breath.It usually happens around the time my lungs or knees are about to give out. I also know that if I am going to reach my goal, then I’m going to need to take a moment to catch my breath every now and then. It’s good for us to pause, to take those moments to slow down, so we don’t burn ourselves out.  

Science agrees. Rest is important. It reduces stress, inflammation and heart disease. It restores mental energy and creativity. And if you’re the type of person who likes to work out, rest helps restore muscles. My kids know this. They've been using the pandemic as an opportunity to spend more time with their pillows. When I get upset that they are wasting away the day in bed, they are also quick to point out that most religions require a day of rest. 
 
Of the nearly 700 laws in the Old Testament, taking a day of rest made it on the top ten. So, It’s that important. The Hebrew word is – sabbath. A day God expects us to take off from work so we can enjoy the fruits of our labor. This rest was meant for you, your family, your workers, and even your animals. God also commanded us to let our land go fallow every seventh year in order to restore its health and fertility. 
 
All of this might seem like a foreign concept in a busy culture that takes pride in working around the clock. If it weren’t for holiday weekends sprinkled into our calendars, would we ever catch our breath?  I find it a bit ironic that COVID-19 has forced us to slow down while at the same time made most of us more exhausted.
 
Let me ask you this. Are you tired of living in the fear of getting sick? Are you worn out from the flood of depressing news that’s out there? Are you feeling fatigued from all the political divisiveness, or the angry arguments you’ve had to endure? Are you tired of struggling to get ahead or keep your head above water?  Are you exhausted from keeping up appearances or putting on a brave face? Are you overworked? Over stressed? Or simply over it all?

If so, listen carefully. Jesus has something to tell you. It comes from Matthew 11:28-30. ​

If you ask me, this is one of the best bits of advice in the entire bible. Of course, what Jesus is talking here is tied to a much greater story in Matthew’s gospel. And I don’t often like taking a small slice of scripture out of its context. But sometimes we have to let the Bible speak to us, where we are, if it’s really going to do what it’s supposed to do. 
 
In the modern translation from the Message, this passage begins with Jesus asking, “Are you tired? Worn out? Burnt out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life.” That is music to my ears. Ministers are often the first to get burnt out on religion. If you are physically, mentally or even spiritually exhausted, Jesus has your remedy.  
 
He knows how exhausting it is to be human. He knows what struggle and hard labor feel like to tired muscles. He knows what doubt and anguish can do to one’s mental health. And the toll that a corrupt system can take on a person’s well-being.

Jesus knows what you’re dealing with. He’s been there, done that. Which is why he’s offering you a solution – a teaching, a way of living to help you reclaim your life. He’s inviting you to find yourself again in Him. “Come to me. Bring me your burdens. I will give you rest.”
 
I invite you to think about this: What are the burdens you’re still carrying? Some shame or guilt over something you did – something hurtful that ended a relationship?

Maybe it was something you didn’t do when you should have. That weight can be just as heavy to carry. Maybe something happened to you, a past mistake or regret that’s too hard to deal with. There are so many burdens we carry. The stress alone is enough to kill you.
 
Jesus is calling. Offering you just what you’re in need of so you can live life abundantly. What is it that he is offering? A yoke. By that I don't mean he's offering you the high cholesterol yellow blob inside an egg. Or that heavy wooden contraption that hangs over the shoulders of oxen. The yoke Jesus is talking about is something completely different. 
 
As Rob Bell explains so well, in an ancient Judaism, like today, it’s the responsibility of the rabbi to study scripture and interpret it in a way that people could understand what God was saying to them about how to live faithfully to God’s words.

Different rabbis had different ways of interpreting Scripture. Each rabbi had different sets of rules of what people could and could not do. That set of rules on how to live out a particular interpretation of the Torah, was known as a Rabbi’s yolk.

