Love.  Encounter. Inclusion.  Belonging.  

Margie Winters (right) with her partner, Andrea Vettori (left)

Today’s reflection is by guest blogger Margie Winters, retreat facilitator and spiritual director, who had been dismissed from her ministry as Director of Religious Education because of her marriage to another woman. Her story is featured in Cornerstones: Sacred Stories of LGBTQ+ Employees in Catholic Institutions.Today’s liturgical readings for the Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time are available here.

In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus flips expectations:  a Samaritan–an outsider, an enemy–is the model of Mercy?  That’s the power of Jesus’ parables, to shift our understanding, to turn our expectations upside down, and call us to a new understanding.  His parables invite us into prayer, reflection and action, inviting us to ask:  Who am I in this story? The Samaritan, priest, Levite, the wounded?

In today’s liturgical readings, this gospel parable pairs with Moses’ words in Deuteronomy, reminding us that loving God with all our heart and soul isn’t new–it’s already within us.  We just need to live it!  The lawyer in the gospel follows this same law, but challenges Jesus about how he should live it out.  Who is my neighbor?  How broadly do I need to love?

Jesus responds with a story, his characters, an injured man (presumably Jewish), a priest and a Levite, and a Samaritan.  The injured man is stripped, beaten and left on the side of the road.  The priest and Levite see the man and pass by him on the opposite side of the road away from the man.  

Let’s pause there.  Both the priest and the Levite see and pass by on the opposite side of the road.  They both see, but don’t stop.  They move away from encounter, love and compassion so much so that they walk to the opposite side of the road.  They neglect getting drawn in by the man’s plight, thus not allowing their hearts to engage and open into compassion. How often do we do the same?  Avoid eye contact, keep walking, let discomfort or fear shut us down?  

What do we lose when we fail to encounter? .  

I’ve been there. This often happened to me when walking the streets of Philadelphia and encount

ering people experiencing homelessness.  Their situation made me feel powerless and ashamed.  But later, working with this community, I learned that simply seeing, stopping, and speaking with someone can restore dignity and connection–mine and theirs.   Encounter changed me–opened my heart and deepened compassion.

This is what Pope Francis called the Culture of Encounter–a call to draw near, to let others’ stories challenge and transform us.  Through it, “our hearts will begin to grow bigger, bigger and bigger! Because reaching out multiplies our capacity to love,”  Pope Francis said.  The late pontiff  so often modeled this for us, knowing his own need for broader understanding and conversion.  He exemplified this in his relationship with the transwomen from Torvaianica, Italy, who shared their stories with him, regularly visited his general audiences (sitting in VIP seats), and some even made meals for him.  His openness to their lives and witness, changed him and, in turn, the Church which has a softer, more inclusive tone towards them.  Those who once felt shunned by the Church found welcome through his openness.  “Then Pope Francis arrived and the doors of the church opened for us,”  said one of them in an interview.

In these times when such hatred and venom has been thrown at the transgender members of our community, the Church and people of faith must embrace Francis’ call to encounter and accompaniment.  Encounter has the potential to change us and change systems, but it takes commitment and humility to allow it to work within us.  

What about the wounded man?  What is it like to see this parable from his perspective?  A few years ago, I suffered from a deep wounding by the Church because of my relationship with my partner, Andrea. I felt  alone, isolated from the community, distressed, and despairing.  During this time, many accompanied me and touched my life in such a positive way.  

One woman who was in a position of authority, reached out and simply asked to visit with me, listen to how I was doing, understand what I needed, and express her sorrow for what I was going through. As she listened deeply, we both recognized that healing would take time—and that I couldn’t do it alone. Together, we gathered a few others to form a compassionate circle that could hold the wound with care. These women stood with me, listened without judgment, entered into my pain, and stayed with me until I began to heal and could look toward the future. But the healing wasn’t mine alone. Through this experience, they too were changed. As I was restored, so were they.  As they acted with Mercy, they received it as well.

These deep, authentic encounters have the power to heal not just individuals but entire communities. They create spaces of inclusion and belonging—spaces that can only emerge when we’re willing to enter the wound, sit with the discomfort, tend to what we find there, and move through it together toward healing—both personal and communal. 

And, so, we come to the Samaritan, despised by his Jewish counterparts.  The Samaritan “comes upon him [the injured man] and was moved with compassion at the sight.”  The Samaritan, unlike the priest and the Levite, not only sees the injured man, but allows his plight to disturb his heart, moving it to compassion.  His “suffering with” the man, who presumably was Jewish and his enemy, stirred him to action on his behalf.  He drew close, tended to his wounds, carried him to safety and care, and provided for his immediate and long term needs.  The Samaritan lavishes love, compassion, restoration…Mercy… on this man.  

How often do we in the LGBTQ+ community find ourselves in the role of the despised Samaritan, bringing goodness and Mercy to those who may not wish to receive it from us.  We should always be ready to respond as charitably as he did to those in need.  The Church, too, should be open to recognize the image of God in us and in our loving actions and welcome us wholly to the table. 

Jesus, the Good Samaritan, invites all to draw near, to see with compassion, and to act with love.  Through encounter, we  become more like him–and more fully ourselves–in a community marked by  Love. Encounter. Inclusion. Belonging.

—Margie Winters, July 13, 2025

To read Margie’s story of her dismissal from educational ministry, as well as other stories, positive and negative, about LGBTQ+ people working in Catholic spaces, check out New Ways Ministry’s latest publication, Cornerstones: Sacred Stories of LGBTQ+ Employees in Catholic Institutions. 

The book is an anthology of 12 stories of faith, sacrifice, joy, and pain from LGBTQ+ people who have been employed by Catholic parishes and schools. For more information, click here.