Mtr Mary Trainor

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
...long I stood and looked down one as far as I could…*

Dear friend,

In the end, it comes down to choice. Or, at least, it seems like a choice. I am talking about following along the path of Jesus from the earliest times to now.

The Book of Acts reading today offers us the very end of this important work of scripture, Chapter 28:17-31. Paul is in Rome, chained under house arrest. He invites Roman leaders of the Jews.

Basically driven out of Jerusalem, Paul seeks feedback from the locals in Rome, who say they have heard nothing bad about him via Jerusalem. And they agree to hear him out with this cautionary note: “...with regard to this sect we know that everywhere it is spoken against.”

Great numbers of them come to spend a day, hearing about Jesus the Christ. The outcome? “Some were convinced...while others refused to believe.”

For me, that is a tricky part of faith. Recognition. Why are some able to see and hear, and others so blind and deaf? Why do only some of the local Jewish leaders recognize the truth of God in what Paul says? Why do others stick with the first century Judaism they knew well?

Then took the other, as just as fair,
and having perhaps the better claim...

When I was about four years old, my family lived in East Los Angeles. My grandmother owned property that included two very small houses and an apartment above the garage. Grandma lived in one of the houses; we lived in the apartment.

A rite of passage--or so it seemed to me--was a solo journey to Adkins’, a small corner store about two blocks away. One of those blocks was along Olympic Boulevard, the name of which hints at its traffic volume.

My brother made a solo journey, and I was determined to do so, also. I pleaded, I wheedled and, finally, got my way. Mother gave me a shopping list for Mr. Adkins, who would fill the order and send me home.

I thought I was something, an autonomous four-year-old in charge of her world. What I didn’t know until later is that I was under surveillance the entire time. Grandma tailed me, while Mother stayed by the phone, because Mr. Adkins was to call once I left the store.

Very near to the apartment, I failed to turn onto our street. I was pleasantly surprised when Grandma appeared out of nowhere to guide me home. It would be years before I knew the whole truth about that trip

Two roads diverged in a wood ...I took the one less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference.

I worry about what’s going to happen to people who can’t see or hear the message of Jesus. My hope is that it’s like my “solo” trip to Adkins’ market, seemingly under my own steam, but never alone and never in any real danger.

Mtr Mary

*Excerpts from Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken