Genesis 18:1–10a | Colossians 1:24–28 | Luke 10:38–42
☩ Praise God, Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen
Come, Holy Spirit.
Summer in Louisiana has truly arrived. And we all know what that means—heat so thick it clings to you, humidity like syrup hanging in the air. You’ve probably had one of those moments this week when you stepped out of the blazing sun and into the sweet relief of shade—maybe under a big old oak tree, a sprawling pecan tree or a whispering pine. Instantly, your body relaxes. Your breath slows. And deep down, you think… this feels like mercy.
That physical relief reveals a spiritual truth:
Shade can be a sacred place.
Scripture teaches us that rest, revelation, and relationship often bloom in quiet, sheltered places.
Look at Abraham, seated at the entrance of his tent while the day grows hot. It’s in that posture of rest and readiness that the Lord draws near. Abraham doesn’t hesitate. He runs to greet the strangers, welcomes them, prepares a meal. He turns shade into sacred ground, rest into radical hospitality. And in that charity, God’s presence is made known.
In today’s Gospel, Martha opens her home to Jesus. Her service is real, it’s loving—but it’s heavy. She’s pulled in many directions, burdened by many tasks. And there’s Mary, sitting still at the feet of Christ, simply receiving. Jesus doesn’t dismiss Martha’s effort. He honors it. But He reminds her—and us—that presence is what makes our service truly divine. “Mary has chosen the better part.”
This isn’t a choice between prayer and action. It’s a call to hold both together.
Martha-work and Mary-listening.
Charity and contemplation.
Hospitality that flows from prayer. Presence that deepens our service.
St. Paul tells us, “It is Christ in you, the hope for glory.”
When we welcome Christ into the shade of our hearts—through stillness, through prayer, through humble charity—we don’t just receive refuge. We become it.
We become the shade someone else needs:
when the world is too loud
when the burdens are too heavy
when people are scorched by anxiety, division, or grief
So here’s your invitation, dear friends:
Find a quiet spot—under a tree, on a porch swing, or in your own prayer corner. Let it become your sanctuary.
Make space for someone this week. Through a meal, a conversation, or a simple act of kindness.
Ask: Where am I busy? Where is God asking me to just be?
May you be rooted in God like trees in rich soil—strong, steady, nourished from within.
May your presence become a shelter.
May your love become an invitation.
And may your life preach the Gospel—not only with words, but with every breath, every gesture, every moment of mercy.
☩ Go in peace, and bring that peace to others.
Be good.
Be holy.
And be the shade someone needs this week.
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