To follow a rabbi meant you believed his interpretation and lived it out by taking up his yoke. Most rabbis taught a yoke of a well-respected Rabbi who had come before them. Yet every once in a while, a rabbi would come along teaching a new yoke, a new way of interpreting the Torah [Bell, 2005]. 
 
Enter Jesus, who didn’t just interpret God’s word, but lived it perfectly. He was, as John describe him, the very Word of God. 

watch service here

If you are burnt out on the life that you are living, Jesus is inviting you to walk with him and watch how he does things. He said, “Come to me” and “Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.” He promises not to “lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you.” Jesus is the way, you might say, to the right way of living into God’s righteousness. And thus, into God’s peace.
 
This text wants us to believe that following Jesus is easy. In many case it is, and many cases it is not. What we need to remember is what Jesus offers us isn’t freedom from work but having real work to do.  God’s work.

The easy yoke Jesus offers calls out to anyone who wants to see God's Kingdom realized. It teaches us a way to put God’s love, mercy and grace at the center of everything we say and do. I can honestly say, following Jesus’ yoke is not exhausting like running, instead exhilarating, life giving, true God worshipping.
 
Jesus said, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls.” That is his promise. However, to accept the yoke of the gentle and humble Lord means answering God’s call to embrace a life of work that puts the soul at ease.

What that means for us today is exactly what it meant when Jesus first invited his disciples to follow him. That is to say, to go out into the world and be his yoke. Go out and be the visible presence of God’s love wherever you are. In being peace makers you find your peace. In blessing the meek and the poor, you find yourself and your true worth in God’s Kingdom.
 
Take what the Apostles did for example. They took Jesus’ yoke and built the church. They became the visible body of Christ – teaching his way by living it. Yet sadly, somewhere along the way the church forgot the yoke of their humble teacher. Choosing instead to take up the yoke of the world.
 
Richard Rohr often says, “The Christian tradition became so concerned with making Jesus into its God and making sure everybody believed that Jesus was God that it often ignored his very practical and clear teachings.”

One needs to look no further than to those Christians who are willing to sell their vote in exchange for political favors. I don't recall Jesus ever doing that, do you? When did he ever put his needs, wants or desires above someone else?
 
Joseph Pagano warned his post-Apartheid church in South Africa, “We must guard against turning Jesus into someone or something he is not. He is not a commodity that we distribute to consumers. He is not a professor of political theory. He is not a modern therapist.” I would add, Jesus is not ours to exploit, but only to follow. 
 
Jesus says, “Come to me.” And when we go to him, we find our peace and rest in him. For he is the personification of God’s love in the world. He is the incarnate One, the Anointed One, our Emmanuel, God with us. He is our rabbi, our teacher, our savior who saves us from ourselves.
 
He is calling us to be with him. It’s in our going, in our commitment to take that next step, that we learn that Jesus is the One who teaches the way of God and shows us how to live it in our daily lives.

​His yoke is easy. His burden is light. It is not dominated by doctrine or dogma. But can be taught with a single word: Love. It’s what is, what has been, and what always will be. Love is who God is, Love is who Jesus is, and love is who we are meant to be.
 
On this day of sabbath rest, I encourage you to stop for a moment and listen to what Jesus is saying to your heart in these words. Give him your burdens and learn his way of gentleness and peace. Free yourself from all that stuff that has weighed you down  - any shame, guilt or past mistakes you have made.
 
Give yourself over to him, put on his yoke, his way of living God’s truth in the world and see how it fits. Be the love that Jesus has given freely to you. Be that for yourself and for one another. And you will find rest for your weary soul.
 
 
Works Cited
Bartlett, David L. and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds. Feasting on the Word Year A, Vol. 3. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2011.
Bell, Rob. Velvet Elvis. New York: Harper One, 2005.
Pagano, Joseph S. Come To Me. 06 29, 2020. episcopalchurch.org/library/sermon/come-me-pentecost-5-july-5-2020 (accessed 07 03, 2020).
Rohr, Richard. Yes, And. cincinnati: Franciscan Media, 2013.

