December 20, 2009

On Thursday morning, I was in Winston-Salem with two of our three bishops, our canons, our secretary to convention, the treasurer of the diocese, five other priests and six lay members for our final Diocesan Council meeting of the year.  As is our custom, before beginning our serious work, we share a Eucharist and a Bible study.  The scripture we consider is always the upcoming Sunday’s gospel lesson, so we read the lesson you just heard.  Our leader asked us to share an incident from our lives where we encountered unexpected, but much appreciated hospitality – unexpected, but much appreciated hospitality.

One person told of walking the Appalachian Trail for weeks and, on one evening, darkness fell quickly.  The light on his hat went out and he stumbled over a root, fell and cracked his water bottle.  Now, in the black without clear sight and without access to hydration, he was in trouble.  Two hikers came upon him and guided him off the trail to a remote road.  Sometime, a car came by and the driver stopped.  The man offered to help.  Now the easiest thing would have been to drive the hiker to the Wal-Mart, let him out to buy new batteries for his head lamp and a new water bottle, and driven off.  But, instead, the man took the dirty, smelly hiker home.  As they fixed the light and found a replacement bottle, the man and his wife asked the tired, stressed, bruised hiker if he’d like to stay for dinner.  As the three ate dinner, the man and his wife asked the relaxed, grateful hiker if he’d like to shower and spend the night.  The hiker never, never forgot this unexpected and so welcomed kindness. 

Another person told about taking 30 young boy scouts on a bus up the mountains for a weekend camping trip.  Approaching a small town, the bus began to stall.  The driver rolled into a Dairy Queen before the bus stopped all together.  A mechanic was called.  He saw the problem and knew exactly how to fix the issue, but a part from Charlotte was required and the shop was closed for the night.  Scoutmasters conferred and there was no good answer.  The mechanic excused himself and, 15 minutes later, several vans turned into the DQ lot.  Boys, tents and provisions were loaded up and a caravan pulled out for the 90 minute drive to the campsite.  The mechanic called folk from his church and they left their Friday night activities to take care of those strangers.  Sunday, at the time the scouts had planned to break camp, the mechanic arrived with the repaired bus, rode back down to his town with them and sent the troop on its way home.  When the bus first sputtered, they never hoped for such an easy, gracious outcome.

The next story shared happened when a young man left his small town in North Carolina and went south to Columbia for college.  Far from home, new to a culture and without strong connections, he went looking for the warmth he knew in his home church.  He visited a congregation for three Sundays and no one spoke to him.  On the fourth Sunday he went elsewhere.  That parish rang the bells every time someone said God’s name aloud.  They waved smoke and incense all over the altar, all over the acolytes and all around the people, but after the choking and sneezing and general surprise, eight people introduced themselves and took the young man to coffee.  Alone and isolated, he suddenly felt welcome and once again a part of a community. 

I could have told about belonging to a very snooty church and telling my parents when I was 13 that I was happy to go to services there, but I wasn’t going to Sunday school or youth group anymore.  Those mean girls were not helping me know God any better and I thought my soul was getting banged up there.  I could have told about going to another church where kids sat on low chairs and the teacher’s fur coat pooled around the floor and her huge diamond ring reached past her knuckle as she patted the chair next to her and said, “Precious, you come sit next to me.”  I could have said how stunned I was when I answered a question and she said, “See, I knew when you walked in you were a smart one.  I’m sooo glad you’re here.”  I could have told about that unexpected, but much appreciated hospitality. 

Or I could have shared stories about this congregation, about how when people have lost their jobs or been downsized, members haven’t questioned why.  They haven’t speculated that maybe folk weren’t very good at their work or in some way weren’t up to par.  Instead, they’ve helped make connections and introductions.  They’ve given references and truly followed up and searched out leads.  They’ve prayed and more for members under stress.  Some of those connections led to new jobs.  But even if new employment came from elsewhere, folk knew they were cared about and respected here.  When members have fallen on really hard times and needed prayers and quick financial help, they’ve left here with a check.  Not a check plus a repayment schedule, or a check only after an intense interview about living beyond their means and poor life choices.  In a time of vulnerability they’ve found graciousness, not recriminations. 

