Hospitality Is More Than Friendliness
The rules of hospitality for the nomadic Bedouin are very strict. For these wanderers in the desert, the hospitality of another person may mean the difference between life and death. You see, the adversary in the desert is not another human being… it is the harsh, unforgiving wasteland… where shelter from the elements is necessary and a drop of water is more precious than gold. So, all human beings who sojourn in the desert are bound together as one so that they may all survive. Each is bound to help the other triumph over whatever adversity might be present in the land.
The book of Genesis tells the story of Abraham greeting three sojourners… three strangers from the desert. He carefully followed the rules of hospitality. First, he greeted each one by bowing deeply, down to his knees, showing respect for the others… even though he had no idea who they were. He demonstrated honor and respect to them… even though they were strangers. In addition, he begged these strangers to stop and not to pass by his tent.
Then, he offered them water… water to drink… water to wash off the dust of the road… water to cool their faces. He also offered the shade of a tree where they could rest. Water and shade from the harsh sun were two of the most precious commodities in the desert. Water was life itself to those who sojourned there. To offer water was to offer the gift of life… and, in many ways, to offer one’s most precious belonging. In a land with little rainfall and few wells, water, while necessary for life, was rare.
Finally, Abraham offered these strangers food… bread and tender veal to eat. Still no questions were asked about who these men were… or why they were passing by… just a warm welcome into the personal sanctuary of the host… and a generous outpouring of gifts to sustain the travelers for their journey. It was not until after they had eaten that any information was exchanged regarding the guests.
This was typical of the hospitality of the desert. In fact, desert hospitality went even further than this. According to the laws of hospitality, if a person was being pursued by his enemy, he only needed to touch the tent peg of the tent of a stranger to be welcomed into that tent and sheltered from his enemy. His pursuer had to wait outside until he ate and drank his fill and had two hours to rest, before pursuit could be re-engaged. These laws of hospitality were all designed to preserve life and to give human beings a chance to survive in a harsh and unforgiving environment.
The Bible contains many images of God and the habitation of God as a place of refuge for persons who lived in Old Testament times. Many of the psalms of David speak of God and the shelter of God’s wings… or God’s house… as a hiding place… a place of refuge… of safety. During the time of the Second Temple… after the exiles returned from Babylonia and, as sojourners in their own land, rebuilt the Temple in Jerusalem… the Jews prized hospitality as a virtue. The Temple, and later the synagogue, became a place of refuge for travelers… a place where they knew they could sleep peacefully at night… a place where they knew they would receive a warm welcome and a meal… food and drink to sustain them for the journey.
Jesus also used strong images from Jewish hospitality in his ministry. One of his favorite activities was to sit and eat with strangers… to break bread with them. He often went out of his way to insure that the rules of hospitality were met or exceeded. Wasn’t he the one who provided wine at the wedding when the host was in danger of running out? Didn’t he feed the 5,000 when they came to hear him speak and were so far from home and hungry? Didn’t he provide food for his disciples, even if they broke the Sabbath laws to obtain it? Isn’t a feast of bread and wine to which all are invited one of the central sacraments that Jesus left to the church? Didn’t Jesus speak often of the bread of life… and living water?
It is from this strong tradition of hospitality that Jesus draws his expectation of how his disciples will be received wherever they go. As he sends his disciples out to minister to others and to spread the good news, he tells them that anyone who welcomes one of them would be welcoming him. “Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me. And whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me.” This custom was also part of the tradition of the time. If someone in authority sent an emissary to a neighboring village, that emissary was treated as though he were the person of authority himself. This tradition flows down to the present day. The ambassadors whom we send to other countries represent our country and, thus, they are treated in a way that sets them apart from ordinary human beings. For these emissaries do not go of their own volition, but they go in the name of the one who sends them. They are, therefore, received as though they were the one who sent them.
In the New Testament, the one who receives visitors is said to be “philoxenos” – someone who loves like a brother (philo) the stranger or foreigner (xenos). In 1 Timothy, Paul required overseers or bishops to be philoxenos… hospitable. In 1 Peter, all believers were instructed to love each other deeply and offer hospitality to each other without grumbling. In Romans, the faithful were told to be patient in suffering… to persevere in prayer… to contribute to the needs of the saints… and to extend hospitality to strangers. Hebrews also tells us to “let mutual love continue and do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for in doing so, some have entertained angels without knowing it.” That certainly was true for Abraham who entertained God as a stranger in his tent and was not conscious of doing so.