I’ve decided that 2020 is the year of taking two steps forward to get knocked four steps back. We need to rely on God now more than ever to pick us back up and send us on our way. But there are days when as I lay on the ground and wonder...if God is coming.
 
This sentiment is as old as time. Thousands of years ago, an ancient poet put these words to paper. And they’ve been passed on through the generations in the book of psalms. Psalm 13 is a heartfelt cry that opens with this lament, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” 
 
Do you ever feel this way? Abandoned by God? Left alone to suffer with the pandemic and political unrest? Have you ever thought that maybe God has forgotten us? Maybe just walked away for good? 
 
How much longer, Lord? As this question echos in my heart, I hear the faint, tender voice of Jesus answering my pleas.
 
Our reading from Matthew’s gospel, concludes the instructions Jesus gives the Twelve before they go out on their first mission trip. You might recall the previous instructions to from two weeks ago: Go heal the sick and cast out demons, take nothing with you, rely on the goodness of others, be careful of those who aren’t good. Read all of Matthew 10 to get a complete list.  

Today, Jesus concludes in a way that I believe speaks volumes to the discipleship of the church. We who are called to give are also called to receive. Read Matthew 10:40-42.

Emerging from this text is the theological idea of compassionate welcome. It’s no surprise why. In these three short but powerful verses Jesus uses the word “welcome” six times; pointing us to the importance of hospitality in furthering God’s Kingdom of love and grace. This is the goal of the church, and for anyone who accepts to follow Jesus. 
 
Yet there still are so many who are too afraid or simply unwilling to truly welcome all people in the name of Christ. You might have been a part such a church, or perhaps you have been rejected by one. If so, I hope this message speaks to you. Today, we are going to look at what it mean to welcome someone with the same compassion that Jesus gives to us.  
 
The first point I'd like to make is: 
We must be like Jesus and approach one another and every situation with a God-filled heart. 

As Emilie Townes notes, this is where “genuine human relationships emerge.” Whether they are close, loving relationships or distant, occasional ones, with God at the center of our welcome “we’ll find our rich rewards.” 
 
On Wednesday, I had everything in order and ready to go to refinance the house. But when our lender began the process, we discovered that Wells Fargo had put a forbearance against our house – a precautionary measure made at the beginning of the pandemic.  

After being on hold for an hour with the bank, Kathleen and I decided to go there in person. The young man who greeted us was eager to help, but honestly, I was not eager to accept him. I was angry, frustrated and had little compassion in my heart. So, I let Kathleen do the talking. She’s the diplomat in these kind of situations. Better able to see the divine in others, when I can’t.
 
Kathleen knew it wasn’t this man’s fault. He didn’t mess up our refi...someone at the corporate office did. By this small understanding, she was able to enter into the conversation with a Christ-soaked heart. A heart with God at the center. Despite his best efforts to remedy the situation, Kathleen and I left - with me still angry and frustrated but her quietly calm and at peace. 
 
By placing God at the center of this ordinary, albeit unwanted situation, Kathleen knew God was working it out. And by the next morning, everything was good to go; the forbearance had been removed. No matter how big or small a situation might seem if God is in the middle of it, so too is God’s compassion and power. This is our reward.
 
Which takes me to the second point: 
We must practice our compassionate welcome all the time, no matter what. 
 
I’m not saying you have to always do grand heroic acts of mercy, or put yourself in harms way. All God wants is for to act, to do something that helps the other. Jesus said it’s as simple as giving someone a drink of cold water.
 
As Marcea Paul observed while most of us prefer to be the heroic quarterback, Jesus leans his heart towards the water-boy. She reminds us that a God-centered life of faith is made up of many small gestures of love. Yet, according to Jesus, every gesture is large. And eternally significant. 
 
Two days ago, while Colleen was out walking the dog, she passed a guy working in our neighbor’s yard – a day laborer who was sweating profusely, and fatigued from the monotony of hauling dirt from the yard to a dumpster. His hat was his only source of shade from the hot sun. 
 
