hospitality — Andy James

A Two-Way Welcome

June 29, 2014 By Andy James

a sermon on Matthew 10:40-42
preached on June 29, 2014, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

There is truly something wonderful in that short song that we just sang—and not just because I managed to get you all singing in parts a little! Like so many songs from around the world that are coming into our knowledge nowadays, this song comes bearing a story. Even though you can now find it our hymnal, it was collected only a few years ago in South Africa by the Scottish pastor and songwriter John Bell. It comes out of a hospice program for those suffering from HIV/AIDS in South Africa, a program that steps into the gap for those who have been abandoned by friends and family as they deal with this dreadful and incurable disease, a program that responds to such a disease in a place where the lasting effects of poverty and apartheid are still prominent. These people have every reason to question the depth and breadth of God’s loving welcome, and yet still they sing joyfully and hopefully, trusting God’s amazing love to carry them through the difficulties of their disease and welcome them into new life.

This kind of wildly inclusive welcome despite every reason to think and act otherwise stands at the core of what Jesus was describing in our reading from Matthew’s gospel this morning. Jesus had been preparing his disciples for their first mission work in his name, and he was about to send them out on their own to share his teachings, heal the sick, and proclaim the coming of the kingdom of God. He had told them where to go (the people of Israel, not the Samaritans or Gentiles), what to say (“The kingdom of heaven has come near”), what attitude to offer in the face of opposition (have no fear of it), what to leave behind (family and friends and commitments at home), and what to take with them (nothing other than a cross as they followed him).

But then he offered these words from our reading today to close his instructions, telling his disciples not about how they needed to treat others along their way but about the blessing would emerge through them for those who met them along the way. Jesus insisted that his disciples were extensions of him, that any welcome offered to them was welcome offered to him, that God’s reward for the prophets and the righteous extended to those who welcomed prophets and the righteous like them, that care and concern offered to anyone, even a glass of water shared with those who might be looked down upon by society, was ultimately offered to Jesus himself. Without their even knowing it, those who chose to receive the disciples would offer the presence of God to them—and in so doing receive that presence for themselves.

This two-way welcome—the welcome that God offers to us that we proclaimed in our song a few minutes ago and the welcome that we offer to others and so offer back to God—is a critical part of what it means to be church in these days. In a day and age when an increasing number of people have never experienced church for themselves, when God’s welcome so often does not reach people who do not seek it out, when the words of the Bible are still so often used to offer hope to the insider at the exclusion of the outsider, when Sundays are more likely to be spent sipping a latte and reading the newspaper than sitting in a sanctuary, this two-way welcome is more important than ever to show the world what God’s welcome looks like—and to open our eyes to how the world is showing that welcome to us, too.

This two-way welcome is most easily seen in the hospitality we offer to others in our life as the church. Over my nearly nine years here serving as your pastor, we have talked several times about how we do this—how we greet everyone, members and visitors alike, as we arrive for worship; how we work to honor the image of God in everyone who crosses our path; how we offer time and space for those who make their way here to discover God’s welcome within and beyond these walls. But we do this in other ways, too—in our openness in our life to new ideas and different patterns of life together in the church community, in our willingness to embrace the fullness of the lives of those who journey with us, even in our standing with and speaking out for others who cannot do so on their own.

But the two-way welcome that Jesus offers us here is not just about offering God’s welcome to others—it is also about being open to receive that same welcome from others, too. It’s easy for us to think that we need to be good at offering a welcome to others, but Jesus’ message to the disciples here ultimately challenges them to accept the welcome given to them and to trust that it is not just extended to them but to God too. This two-way welcome reminds us that when we offer hospitality at its best, we find ourselves both giving and receiving, for we find that just when we think we are most prepared to host, we are actually becoming the guest. When we think that we have offered enough of a welcome to others, they turn around and show us the same gift. And when we are confident that God’s welcome has reached its limit, God will remind us again in those we have welcomed before, “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.”