My sense is that each one of us has had an experience where we’ve encountered help or assistance – unexpected care at a moment when we’ve needed it mightily.  My sense is that we’ve all encountered “rescue” in some sense from someone who extended themselves on our behalf, for our good, without thought or recompense or incurred advantage.  Somewhere, some time in our lives, we’ve needed something from someone under no obligation to us and that need has been provided to our surprise and delight.  We’ve been touched by unexpected hospitality.  Where do people learn this behavior?  Where are people taught to respond in this self-giving way?  Where are the lessons and instructions for seeing acquaintances or strangers in need and taking care of the problem?  How do people learn to stop their activity to look after someone else’s problem?  It’s easier, it’s more comfortable to talk with your good friends.  How is one persuaded to include the visitor?  It’s easier, it’s more comfortable to wish a broken down bus and its passengers good luck rather than loading up and carrying them to a destination far out of your way.  Where does one learn to do the harder, less comfortable, more accommodating thing?

Well, dear friends, Christian scripture is chock full of expansive hospitality.  New Testament passages draw out example after example of people opening their homes, sharing a meal, offering water, taking time to welcome the stranger, the alien, the vulnerable person who stumbles across their comfortable well-traveled path.  The greatest, the best known, the most repeated example is the parable of the Good Samaritan.  Every child, teen, adult exposed to the Christian faith knows this story.  Some poor soul in the wrong place at the wrong time is set upon and victimized.  Folk not wanting to get involved in some complicated, potentially risky situation pass the hapless traveler by.  A stranger to the region sees the unfortunate man and goes beyond the easy, beyond the politely acceptable, even beyond the gracious.  The stranger goes to the place of deep, genuine, sacrificing care and helps the man in ways he will always remember.  Because of the stranger’s hospitality, the traveler’s life is touched and his world view shifts in some small degree.

Who tells this story?  Who gives the world this memorable model?  Who creates and passes on this clear, iconic example of care?  Who is the originator of radical welcome, of unconditional generosity?  Who gives the whole world this image of human to human interdependency?  Jesus of Nazareth is the author, the originator, the teacher.  And where did Jesus learn this lesson?  Where did Jesus first learn about caring for those in physical and emotional need?  Where did Jesus first experience expansive, soul- touching hospitality?  Before the Good Samaritan, what was the example?

Ahhh.  Jesus learned this lesson where most of us learn our most important truths.  He learned welcome, he learned hospitality, he learned radical acceptance from his parents.  This particular quality he learned from his mother and Mary learned the gift of unexpected hospitality at a very young age and in a dramatic turn of events.  Context and culture tell us she was about 15 when she received startling news.  Her pregnancy was neither planned nor wanted under these circumstances.  Confused and ashamed, Mary was hustled out of town to her cousin Elizabeth’s house.  Imagine the worries, the loneliness, the uncertainty Mary carried with her in her inexperienced heart. Imagine her great relief, her sense of peace and acceptance when Elizabeth throws open the door and rushes to greet her.  “Blessed are you and blessed is the child you carry.  And how lucky am I that you, the one touched by God, have come to visit me!”  When she most needed a soft place to land, when she sorely required a comforting welcome, Mary found Elizabeth.  And God touched Elizabeth’s heart.  God moved Elizabeth to see past the conventional mores, past the unusual circumstances, past the gossip and the rational reactions.  God gave Elizabeth a generous heart and the gift of acceptance and concern.  So at her door, Mary found unexpected, but much appreciated hospitality.  And once she experienced its power, she passed it on. 

Notice, dear ones, when Mary sings the greatest hymn.  Notice when her spirit is full enough to compose the Magnificat.  Mary doesn’t sing “My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,” when Gabriel gives her his news.  Mary becomes the loving, enduring, faithful, strong mother once she experiences the warm acceptance she needs.  God touches Elizabeth, Elizabeth touches Mary, Mary teaches Jesus, Jesus models for us.

For this, Christ came into the world – to bring the kingdom of God to reality.  That reality requires unexpected hospitality offered at times and places where it is most needed.  And, it is in those places it will be most appreciated on earth - as it is in heaven.

The greatest of the unexpected gifts of welcome, of acceptance, of hospitality is on its way to us.

The gift we will most appreciate will soon be here.

Let us prepare our hearts to receive this gift.  Let us prepare our lives to pass it on.

Amen.