Colleen noticing how thirsty he looked, and having no clue what I was preaching on today, ran home and got the man two bottles of water and a big plastic cup filled with ice. While I wasn’t there to see it, I can only imagine how surprised and grateful the man was to receive such a thoughtful gift.

Jesus knew that a cup of cold water is one of the smallest of gifts - one almost anyone could give. Yet, it’s precious – even life giving – to the person who is really thirsty.  The smallest of acts done in love. 
 
It happens every time you say good morning to a neighbor or check in on a friend who lives alone. It might not seem like much but it’s amazing how powerful it can be for the one receiving that gift from you. When we put God at the center at everything we do, then everything we do becomes a holy act.
 
Which leads me to my third and final point: 
Our righteousness is intimately tied to how we show compassionate welcome towards one another, especially those who are most vulnerable among us. 
 
Jesus made this perfectly clear in his final parable in Matthew’s gospel – the parable of the Sheep and the Goats. In that parable, Jesus reminds us that the way we treat others is, ultimately, representative of our response toward him. This links directly to our reading today with Jesus declaring, “Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me and the One who sent me.” 
 
To follow Jesus is to live into his way of  righteousness – which is to say God’s way of righteousness – giving water to the thirsty, food to the hungry, justice to those who are oppressed and imprisoned. You don’t have to turn on the news to see that people in the world are hurting. Men and women, kids and grandkids are suffering in our country, in our communities and on our streets. How we show the love and grace of God in the world matters. It has eternal consequences. 
 
As followers of Christ, we are called to promote compassionate welcome like he did. This requires us to trust God, to be vulnerable, and to share what we have with one another ... if for no other reason when we welcome the stranger, we welcome Christ and the One who sent him.
 
To borrow again from Marcea Paul, “Our efforts to welcome and love others are important because Jesus sees it and receives it as worship.” Like I spoke of last week, this is how we are to be as a church, to be as a people who dares to call Jesus our Lord and to make this world holy through the simplest gestures of compassion and kindness. 
 
After a decade off from religion, I found myself back in a church – one that was filled mostly with men who had been denied or forced out of other churches because they were gay. The moment I walked through the front door I was quickly greeted by an overwhelming sense of God’s Spirit. And a lot of kind, authentic faces.

It was refreshing to see a church so welcoming and inviting to me, a nervous stranger. It’s something, I am sad to say, that I hadn’t really experienced in a church. Which was probably why I stopped going.
 
After a few more visits, I decided to partake in the Eucharist. An experience I don’t remember doing as a child. And only did so because the priest invited everyone to “taste and see that the Lord is good.” From the altar the priest explained that in this church no one would be denied a chance to receive Christ’s love.

Love which was fully alive in the bread and cup ... just as it was alive in the hearts of every person kneeling at the altar rail and in every priest dutifully serving. To experience my first communion with a community built on such compassionate welcome ... moved me to tears. Literally. 
 
By the time I got back to my seat, I was sobbing. Yet I felt no shame or embarrassment; only an overwhelming sense of God’s love engulfing me. Love that was made manifest to me in a woman named Judy who moved closer to hold my hand. And in a man named Jose who wrapped his arm around me and allowed me cry into his shoulder.

Here we were, three strangers with God in the center of our most vulnerable selves... welcoming and loving each other in our belovedness.  Because of those simple, small gestures, I am where I am today. This was the God I desired. And the Lord I wanted to serve. 
 
Friends, Jesus is calling us to continue his missional work. I know it sounds scary and daunting, but it’s not. It takes only the smallest amount of faith in God’s love for you, and the willingness to be vulnerable in that love, so that you can give God’s love away in all that you do.
 
Because of his love and compassion for all people, Jesus sends us to share the Good News; to meet those crying out and alleviate their suffering; to meet real needs, to work real miracles of love and healing through acts of kindness if only because they too are God’s beloved.
 