This afternoon, several dozen Presbyterians will gather on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, in front of First Presbyterian Church, to offer a ministry of welcome to the marchers in the annual New York City Pride Parade. As women and men stream down Fifth Avenue to celebrate the unique culture and community of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender persons, these faithful Presbyterians and friends will offer cookies, hugs, and even a cup of cold water to marchers of any and every sort. They’ve been doing this for four or five years now, seeking to extend God’s welcome to each and every person. They’re taking these words of Jesus quite literally, not because of any earthly or heavenly reward, not even expecting to convince some of the marchers to show up at church next Sunday, but because it is the kind of welcome that Jesus himself would offer. As I’ve listened to the stories of friends and colleagues who have shared in this ministry over the years, I’ve heard that this has been a two-way welcome, that they have received as much welcome as they have shared, that their offering of even this simple cup of cold water has broken down barriers, that the transformation that is possible through God’s amazing grace shines here in new and glorious ways, not just to the people who receive this gift of water but even more to the people who step out and share it.

Now while it may not be as easy for us to stand out in front of our church and offer a cup of water to in this way, while we may not be in a place to directly hear the stories of people whose songs can embody an incredible sense of welcome and grace and hope, God still challenges us to offer and receive this kind of welcome in our lives of faith. We can find times and places and ways to share that cup of cold water with those who are thirsty. We can look for other opportunities to speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves. And we can offer the fullness of God’s welcome to strangers and friends, trusting that in so doing we may receive far more than we have offered.

So may God show us all the more how to give and receive this two-way welcome, this gracious and merciful and wondrous gift that embodies God’s love in our world, so that all people might know the fullness of God’s love each and every day. Thanks be to God! Amen.

Reputation

June 16, 2013 By Andy James

a sermon on Luke 7:36-8:3 for the 11th Sunday in Ordinary Time
preached on June 16, 2013, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Jesus had a bit of a reputation. He had started out as just another teacher wandering around Galilee to offer an interpretation of the scriptures, following in the footsteps of his cousin John the Baptist and proclaiming a new way of life for the people of Israel, but he had quickly moved on to start healing people from seemingly incurable illness and had even revived a man whom everyone else thought was dead.

As his reputation grew, one of the religious leaders decided to invite him over for dinner—even they had to take notice of him. As this Pharisee, a man named Simon, saw it, he was doing Jesus a favor, giving him a nice meal in a nice house, surrounding him with the right kind of people, offering him the audience he needed to get his words into the right ears. Of course, it didn’t hurt Simon to be seen with Jesus, either—the people had warmed to Jesus’ message and clamored for him to come into their villages to tell a parable or heal the sick, so anyone who could be seen as offering him hospitality would get an extra benefit! But when Jesus arrived at Simon’s house, he was ushered right into the dining room to sit down for dinner, almost as if the host was as anxious to have Jesus leave as he seemed to have him come. His reputation preceded him, after all.

As they settled in for dinner, an unexpected guest wandered into the house. Like Jesus, she had a bit of a reputation, too, but hers was very clear. Everyone in town knew that she was a sinner, though Luke does not tell us exactly what sin she was known for. As dinner went on, she made her way to the table where Jesus was and began to weep as she stood behind him. She collected her tears and began to wash his feet, then she dried them with her hair and anointed them with the ointment that she had brought along with her.

It was a scandalous moment. The most notorious woman in town, known as a sinner to seemingly everyone, was washing the feet of this special guest who claimed to be a teacher and a prophet. Simon the Pharisee and host was astounded, although he did not utter a word. Still, he was not happy that his house would be scandalized in this way, and he just wanted Jesus to see her for what she was, condemn her, and send her away.

But Jesus’ reputation was also very clear—he was just the kind of guy who would eat and drink with tax collectors and sinners. He could tell that his host did not want this sinner-woman crashing his party, but he would not be the one to send her away. So rather than confronting or engaging, Jesus asked his host the Pharisee about forgiving debts. If two men had both had their debts forgiven but one had debt ten times larger than the other, would both men show equal love for this generous act? Simon responded that the larger debt would inspire greater love, but then Jesus pointed out that this woman was just like that man. While Simon had offered Jesus nothing more than an invitation to dinner, this woman had made him feel welcome, washing his feet and showing him true hospitality. She was truly thankful for what Jesus was and offered him a deep and wondrous gift.

