Not Called to Blend In, Not Called to Stand Out

“Preach the Gospel at all times, and when necessary use words.”

Fr. Jeb, my parish priest, shared this famous quote (attributed to St. Francis) during his homily at Mass the other day, and it stuck with me.

I’d heard this phrase before, but I never bothered pondering its truth. I just took it at face value, because who needs to struggle with theology when you’ve got this whole living business figured out?

So, preach the Gospel? Sure, I’d do that every Sunday. And yeah, I tell others I’m a Catholic. When asked.

Little did I know I was living my faith in a dangerously lukewarm state, the very condition Our Lord warns against in Revelation: “Because you are lukewarm, neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth” (Rev 3:16).

For years, I’d misunderstood St. Francis completely. I thought he meant we should quietly live good lives and only speak about faith as a last resort. But that’s backward. St. Francis—who literally stripped naked in the town square to renounce his worldly inheritance, who preached to birds and supposedly tamed a wolf—wasn’t advocating for timid Christianity.

He was saying something far more radical: When you belong completely to Christ, your entire existence becomes Gospel.

Read that again.

When you belong completely to Christ, your entire existence becomes Gospel.

This isn’t about calculating whether to be visible or invisible with our faith. It’s about being so consumed by Christ’s love that we stop calculating altogether. Sometimes that love will make us conspicuous. Like when we forgive someone publicly who wronged us, or when we refuse to participate in office gossip that everyone expects us to join. Other times, that same love works in hiddenness. For example, when we pay for someone’s groceries anonymously, visit the forgotten elderly, or pray for people who will never know.

The world wants us to choose: Either be a quiet Christian who doesn’t make waves, or be a loud Christian who performs their piety. But St. Francis points to a third way: Become so united with Christ that His love simply flows through us, taking whatever form it needs in the moment.

St. James reminds us that “faith without works is dead” (James 2:17). But these aren’t calculated works designed to build our reputation or hide our light. They’re spontaneous overflows of a heart possessed by Christ. Have you ever shoveled an elderly couple’s driveway after a snowstorm? Maybe you gave a bit of change to the man begging on the street. Or maybe you gave him some food, your gloves, or even your jacket. Maybe you took in a rebellious teenage niece or nephew or grandchild when their own parents gave up, loving them through years of rejection until they finally felt worthy of love again.

If that was you, did you ever stop to wonder, “Should I make this act visible or keep it hidden?” No, because you simply loved. Christ’s love compelled you.

This is what it means to neither blend in nor stand out. To stop thinking about ourselves altogether. When we’re worried about blending in, we’re still thinking about ourselves. When we’re trying to stand out, we’re still thinking about ourselves. But when we belong to Him? We’re thinking about Him and the person in front of us who needs love.

Our love for the Lord should be so great that our actions toward others transcend worldly categories entirely. Not a “kill ’em with kindness” sort of love. Rather, love them so completely that they glimpse eternity.

Sometimes this love will seem foolish to the world, provoking questions: “Why would you do that?” And that’s when words become necessary. Not as a last resort, but as a natural explanation for the unexplainable love people have witnessed.

This is where I want to be. Where I want my life to exist. What we should all strive to become. To be so possessed by Christ that we stop wondering how we appear to others entirely.

I pray daily for this freedom. But I’m not there.

Not yet.

I see glimpses of this radical discipleship in my own family, circle of friends, and community. In those whose love flows naturally, without self-consciousness. They’re teaching me that this kind of love isn’t about choosing between dramatic and daily, visible and hidden. It’s about dying to those very distinctions.

Thank God the Holy Spirit has given me the grace to recognize what true freedom looks like.

“My heart remains restless until it rests in You, O Lord.”

I’ll stumble, sure. So will you. But with His grace we’ll get back up, back on the narrow path. Trusting. Obedient. Loving. Continuing toward Him, until there’s no breath left in our lungs, no strength in our limbs, no beat left in our hearts.

That would be joyful.

Not blending in. Not standing out. Just belonging—fully, completely, eternally—to Him.

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Fifteen stories that illuminate moments of divine grace hidden within everyday life.

From a teenager learning the true meaning of service during Holy Thursday Mass to a security guard wrestling with temptation, these brief but powerful tales reveal how God’s love manifests in the most ordinary circumstances.

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