I invite you to answer the call. The call to be the visible presence of Christ to one another. It doesn’t take much to be hospitable, welcoming, and accepting of other people in the name of Christ who is our greatest, most blessed and eternal reward. Amen.
 

Works Cited
Bartlett, David L and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds. Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol 3. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2011.
Godin, Seth. Everybody Else. June 25, 2020. https://seths.blog/2020/06/everybody-else/ (accessed June 25, 2020).
Paul, Marcea. episcopalchurch.org. June 22, 2020. https://episcopalchurch.org/library/sermon/even-one-cup-pentecost-4-june-28-2020 (accessed June 26, 2020).
​

Most religions love putting God in a box of their own design; believing that one particular faith is right, which means others have to be wrong. This idea has been used to justify hate, promote harm, or even led to the murdering of others because they don’t see our small box God like we do. It’s like as Richard Rohr once said, “We are all pointing toward the same moon, and yet we persist in arguing about who has the best finger.” 
 
Over 2,000 years ago Epictetus realized that we are not isolated entities. We are, as he put it, “a unique, irreplaceable part of the cosmos.” We are all part of the same puzzle so to speak. It’s our life work to “look for and come to understand your connection to other people.”

Some people find their place in employment or career choices. Others, it’s in community or citizenships. And then there are those connected by a set of beliefs or proximity or family. But for most of us, it’s a mixture of many different connections that we find ourselves, discover our duties and learn our responsibilities. “Once you know who you are you will know what to do.”
 
Rohr often refer to connection as our ‘oneness.’ This is an idea that Catherine T. Nerney believes “is less a goal toward which life is pressing, as it is a return to the truth in which we have always been held.” That is to say, we are one energy that is part of one source. Thus someone like Jesus could argue, “I and the Father (God) are one.”
 
Epictetus wrote, “If a man is your father, for instance, certain emotional and practical claims follow from it. That he is your father implies a fundamental, durable link between the two of you. You are naturally obligated to care for him, to listen to his advice, to exercise patience in hearing his views, and to respect his guidance.” 
 
But what does this all mean for us today? In our highly divisive world, where politics have wreaked havoc in communities, families, and friendships, understanding our greater connection – our place and responsibility – is of upmost importance if we are going to evolve as a human race towards our higher purpose in life.  We have to not only recognize ourselves but our relationships with one another. What action is happening in that space between me and you? Hatred? Or love?
 
Just the other day I had a similar conversation with a very good friend who was talking about a podcast on the “space between” that led to so many new and breakthrough discoveries in quantum physics. Without boring you of all the wonderful breakthroughs we had, I will just summarize one point in particular. 
 
I’m talking about how we are all inner connected, this oneness that we all a part of, Gianni said “It’s like we are tethered together by one long string. Imagine if we could see that string.” This lead to a headful of questions like, how would we move around each other? How much more mindful would we be of one another and our connection to each other? Imagine if our words were also connected, what would they look like? What kind of web would we find ourselves in?

Two great thinkers, Jesus and Epictetus, point at the same moon and instead of arguing who has the best finger they help us to see the moon from different (and yet the same) perspectives. 

Epictetus was not a Christian, and yet he upholds many of its tenets. He wrote, “When you are faithfully occupied with performing the acts of a wise and decent person, seeking to conform your intentions and acts to the divine will, you do not feel victimized by the words and deeds of others.”  

Jesus taught that the righteousness of God is lived out in the way we love one another, care for each other’s needs and to make sure everyone has what they need. In doing so, your needs will be met. Two different views of the same string. 
 
Epictetus invites us to think about those in our own communities and those outside of them.  “Suppose you have a brother or sister who treats you poorly. What difference does that make? There is still a moral imperative to recognize and maintain your fundamental duty to him or her.”  

This reminds me of the story Jesus told about a man left robbed and nearly beaten to death on the side of the road. Of all the people who walk past, it was the Good Samaritan which was, at the time and to the audience listening, the unlikeliest of peopel to be the hero. Jesus too makes the point that it is our moral imperative to help one another, especially someone we might not want to help.