So Jesus lifted up this sinner-woman as a model of faithfulness to this pious religious-man, for she had shown Jesus great love and welcome in someone else’s house simply because he offered her a place to find the fullness of new life. Her sins were forgiven, and Jesus sent her on her way: “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” She had a new reputation now.

Christians these days don’t have such a good reputation in dealing with those named as “sinners”—if anything, we usually are the ones calling the names, not the ones extending grace. In the world’s eyes, at least, we seem to be much more like Simon the Pharisee than Jesus: singling out groups for special hatred or lower status because of their gender, sexuality, life circumstance, or religious persuasion; complaining about our mistreatment as Christians mostly because we aren’t as dominant in society anymore or those of other faiths demand the treatment once reserved for us; claiming that God’s favor is upon us and us alone, to the exclusion of those who are different; and struggling to extend the grace that we have known to anyone other than ourselves. We seem to be far more about controlling our religion than about following Jesus.

But Jesus’ dinner at Simon’s house tells us that we should have a different kind of reputation—a reputation of welcome, generosity, and grace. As commentator Justo González puts it,

Even though Jesus is a religious teacher, his teaching is not about religion. It is not about how to be more religious. It is not about how to gain God’s acceptance. It is about a God whose acceptance of sinners the religious find jarring. It is about a God whose love cannot be bought even by great acts of praise or mighty deeds of justice. It is about sinners who rejoice at the great forgiveness they have received, [as opposed to] religious people who wish God were more religious [like them]—more amenable to being mollified by acts of worship, piety, and devotion… [Ultimately,] the sinful woman is able to receive and accept grace in a way that the religious Pharisee cannot. (Luke, p. 102)

So in this encounter with the woman, Jesus insists that our reputation needs to be different, that our life in the world must be marked with the amazing grace that we ourselves have come to know and love, that our actions toward others must demonstrate the same kind of welcome that Jesus himself offered to this woman and everyone he met, and that our generosity must be not about holding on to what we have or even perpetuating a faithful way of the past but rather about using our gifts to extend God’s welcome to anyone and everyone.This is ultimately our greatest call as people of faith: to show God’s love to those who seem all but unlovable, to extend God’s welcome even to those we would rather keep away, and to embody God’s priceless grace in a world where the focus is all too often on counting the cost. We should have a reputation for these things, for faith, hope, and love beyond measure, without cost, shared with anyone and everyone, a reputation for being like Jesus.

We don’t build this reputation by joining the church, putting a little extra in the offering plate, or even being honored or remembered in a gift made by others. Instead, this kind of reputation comes as we follow Jesus in our individual lives and in our common life. We can go with him to proclaim and bring the good news of the kingdom of God to people who are used to hearing nothing but bad news. We can tell others what we have seen, what we have heard, and what we have experienced as we have walked with Jesus along the way in hopes that they might join us on the journey too. We can offer strange and surprising acts of hospitality to those who come into our midst as this unnamed woman did with Jesus, setting aside our fears and trusting that God is somehow working among us beyond our understanding. And we can provide for the needs of this community and the whole witness of the household of God just as these faithful folks, named and unnamed here, did with Jesus. In these and countless other ways we can embody Jesus’ welcome of all people, show God’s love for all creation, and receive and pass on God’s amazing grace in the world.

So may we get a reputation of mercy, grace, and love because we offer God’s deep welcome to anyone and everyone in our life together, because we show our deepest care and concern for others, and because we join in God’s transformation of our world begun for all in Jesus Christ our Lord. Thanks be to God. Amen.

