Hospitality

Angels Unaware in St. Peter's Square, photograph by Jeanne Gravelle, Wikimedia, Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication, click on the image to link to source.

Hebrews 13:1-2; Gospel of Matthew 10:40-42

I've entitled today's sermon, “Hospitality.” In our culture, we may think of “hospitality” as the food or drink we offer to the people of our church or visitors to our home. In the ancient Mediterranean world, however, hospitality was something offered to strangers. In a world without good roads, adequate retail stores, and proper police protection, the survival of families and entire communities depended on such hospitality. If a stranger came to one’s home in need of a place to stay, the principle of hospitality meant that the host provided food and shelter. If a stranger came to one’s home to escape robbers, the principle of hospitality meant that the host provided protection. 

By the time Matthew wrote his gospel, extending hospitality to the wrong people could have serious social consequences.  The years following Jesus’ death and resurrection were ones of growing tension between Christians and other Jewish sects. In a time of religious hostility, showing hospitality to a Christian missionary could be a dangerous thing.  In that context, Matthew recalls the words of Jesus, who proclaims that whoever welcomes a disciple welcomes Christ himself, and whoever gives even a small token of hospitality in the name of Christ’s followers will not lose God’s favor. 

Hospitality mattered in the first century for practical reasons, but Jesus grounds it in something deeper. Hospitality matters because it reflects God's own character. Scripture tells the story of a God who acts contrary to the common impulse to draw tight boundaries around tribe and clan, who welcomes strangers. Abraham was a wandering Aramean. Israel was a nation of aliens in Egypt. Jesus himself had "nowhere to lay his head." The gospel proclaims that while we were strangers to God, Christ welcomed us into God's household. Christian hospitality is not simply good manners; it is an imitation of divine grace.

The author of Hebrews echoes Jesus' teaching when he writes, "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers." Notice that he does not say hospitality to friends, relatives, or people like ourselves. He says hospitality to strangers.

Often, Christian hospitality begins at exactly the point where our comfort ends.

There are stories of hospitality being written surrounding the World Cup soccer tournament currently taking place in the U.S., Canada, and Mexico. It’s the first time our nation has served as a host in 32 years, this time with 48 national teams, more than ever.  It's estimated that more than half the world's population follows news of the tournament, placing a spotlight on how the host nations—and especially their citizens—welcome visiting teams and their fans.

A heartwarming story appeared this week on the CBS evening news. Drew Haas, a Texas rancher, invited soccer fans -- a couple from Poland and a couple from France -- to his 30-acre place just outside of Austin for a two-day taste of America. Drew said he wanted to open his home to the world.  He took his new friends four-wheeling, to the local Buc-ees truck stop, and more.  As a result, he said, “My soul has been set on fire.”  The guests thoroughly enjoyed their taste of America. Drew seemed to enjoy sharing his home even more.  It wasn’t easy to arrange. It required significant investment of time, money, and energy. But the guests seemed completely won over to friendship. And what a deep sense of fulfillment it obviously gave to Drew.

Hospitality, of course, extends beyond what happens surrounding the World Cup, or what we practice in this space on Sunday mornings. It includes the lonely neighbor, the newly-arrived-in-town family, the grieving coworker, the person whose political views differ from our own, and the individual whose life experience is very different from ours. Hospitality is the decision to make room in our lives for someone who might otherwise remain outside. There exists in nearly every heart a deep human need to belong. So the question for each of us is simple: Who in my life is standing just outside the circle, waiting for an invitation?

Many of you remember Garrison Keillor, who hosted the popular radio program “A Prairie Home Companion” for more than 30 years. I’ve shared before the insights of a fine article about the show, published in 2000 by National Geographic. In it, Keillor revealed the motivation that led him to write about the fictional town he called “Lake Wobegone.”  

He said, “Nobody ever welcomed us to town when we came in 1970.  No (one) visited to encourage us to worship on Sunday, no neighbor dropped in with a plate of brownies. Several times I stopped at neighboring farms to say hello and announce our presence and was met in the yard by the farmer, and we spent an uncomfortable few minutes standing beside my car, making small talk … me waiting to be invited into the house, him waiting for me to go away, until I finally went away.”[1]

For years, Keillor was an outsider looking in.  Deeply hungry for hospitality, he created a fictional world where he would finally feel welcome. His story reminds us that the deepest human hunger is often not for food, but for belonging. People can live for years in a community and still feel unseen. Hospitality begins when someone decides another person will no longer remain invisible. Again, the question for each of us is simple: Who in my life is standing just outside the circle, waiting for an invitation?

This week I received a note from Mary Anna Davis containing a story she thought might someday find its way into a sermon. I don't think either of us imagined "someday" would arrive within five days. The story comes from the book Theo of Golden. 

Theo was a stranger in Golden, but he had a remarkable gift for making friends. One of his friends was a middle-aged very frumpy woman who rode all over town on her bicycle which she called "The Noble Invention." Theo learned from folks in town that she was homeless and slept in The Mission or under the bridge. She could carry on a very interesting conversation or at times be "completely off the wall."

After some weeks she asked Theo one day if he ever went to church. "The one over there with the steeple." He told her yes and invited her to join him some Sunday.

Not many Sundays later just as the organist was ready to play the first hymn, the back doors flew open and in rode Ellen on her bicycle. Panic reigned for a few minutes as there were voices saying "Call the Police." All the parishioners were telling the deacons and elders to "capture her." And Ellen used some rather strong language of her own when they touched her or her bicycle.

In the midst of the chaos Mrs. Van Fleet, the most respected lady in the congregation walked up, took Ellen by the hand and said softly, "Would you like to sit with me and my family, Ellen? Here they are right here in this row. My husband will put your bike in a safe place." 

As the congregation settled down, Ellen looked confused as she followed Mrs. Van Fleet to a seat in the pew with the family. The church fathers told the police not to come; others just settled in quietly and the organist began to play a lovely soft hymn. 

One could almost hear the stones dropping to the ground.[2]

That's what hospitality does. It creates space for people with different backgrounds, experiences, and perspectives to be heard rather than dismissed.

Hospitality is not merely a courtesy; it is a spiritual discipline. As the writer of Hebrews reminds us, "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it." And Jesus tells us that even a cup of cold water offered in his name matters to God.

Hospitality rarely begins with extraordinary resources. It begins when ordinary people make room for another person in the name of Christ. Sometimes a greeting, a conversation, an invitation, or simply a listening ear becomes the cup of cold water through which someone experiences the welcome of God.

Who is standing just outside the circle, waiting for an invitation?

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN.

NOTES

[1] Garrison Keillor, “In Search of Lake Wobegon,” The National Geographic, December 2000, p. 102.

[2] from Theo of Golden, page 156.

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