I like to think both men would see someone thirsty and offer them something to drink, or give food to someone who is hungry if for no other reason that we are all tethered to the same string. And the harder you try to avoid helping someone the more twisted you become. It does not matter that both men had a different name for that string. 
 
This puts the focus not so much on the string, which is important, but on how we move knowing we are delicately tied to the other. Imagine how careful one must step to avoid getting tangled up. Now imagine your words also being tethered to the same string. Every word would have to be carefully thought out and spoken to avoid becoming twisted into one gigantic knot. 
 
Epictetus was wise to suggest that it’s not wise for us to focus on the other but on yourself, and your purpose, to keep from getting knotted up. The way I see it, the more we try to exert power over another, to have the dominate opinion or the need to be right, only tightens the knot. Like it's the strings way to make us deal with one another beyond fighting or killing each other. This is what oneness is all about. 

It's almost as if God is saying stop fighting over who is right, which religion is the right way, but instead simply be bound to the divine love that is what we are made from and made of. 
 
 
Perhaps instead we should have an open heart to receiving that love. Perhaps we should have a little Holy Envy, to recognize and be envious of all the wonderful things we can learn from each other. Like Taylor’s book aruges, this idea that other faith traditions (like other human beings) connect us to new truths about who we are and what we are called to do. An Amazon review of her book notes, “The one constant in her odyssey is the sense that God is the one calling her to disown her version of God—a change that ultimately enriches her faith in other human beings and in God."
 
The string Gianni imagined has a different name to him as it does for me, as it does with so many others – God, Allah, YHWH, Big Bang, Energy, DNA. Each of these names offer different ideas that lead to the same result, deepening my faith and expanding my heart to do what we are all called to do. 

In her book, Taylor uses a great analogy from another Catholic priest and theologian I admire. It comes from Raimon Panikkar who looks at the world’s great rivers to speak to our inner connectedness. The Jordan, the Tiber, and the Ganges “all nourish the lives of those who live along their banks. None of these rivers meet on earth, though they do meet in the heavens, where water from each of them condenses into clouds that rain down on all the mortals of the earth.”

To Panikkar's point, the religions of the world remain distinct and unmixed on earth—but “they meet once transformed into vapor, once metamorphosed into Spirit, which then is poured out in innumerable tongues.”  God, Allah, YHWH, Cosmic Energy all moving towards one particular goal, for one divine purpose. 

I am not a scholar of Stoicism, but I do believe both Epictetus and Jesus recognized their respective commonality to every human, no matter who they were. I do know, according to Scriptures, that Jesus hung out with poor and rich alike, with people who were Jews like himself and those who were not. He preached on the virtues of helping strangers, foreigners and even one’s enemies. He lived without fear of the other but embrace them willingly knowing that he was also tied to them, through the Divine. 
 
In the way Jesus lived his life, he was able to teach us what God is like – that “God is love.” Once we are aware of that string, that love, then we can trust in that love, allow it to flow in and out of us, and delight in all that it is. When we practice that love, we are tied to the love of others by the same string of divine love.  
 
Like Rohr states, “The whole thing is one, just at different stages, all of it loved corporately by God (and, one hopes, by us). Within this worldview, we are saved not by being privately perfect, but by being “part of the body,” humble links in the great chain of history.” 
 
I am sure Epictetus would agree that if we could only see the string that ties us all together, human beings might discover who they are and who they are called to be. One people, one love, for one purpose – to be tangled up together in love.  
 
 
Some of the Work Cited can be found here:
Epictetus, The Art of Living, new interpretation by Sharon Lebell. Harper-Collins: 1994, p. 42-43.
Rohr, Richard. www.cac.org/living-word-god-2018-01-17
Taylor, Barbara Brown. Holy Envy, Finding God in the Faith of Others. Harper One: 2020,. Kindle ed.