Boston’s Fenway Park has witnessed some great moments in sports history. But I don’t think anything can compare with what happened there two summers ago.

The Red Sox were hosting Disability Awareness Night – to honor and salute fans who might have some kind of handicap. The organizers selected a young man named Peter Rometti, who has autism, to sing the National Anthem. Well, it was clear from the first few notes that this was not Pavarotti. But he was enthusiastic, and gave his all. A few lines into it, he started to stutter. Then he started to laugh. And the crowd, listening, laughed, too. But they laughed with him, not at him. They clapped and cheered him on. And Peter pulled himself together and continued the song.

But then, something remarkable happened. Something nobody quite expected. It started small. A couple of voices could be heard from the stands. They were singing with him. And very quickly those couple of voices became a couple dozen. And then a couple hundred. And then a couple thousand. Soon, the entire stadium was singing with him, and for him – 36-thousand people accompanying him, helping him, carrying him with their voices. He made it to the end – “the land of the free and the home of the brave!” — and the crowd burst into cheers and applause. And Peter Rometti, the young man with autism, just beamed.

And in a matter of minutes, a crowd of people who had come to watch a baseball game became something more. They became a community. And one of baseball’s most famous cathedrals became home to a congregation of believers. They believed that Peter Rometti could make it. And they helped him get there.

Paul wrote, famously, to the Corinthians that what endures are faith, hope and love. I think that moment at Fenway contained all three. It was the Christian message lived out in a surprising way. And it connects, as well, to this Sunday’s gospel.

Here, Jesus sends out his disciples to begin his work in the world. And the first striking detail is that he doesn’t send them out alone. He sends them “two by two.” You can think of a lot of practical reasons for that. But some of it, I think, is not just practical. It is spiritual. And it lies at the very heart of our faith.

The fact is, Christianity is not a solitary endeavor. “Wherever two or more are gathered in my name, there I am, too,” Jesus says. Christianity requires a community. It demands collaboration. Partnership. A shared experience of prayer, and faith, and sacrifice, and worship, and belief. Love, after all, does not exist in a vacuum. You need another. Those disciples who embarked two by two into the world are the reason we are here, not two by two, but pew by pew – hundreds lifting our voices together in praise and thanksgiving.

In short, we are here to accompany one another – just as those thousands of strangers accompanied Peter Rometti in Fenway Park. Christianity isn’t meant to be kept to ourselves. We practice it, and live it, in the presence of God, and in the presence of others. It is about offering support. Sharing struggles and prayers and hope. It is about lifting our voices together to help one another when the music becomes hard or the words escape us. We do not make the journey alone.

Which brings me to the other telling detail from this gospel. Jesus tells the apostles to “take nothing for the journey.” He asks them to carry only the barest of essentials. But what, exactly, is essential? He tells them to take just two things. Sandals. And a walking stick.

I think, when you consider all this, we can glean two lessons from this gospel. And they are both profound and simple.

First: the gospel is to be shared with another. Don’t go it alone. Go out two by two.

And second: it’s got to have legs.

The gospel is meant to be lived on its feet — taken to others, one foot in front of the other, one step at a time. It is to be taken beyond places that are flat, and safe and comfortable, to deserts and mountains and plains, to places where you may find yourself tired, trudging, where the terrain may be rough and the hills steep. The trip won’t necessarily be easy.

But it is one we all are asked to take. It is the great adventure of living the Catholic Christian faith, and taking it into the world.

All you need are sandals. And a walking stick. And someone else to share the journey. Take nothing else. It is the journey itself, and the willingness to make that journey, that matters.

Theologians and scholars have spent centuries untangling the mysteries of our faith. But really, there you have it, in stark and simple terms. Sandals. A walking stick. And someone to share the journey.

During these tough times, maybe we could all do well to remember this gospel passage. Remember that, in Jesus’s eyes, less really is more. Remember what is essential. What matters. What endures.

And remember, too, what Peter Remetti discovered on a warm summer night in Boston, when the words wouldn’t come. 36-thousand voices carried him. 36-thousand hearts uplifted him and saw that he arrived, safely and surely, at the land of the free and the home of the brave.

As we embark on our own journeys of faith, and meet those living lives of struggle, or hardship, or pain, let’s add our voices to the chorus.

Let us renew our commitment…to make the gospel our anthem.