A Widow’s Welcome

June 9, 2013 By Andy James

a sermon on 1 Kings 17:8-16 for the 10th Sunday of Ordinary Time
preached on June 9, 2013, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Hospitality has always been one of the great marks of the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone. When I first came here eight years ago, I quickly learned how you make outsiders feel welcome. We have spent some time together over the years working to improve the welcome we offer to one another and our community, and by all the reports I hear, even adjusted for the inherent bias in many of them and the work we still have to do, we are still quite a welcoming church! Yet we can still be challenged by scripture readings like this one this morning that give us a glimpse into the power of hospitality.

In the midst of a drought, God had commanded Elijah to travel from Israel to a neighboring land and promised that a widow would feed him and take care of him. When Elijah arrived there, he saw a widow on the outskirts of town, collecting sticks for a fire, so he asked her for some water to quench his thirst at the end of a long journey. Before she could get completely out of earshot, he called out to her again: “I’m hungry too, so bring me some bread while you’re at it.” It was the kind of request that would seem somewhat normal under most circumstances—I’ve done it before, and I suspect you have too!—but here it was anything but normal.

Elijah’s request stopped her in her tracks. She clearly wanted to help him—she was willing to get him some water, after all—but this was more than she could offer. The breadbox was empty. The cupboard was bare. Her oil was almost gone. Water was hard enough to come by in the drought, but bread was just too much even for her, let alone a guest. She turned to him and explained her predicament: “As the Lord your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die.” Not only had Elijah asked for a gift out of her poverty—he had asked her to give him what would be her very last meal!

It was a strange moment of hospitality. Even though she couldn’t give him the bread he wanted, she offered her guest a strange bit of honesty about her situation and explained why she could not deepen her generosity. So Elijah shifted from being a demanding and exhausted traveler to a gentle and kind prophet. He directed her to set aside her fears and share a bit of meal with him, for God would provide for all of them: “The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the Lord sends rain on the earth.” If she would join him in a show of confidence for God’s presence, together they would witness a miracle.

Somehow, some way, they pulled it off—they, of course, being mostly God. Beginning with this simple act of a widow’s welcome, first offering the prophet a drink of water, then granting him her confidence and finally a place to stay, as she turned from her fear of not having enough to a new confidence that God would provide, they received everything that they needed to get through the challenges of the drought. And in the end, God offered this widow a lot more: when her son later became sick and died, God revived him amidst Elijah’s prayers, and she was all the more grateful for the prophet’s presence and gift to her amidst her hospitality.

Hospitality like what this widow showed to Elijah can be truly transformative even now. We don’t ever know when a simple act like offering someone a glass of water will bring us more than a simple thank you. We don’t know who might show up and what might happen when we throw open the doors of the church and invite everyone in. And we don’t know what God has in store for us when we reach out in unexpected ways to the world around us. But ultimately this hospitality requires something of us. It certainly requires a little bit of work to get everything in place, to make sure that we can offer an extra measure of what we have to all who come our way, and to prepare a warm and welcoming space for those who will join us.

But it also requires us to listen to Elijah’s first words to the widow: “Do not be afraid.” True hospitality requires us to step outside of our comfort zone, to set aside our hopes and our fears about the other and the new, and to open ourselves to the change that inevitably comes when we stop being only who we have been. Most of all, it requires us to trust that God will provide—not so much that God will magically make things happen if we don’t try or extend our resources beyond what is reasonable but rather that God will turn what we think is nothing into something far beyond our imagination.

As the widow at Zarephath demonstrated when she offered Elijah a cup of water, God’s welcome is bound to surprise us. It will look different in every time and place, yet it extends to all people in unexpected ways, not because we expect something unusual to happen but because we trust that God works beyond our means and our understanding to extend our welcome beyond these walls. We make this welcome real every Sunday as we open our doors and give space for anyone and everyone to join us here, but the ultimate sign and seal of God’s welcome to us comes whenever we gather at this font. As we make our way here today to celebrate this sacrament and officially welcome Drew to the family of faith, we get the best possible glimpse of the strange and wonderful things that God can do in us and through us when we embody God’s grace and show God’s love.

So may the witness of this faithful widow inspire us as we extend God’s welcome to all who look for a stop on their spiritual journey, whether just for water or for something far more, as we walk together on the road of new life. Thanks be to God. Amen.