There is a certain vision of what it means to be “sent into all the world.”
It is, in many cases, quite orderly.
Purposeful.
Intentional.
Possibly involving a well-structured plan, a clear objective, and a satisfying sense that one is making steady progress in the right direction.
It is a very appealing vision.
It is also, in my experience, rarely what actually happens.
Because the life of being sent—particularly in the Kingdom of God—has a remarkable tendency to involve interruptions.
You set out to do one thing…
and find yourself doing another.
You begin the day with a plan…
and by mid-morning that plan has been gently but firmly rearranged.
You intend to have a brief conversation…
and discover that it has become something deeper, longer, and far more important than you had anticipated.
Now, interruptions are not always welcome.
We prefer flow.
We appreciate efficiency.
We rather enjoy the feeling of moving smoothly from one task to the next without unnecessary deviation.
Interruptions, by contrast, can feel like obstacles.
Delays.
Complications.
And yet…
If you read the Gospels with even a modest degree of attentiveness, you will notice something quite striking:
Jesus is constantly interrupted.
He is on his way somewhere…
and someone calls out.
He is teaching…
and someone interrupts with a question.
He is surrounded by a crowd…
and someone reaches out to touch him.
And in every case, what looks like an interruption becomes the very place where grace unfolds.
A healing.
A conversation.
A life changed.
It turns out that in the Kingdom of God, interruptions are not detours.
They are often the destination.
Which suggests that being sent into all the world may not be about executing our plans with flawless precision.
It may be about holding those plans lightly enough that we can respond when something—or someone — unexpected appears.
Now, this is not always easy.
There are moments when we are quite certain that what we are currently doing is the most important thing in the world.
And occasionally, we are even correct.
But more often than we might like to admit, the most important thing is the person in front of us.
The conversation that wasn’t scheduled.
The need that wasn’t anticipated.
The moment that interrupts our carefully arranged sense of order.
And here is where Easter joy enters the picture.
Because the risen Christ is not confined to our plans.
He is alive in the interruptions.
In the unexpected.
In the quiet turning of our attention from what we thought mattered… to what actually does.
So if today you find your plans shifting…
your schedule adjusting…
your sense of direction becoming just slightly more fluid than you had intended…
Take a breath.
Pause.
And consider the possibility that this is not something to be endured…
…but something to be received.
Because you are still sent.
Not only along the path you had planned…
…but into the moments you did not.
And in those moments — unexpected, unplanned, and quietly holy —
Christ is already at work.
Alleluia.
Companion Prayer
Living Lord,
You meet us not only in our plans,
but in every interruption along the way.
Give us patience when our plans change,
wisdom to recognize what matters most,
and grace to respond with love.
Open our eyes to your presence
in the unexpected moments of our day,
and help us to follow where you lead.
And in all things,
teach us to trust that you are at work—
even when we are not in control.
Amen.