Sunday, June 26, 2011
Ordinary 13A
Jerusalem Baptist Church (Emmerton)
Matthew 10:40-42
40“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. 41Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; 42and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”
Can anyone tell me what the bottom line on our sign out front says? The last word is a little cattywompus, since the brackets that hold the letters are slightly warped, but can you tell me what it says? (All Welcome)
We like to think of ourselves as a welcoming people. In fact, we’ve been affirmed in that conviction on more than one occasion, when a visitor has joined us in worship and later has commented on how friendly and warm we are. I mention that partially to brag on you, but also to ask this question: where does that come from?
In our order of worship we have the word ‘Welcome’ listed right after our opening greeting, and when we share the hand of fellowship and greeting a few minutes later, what we say to each other are frequently words of welcome, but where is that welcoming spirit born?
In English the word finds its roots in a compounding of "well" and "come," though with slightly different connotations that we tend to use today. The root of "well" could go in two directions: it could mean something close to our current understanding of "wellness" or "well-being," but it could be stronger than that, implying desire or pleasure. Some scholars see a link between "well" and "weal," the root of our word "wealth," and thus perhaps the word offers a kind of blessing. "Come" finds its roots in an Old English word "comer," that is, one who arrives or, perhaps closer to the Greek, one who is received. Thus "welcome" can offer in its earliest sense an invitation to come and be well, or to be well in coming. Either way, it is an invitation to be received into the goodness of this new place, this place here that one has just arrived.
While we use the word casually and commercially, making one welcome is not as simple as offering a word, though it often starts there. The art of making one welcome is rooted in the ancient practices of hospitality.
Preparing to welcome someone takes thought and intention, even discipline. Some practitioners of hospitality are masters of the art; they're always ready with the bits and pieces of welcome: an appropriate beverage, food, a comfortable chair, a few thoughtful and respectful questions of the "comer."
Their very presence seems to wipe away the strangeness or awkwardness of social greeting and make one feel as if they are home. If you've ever been the recipient of such hospitality, you know exactly what I mean. If you are such a master practitioner of hospitality, please know that those of us who have received it notice, and we thank you.
Perhaps the measure of true welcome is the ability of the host to make the guest feel at home. There are some places where one can go and always feel at home. It may look different. It may smell different. It may be full of strangers. But, somehow, it just feels like home, and it is good to be there.
Our text this morning touches on a practice that was so ingrained in the fabric of the culture of first-century Palestine that it has carried through to today, and has, I believe, worked it’s way into our tradition here, and not only here, but in most if not all congregations around the world.
In those days, when a traveler came through a town and stopped, there was no Holiday Inn Express or Best Western available to stay for the night. The practice was that the traveler would go to the well, that focal point of town life, and stay there and wait. It was the responsibility of the townspeople to take it upon themselves to welcome the stranger and provide him or her with a place to rest and food to eat.
For Jews and Christians, such hospitality has always been a part of who we are. The call to welcome the stranger is anchored in the Torah and was a part of the measure of the Hebrew community's faithfulness to God.
How well they did that carried on to the neighboring communities, and that is how a town or city developed a reputation. It was not a tradition that was practiced out of fear of how you would be thought of by others, but a very real understanding of the fact that if the roles were reversed, the current host would certainly hope to be treated in a similar way by the current traveler.
Simple practicality in the absence of any other way to deal with travelers and strangers. Not only were they treated kindly, but you knew where they were as well. Hospitality balanced out and in most instances eradicated the natural fear of the stranger, since in the act of welcoming him, he went from being a stranger to being a guest.
It is noteworthy that in the Greek, the word for stranger – xenos - is also the word for guest and host. In our age of contemporary tribal warfare, of Balkanization – that is, splitting ourselves into smaller and smaller groups based on certain aspects of our own individual cultures and societies and subgroup and gated communities, most of us are all too aware of the term "xenophobia," or fear of the stranger. Such a fear leads to nationalism, racism and even genocide. As many scholars have noted, however, Jesus' call to welcome another is a call to xenophilia, or love of stranger, the stranger who is also guest, who as the embodiment of Christ after a long walk on the Emmaus road with two disciples - also becomes host.
There is simplicity and straightforwardness in welcoming a stranger that speaks of the openness that we find in the love of God for all of humanity. When we welcome the stranger, we don’t know who he or she is. We don’t know what position they hold in their place of origin. We don’t know what power they wield or don’t wield. We don’t know who they know and how we could gain by hosting them. We don’t know their history, their family, their story. We simply see a person in need of welcome, and in providing it, we enter into this relational dynamic that is risky, certainly, but which has the potential to become so much more than a simple act of kindness.
In fact, what Jesus is telling us is that in the act of practicing hospitality, we are welcoming HIM even as we try to emulate him by doing it. The examples he uses, in speaking to his disciples, spells it out. Wherever they go, if they are welcomed, HE is welcomed. And if THEY, the disciples, welcome someone, be it a prophet or a righteous person, and by implication, anyone else, on their terms – in other words – simply because that person they are welcoming is who they ARE – then in that act they are welcoming Jesus into their midst.
This is not simply an affirmation of traditional Middle Eastern hospitality. What Jesus is saying goes much deeper, and much wider.
What does this mean for Jerusalem Baptist Church at Emmerton?
If in our way of being we are called to open our homes to strangers, whether we mean our individual homes or this place, our spiritual home, what Jesus is underscoring for us is the fact that a stranger is a brother or a sister whom we simply don’t yet know. That we are all connected, even related. That we are not that different from each other, however much we would tend to dwell on superficial and inconsequential differences.
By the same token, in light of the commission we received in last week’s text from the END of Matthew, that we are to GO as Christ’s representatives, then we are integrally involved in both sides of this scenario – we are to be the traveler, the stranger in a strange land, the wanderer, if you will, as well as the one who receives that same traveler. Christ is present in both roles. We are not allowed to choose one or the other, but are called to do both.
That translates into having a willingness and an openness to take the risk of receiving a stranger as well as to take the risk of being one.
As we share in our benediction, may God give us the grace to risk something BIG for something GOOD.
Let’s pray.
