What If? A Dream of Hospitality, Courage, and Shared Responsibility
The Gospel Reading: The Great Banquet and the Unexpected Guests
One of the other guests heard this. They said to Him, “Blessed is anyone who will eat at the feast in the kingdom of God.” Jesus replied, “A certain man was preparing a great banquet and invited many guests. When the time for the banquet came, he sent his servant. The servant told those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’
But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said, ‘I have just bought a field, and I must go and see it. Please excuse me.’ Another said, ‘I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I am on my way to try them out. Please excuse me.’ Still another said, ‘I have just gotten married, and therefore I cannot come.’
The servant came back and reported this to his master. The owner of the house became angry. He ordered his servant, ‘Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town. Bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame.’
‘Sir,’ the servant said, ‘what you ordered has been done, but there is still room.’
The master instructed his servant. He said, ‘Go out to the roads and country lanes. Compel them to come in so that my house will be full. I tell you, not one of those who were invited will get a taste of my banquet.’”
A New Year’s Wish: Not a Grand Plan, but a Quiet Dream
I want to begin this new year with a New Year’s wish. Not a grand vision, not a rigid plan, but a quiet dream—one that grows when you dare to speak it aloud.
I dream of a church that breathes hospitality. A community where people feel at home even before they know whether they truly “fit.” A church where the first question is not who you are, but where the first words spoken are: “Welcome. Just as you are.” A church where differences do not cause fractures, but bring color. Where young and old support one another. Where vulnerability is not a burden, but has a place. Where no one has to make themselves smaller in order to belong.
From that dream, I want to think further with you.
An Honest Question: Are We Already Such a Community?
If we are honest, we must dare to ask ourselves whether we already are such a community. Sometimes it feels as though we are—and sometimes it clearly does not.
It is occasionally said that we form a somewhat elitist group. That our conversations and reflections are often thoughtful, intellectual, searching, and deep. For some, this is a richness and a necessity. For some, it is a source of inspiration. But for others, it becomes a threshold. People who think, “I do not belong here. I do not speak this language. I do not know enough.”
That hurts, because it is not who we want to be. And precisely for that reason, it matters that we name it—not to accuse, but to be vulnerable. Because we, too, are a community that is growing, searching, and learning.
The Gospel as Mirror: Not Only About Others, but About Us
What if we were truly to strive for the community Jesus envisioned?
In the Gospel of the great banquet, a man invites many guests, but one by one they decline. They have bought a field. They have oxen to inspect. They are occupied elsewhere. And then the master says: Go into the streets and the squares. Bring in the poor, the sick, those who are overlooked, so that my house may be full.
Not the obvious guests, but the forgotten ones. Not those who are self-assured, but those who so often are given no place.
What if this story is not only about “others,” but also about us?
Inclusion as Movement: Going Toward Others Instead of Waiting
What if inclusion means that we do not wait for people to take the first step, but that we move ourselves? That we go toward people instead of hoping they will find their way to us?
What if young people are not only “the future,” but already have a voice today? Sometimes they seem almost invisible in our celebrations. But what if that invites us to look honestly at our forms, our language, and our music? What if we dare to be open to new music that resonates with their world, without losing ourselves?
Especially now, many young people show a deep hunger for faith—in pilgrimages, World Youth Days, and in their questions about God, meaning, and hope.
Seeing One Another Fully: Beyond Stereotypes and Labels
What if older people are not confined to stereotypes, but are recognized as sources of wisdom, faith, and life experience?
What if single people—young and old—are not overlooked, but are given their own full and valued place?
What if people with disabilities are not just tolerated? What if they are fully part of the whole?
What if, with newly blended families, we first listen to their stories? We should do this before labeling their family. This label often already carries a history of loss.
What if people from the LGBTQ+ community do not have to guess? Is there a place for them among us? These individuals have sometimes experienced exclusion or doubt on their faith journey.
What if those who are searching for meaningful ways to live their faith can sense that they are welcome here—not despite who they are, but with everything that marks them? Because being welcome is more than not being excluded.
An Open Table All Year Long: Poverty, Presence, and Perseverance
What if we also dare to look at poverty within and around our community—not only during Advent, not only on special occasions, but throughout the entire year?
As every year, there is our New Year’s Eve celebration for those who are alone, for those who are poor, for those who might otherwise not be expected anywhere. This celebration is carried largely by our community—by hands that cook and set tables, by hearts that remain open. It is beautiful. It is connecting. And again this year, it was good. It was very good.
But what if we dare to ask whether that open table could be more than one evening a year?
What if the invitation does not sound only on New Year’s Eve? What if it sounds week after week—in small gestures, in simple closeness, in sustained attention? It is not because what we do is insufficient. Instead, it is because the Gospel continually sends us back into the streets. This call directs us toward the people, again and again.
Renewal Beyond Form: Language, Attunement, and Accessibility
What if strangers and newcomers are not only welcomed once they manage to find us, but because we seek them out? What if we have the courage to look beyond the unfamiliar and to see the person before the difference?
We call ourselves a renewing liturgical community. But renewal is not only about form, language, or music. It is also about intelligibility, about attunement, about making room for those who speak little church language, who are searching, who are vulnerable.
Our community has existed for twenty years now. About half of us are still professionally active. That is not a reproach; it is a reality—and perhaps also an invitation. Because if we want to still be standing here in twenty years, then an inclusive church will be a condition for life.
The Courage to Name Limits: Safety, Responsibility, and Reciprocity
And yet… what if we also dare to acknowledge that inclusion has limits? That love does not mean that everything is permitted. That mercy does not ask us to normalize what is unsafe.
What if we realize that true community requires reciprocity? That reconciliation becomes possible only where responsibility is taken, where guilt is acknowledged, and where care for those who were wounded is as sacred as hope for those who failed?
Inclusion as a Path, Not a Destination
What if we recognize that inclusion is not a destination, but a path? It is a path on which we sometimes stumble. Sometimes we return, but we always try again. We do this through small steps, through listening before judging, and through opening our circle to those who still hesitate to enter.
What if this is the community we dare to strive for? Not perfect, but honest. Not finished, but open.
A Dream Worth Continuing: Here, Among Us, Today
Someone once said, “I have a dream.” It was not a naïve dream. It was a dream that knew how hard reality can be. And perhaps that is also what we are doing today: daring to dream—not because everything is simple, but because we believe that love grows stronger when we refuse to confine it.
I dream of a church that does not only wait for people to come in. It goes out into the streets with open hands. There is space at the table. A church where people enter and feel: Here, I am allowed to be. Fully.
Perhaps it is still only a dream. But what if, together, we can continue working toward it?
Here. Among us. Already today.
Annemie Declercq
De Lier, Bruges – January 4, 2026
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