We hear a lot in the news these days about xenophobia, or hatred and fear of strangers. It pops up in the actions and beliefs of White Christian Nationalists and the Proud Boys. We see it, too, in the recent actions of those who use migrants at the southern border as pawns, tricking them onto buses and planes to plant them on the doorsteps of political rivals. Today’s first lesson, however, offers us a glimpse of the opposite of xenophobia: hospitality—or in Greek, philoxenia--love of the stranger. Listening to Christians talk, you’d think that morality is all about sex. But as it turns out, this “love of stranger” is actually the cornerstone of Jewish and Christian ethics!
Abraham shows us what Middle-Eastern hospitality looks like. When the three strangers approach his camp at Mamre, he enthusiastically runs from his tent to meet them. He bows all the way down to the ground to show them honor. He begs them to stop at his tent. He washes their feet and bids them to sit in the cool shade. He then runs around like crazy as he and Sarah produce the abundant, gourmet meal that he humbly calls, “a little bread.” His eager haste reminds me of our hospitable greeters at St. Ambrose. When we have a bunch of new visitors, they scurry and hurry over to Barcelona House after the service, grabbing enough frozen loaves of homemade bread to offer to our church guests--before they get away.
Of course, the three men in our Abraham story turn out to be angels, messengers of God. They bring divine blessing to their hosts. In reflecting on this blessing, and on Paul’s words about hope, one of our bible study participants this week said, “Hope is the essence of hospitality.” I wrote that wisdom down! In their extravagant hospitality to strangers, Abraham and Sarah were acting out of their ongoing hope, their hope in God’s promise. They weren’t sitting there moping about their old age or their lack of a promised heir. They were giving to strangers; they were living abundant lives—lives of hope.
In our society, we tend to make social interaction all about give-and-take.
“Oh, I need to have these friends over now, because they invited us over last month,” we think.
“Oh, I gave her a birthday present on her birthday, so she’d better give me one on my birthday,” we calculate.
“Oh, we need to welcome guests at church really well so that they come back, and we can get them to pledge and volunteer,” we scheme.
"Oh, if we welcome them, it might put us in danger or make us look bad, so let's not."
That’s how it usually goes when we’re living in scarcity and fear, doesn’t it? But despite the risks involved, Jesus defines hospitality differently. For Jesus, hospitality is about lavishing love on those who can’t reciprocate at all, on those who are normally cast out and forgotten. In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus says it plainly: “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, don’t invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors ... But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you.”[1]
Throughout church history, Christians have tried to follow Jesus’ difficult command. The earliest Christians opened their homes to provide shelter for widows and orphans. They made meals for the poor and provided rooms for wandering missionaries like St. Paul. Later, Christians like Basil the Great used their power and wealth to do what Jesus asks of us. Basil spent his family’s fortune to create an ancient food bank and hospital in his diocese. (Notice, by the way, that “hospitality” and “hospital” come from the same Latin root! Hospitality heals!) Historian Diana Butler Bass points out that the loving, healing hospitality of Christians was the main reason that others joined the faith. It wasn’t their great doctrine or their feats of martyrdom. The Church Father Tertullian wrote, “It’s our care of the helpless, our practice of loving kindness that brands us in the eyes of our many opponents.”[2]
What about today? I’ve been reading a book about creating “vital Christian community.” When you hear that title, you might think of lots of people in the pews, plenty of volunteers, great programs, joyful fellowship ... Vital Christian community, right? Well ... the vital churches in this book aren’t transformed by growing big or growing rich. They’re often transformed by practices like true hospitality, just like the early Christians were. For example, one particular church, All Souls Episcopal Church in California, got involved one day in participating with other groups in interfaith vigils at an ICE detention center for migrants. It might have been something their deacon got them into! A group of parishioners started going to these vigils. No big deal.
One day, while the parish group was at the vigil, they happened to hear that there were asylum seekers at the center who were desperate for temporary housing after being released on bond. All Souls saw an opportunity to provide hospitality and care for these immigrants. After prayer and conversation, the parish figured out how to open a couple of rooms in their Parish House for temporary lodging. Some people stayed a couple of days and some stayed for a few weeks. Teams of parishioners brought meals, did laundry, offered trips to doctor and court appointments.
The immigrants at All Souls were welcomed not because they were going to volunteer or pledge or bring their friends. The congregation was giving, without expecting anything in return. A poem by Naomi Shihab Nye describes their action: “When a stranger appears at your door/ feed him for three days/ before asking who his is,/ where he’s come from,/ where he’s headed./ That way, he’ll have strength enough to answer./ Or, by then you’ll be/ such good friends/ you don’t care.”[3]
That’s what happened at All Souls. One spring day, one of the guests had a routine hearing in immigration court about his asylum application. Some of the team from All Souls was at court with him, since they had driven him to his hearing. Things seemed to go OK, but as this man left the court room, some ICE officers grabbed him and suddenly took him away. It turned out the government had just passed a law increasing bail for detainees, and this man hadn’t paid.
The team from All Souls was shocked! But they found out what was going on and immediately went to the parish to raise the extra $1500 bail. Within hours, they had posted his bail, found out where he was being held, gotten him released from detention, and welcomed him back to his room at the church. Since they had been present with this man in his suffering, they were there to walk alongside him. They had learned about the system, and they knew how to make it work for him. And to top it off, this all happened during Easter week, when the clergy were all out of town and the church office was closed! These parishioners responded on their own with faith and perseverance. They didn’t need the professional leadership of the church. They’d already been transformed by God, so off they went.[4] This is an example of a vital Christian community, transformed by practicing Jesus’ kind of hospitality.
Today, Jesus sends us out, too, saying: “Go, proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment.” Amen.
[1] Luke 14:12-13.
[2] This history is all found in Diana Butler Bass’ essay, “Radical Hospitality,” found in Sunday Musings, September 17, 2022. https://dianabutlerbass.substack.com/p/sunday-musings-497.
[3] Naomi Shihab Nye, from “Red Brocade.” https://poets.org/poem/red-brocade.
[4] This story is told in Philip Brochard and Allissabeth Newton, Vital Christian Community: Twelve Characteristics of Healthy Congregations (New York: Church Publishing, 2022).