So, what has happened to our traditions of hospitality? There was a time when strangers who came to church on Sunday were invited home to dinner after worship. My grandmother’s home was often filled with visitors… with strangers. While I did not really get to know her until I was an adult, I still saw her reach out and touch the lives of many who were not family. Somewhere along the way, we have lost that. Oh, we are still friendly, but, as Rev. Stanley Ott points out, friendliness and hospitality are not the same thing. Every Christian will say that their church is a friendly church… that they welcome visitors and will talk to strangers who walk through the door on Sunday morning … but very few of those people will actually invite one of those visitors… one of those strangers… to their own home for lunch. And yet, research shows us that, of the people who join a church… 63% say that they joined not because someone smiled at them… or spoke to them… or gave them a jar of Friendship Tea… or a loaf of freshly baked bread… but because someone reached out to include them in the inner circle… by inviting them into their own homes… into their own lives… their families… and, in doing so, these visitors moved from feeling like outsiders… to feeling like they were truly accepted and belonged. Someone intentionally took a risk… and, in doing so, touched a life.
Why are we so reticent about inviting a stranger into our home… when it was a normal part of life and of living in Jesus’ time? Why are we so reluctant to invite a stranger to eat with us when our Savior did it every day? Why do we feel safe smiling at them and talking to them in a very public place… but not welcoming them as family into our home? Is it because to do so means we have to step out of our comfort zone… and to adjust our lives… to let down our defenses… to take a risk… to do that?
A sociologist friend once showed me two photographs of family members exchanging an embrace of welcome. In one photograph, a family member was reaching out and grabbing the upper arms of a second family member tightly with both hands, and their faces were pressed together, cheek-to-cheek. A child stood slightly behind one of the people, not touching anyone. In the second photograph, two family members were again cheek-to-cheek, but, in this photograph, first person’s arms were wrapped all the way around the second person’s torso in a giant bear hug. A child was holding on to the clothing of both people, pushing to get in between them. “Can you see the difference?” my friend asked me. “In both pictures, it looks like two people are embracing, but, in reality, in the first picture, the person who is grabbing the arms of the second person is also controlling their contact and limiting their intimacy. The second person in the picture is not truly included in the embrace, for the first person could as easily push them away as pull them forward. There is no risk involved for that person… and, if there is no risk,” he said, “there also is no intimacy. For the intimacy of a relationship is built on taking risks.”
What risks do we take when we greet visitors in church on Sunday morning? Do we simply smile and welcome them to our church… or do we invite them into our lives? Am I asking you to give every visitor a big hug? No. But there is a quantum difference between welcoming a stranger into this sanctuary… and welcoming a new person into our lives. This sanctuary is a public place. It is safe. In this place, I can speak to someone and my life is not disrupted. My personal space is not invaded. I don’t have to leave my comfort zone. I don’t have to risk exposure. I don’t have to share any intimacy… or take any risks. A smile… a few words… and it’s over… and my life goes on as it did before. I’m safe… my heart is safe… and I haven’t changed.
But is that what God is calling us to do? When God calls us to a transforming ministry in this world, God never tells us it will be safe… that it will be risk-free. God never tells us that as we work to transform the world, we ourselves will never be transformed. No. This ministry of boundless grace and limitless love to which God calls us is risky… and transforming… not just to those we reach out to, but to us. God calls us to open our arms and our hearts to those whom he puts in our path… to reach out and touch their lives… to make a difference. When God threw open the doors of the banquet hall and invited those from the highways and byways of life to the feast, God included every living person in that invitation. And God did not tell certain persons to keep their distance, but invited the lowest and least worthy to sit in a place of honor at his table. Can we do any less?
The Israelites wandered in the desert for forty years before they entered the Promised Land. During those years, God was their host… their protector… and their guide. They were sojourners in the land. Even after they entered the Promised Land, the Israelites retained that sense of being sojourners in the land… aliens who were in… but not of… that place. They also retained a deep sense of God as their host. “The earth is the Lord’s… and all who dwell therein.” The Promised Land was never theirs… it was God’s… and they were merely visitors … sojourners in the land. Through Moses, God told the children of Israel that “the land is mine; with me you are but aliens and tenants”… temporary residents.
If the land belongs to God… and all that we have is a gift from God… then what keeps us from opening up our homes and welcoming in all those who come our way? We are all travelers in this world together… and the world… like the desert… is a harsh and unforgiving place. We are called to practice hospitality… to welcome those we meet into our lives… as if we were welcoming Christ himself… to offer what we have to strengthen and sustain them for their journey… for, as Matthew tells us, when we do this to the least of these, we do it unto him who is our Brother, our Savior, and our Friend. Invite a stranger into your life… into your home… this week, in the name of Christ. Give of what God has given to you… and expect to be transformed by meeting your Savior face-to-face. Amen.