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St. Charles Episcopal Church
August 29, 2010 – Proper 17 Year C
Jeremiah 2:4-13; Psalm 81:1, 10-16; Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16; Luke 14:1, 7-14
The Rev. Elizabeth Meade

Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it. Hebrews 13:1-2

I love this quote. I love it because I embroidered a beautiful angel and these words onto a piece of cloth and had it framed and gave it to the woman whose house I often stay in when I visit Seattle. Even now, some 20 years later, my embroidered angel hangs in her guestroom. Its presence not only keeps me mindful of her gift of hospitality to me; it also reminds me of the blessings that I, as guest, can bring to her family. I also like this verse because it points back to a far more ancient story. The phrase: "For some have entertained angels unawares," refers to that wonderful story in Genesis 18 where three strangers arrive at Abraham and Sarah's encampment by the Oaks of Mamre and are greeted with lavish hospitality. You remember the story: three strangers appear, and Sarah bakes three cakes of their choicest flour, and Abraham rushes around to kill a calf and make cheese. In exchange for this hospitality, the three travelers offer a prediction. They predict that Sarah, childless, and well past her child bearing years, will conceive and bear a son in the coming year. It's also the famous story where Sarah laughs from behind the tent flaps – at the absurdity of their prediction.

So both of these stories – Paul's exhortation to the Hebrews and the story of Abraham and Sarah remind us that God's Truth comes to us not only through those who we know and trust, but that it can come to us through the mouths of strangers. It's a timely reminder for us, in this cautious and distrusting culture of ours, where we often don't know the neighbors 3 or 4 houses from us. Entertaining the mysterious three visitors by the oaks of Mamre brought Abraham the promise of new life, a new lineage, and new land. Descendants that would outnumber the stars in the sky.

In entertaining strangers, might we be gifted with opportunities for new life? New legacies? The readings today appear to suggest exactly that. Offering hospitality to strangers brings the possibility of infinite opportunities and infinite blessings for all involved.

I was sitting in darkness listening to the tree frogs in the village of Un-pong-kor, when the ladies came for us. Lifting dim kerosene lamps, they motioned for us to accompany them. We walked for a spell, our eyes adjusting to the Vesper Light, until we came upon a church. We entered. Even in the darkness, I could see there were no pews. A few dozen people sat on the dirt floor, waiting expectantly. At the center of the sanctuary stood a table with a single oil lamp upon it. There was also a pitcher of water and three mismatched plates. The ladies motioned for us to come to the table. I felt my cheeks redden. I wanted desperately to disappear into the shadows; to sit on the floor with the others. I was uncomfortable with the thought of being watched. The tribal chief entered, carrying with him two more chairs, rough hewn –logs actually.
"Welcome," he said darkly. "Sit."
We sat. And, as if on cue, half a dozen women swarmed the table, They brought food; food we did not recognize. Food that was often cupped in their hands, rather than on serving plates.
Gary had a fork. I had a knife, and the chief had the spoon. Two ancient glass cups were brought off a shelf.
The chief poured me a cup of water.
I had two immediate thoughts:
One – was I supposed to share it with Gary in some ceremonial way?
And, two, was the water safe to drink, or would we be paying the price for it the next day? When our plates were filled, the women withdrew, and seated themselves at our feet with the others.
"Pray," said the chieftan, and so I did. I don't remember my prayer, but it was short and simple. At its end, I looked up at the chieftan and said, rather too pointedly, "AMEN."
And he looked thunderstruck! (Or was it thrilled?)
I didn't know, but then he laughed thunderously and shouted, "Amen,"
and 3 forty or so Melanesian faces smiled up at us and echoed, "Amen."
"Eat," said the chief, as he motioned to the food on the table.

There we sat – at their altar. Gary and me: accompanied by three chipped plates, two glass cups, and one spoon, one knife, and one fork, eating food we didn't recognize with a man who barely spoke our language. Oh! And with 30 or 40 people watching us. The chief ate lustily – Gary and I more cautiously. What were those crispy dark bodies mixed into the gray gruel? Crickets?

When we signaled we were finished, the women again swarmed to our table, cleared the food, and immediately began to serve it to the others. The people began to laugh and eat companionably. The silence lifted, the mood now festive, and I felt awful. We would have eaten so much less had we known the custom. The people ate every last bit of our leftovers.
Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing, some have entertained angels unawares. The people of Unpongkor lived that passage that night.
But, ironically, that passage from Hebrews is not the only one that reminds me of the people of Erromango. Every time I read the passage from today's Gospel, I say a prayer for them. The passage from Luke's Gospel about not taking the seats of honor. That table – that one table, those two cups, those three pieces of cutlery. That feast. That night, we were the ones who got the seats. We were the honored guests – the ones closest to the host. I wonder whose seats we usurped that night? I wonder how hungry the children's bellies were because we didn't know they were waiting for our leftovers.

In these two passages, we are reminded of two things.
First, we are reminded of the importance of hospitality. We are reminded of the blessings it can bring. Hospitality is "Eucharist" in the truest sense of the word. Unfortunately, hospitality, true hospitality, is becoming a lost art in our culture. Generally, we offer hospitality only to those who we know – or those who seem to be "like" us. Yet the texts today remind us of a lavish hospitality that entails sacrifice. It is the sacrifice that results in the blessing. The texts invite us to think about our motives; to reclaim this dying art.

But there is a second message, it seems to me, in these readings as well. The second thing that God seems to be offering to us today is the invitation to become reacquainted with our family. The human family. God invites us to remember that we are all ONE; that we God's beloved children. Rich or poor, brown or white, blind or sighted, lame or whole. Jesus suggests that in offering hospitality to those who seem to be strangers, to those who may not be able to repay us, we might just rediscover our kin. And isn't that the center of all of our Lord's teachings? That we are all one in Christ Jesus? That we are all beloved of God? Created and fashioned in God's own image? In Him there is no East or West. No Jew or Greek, no slave or free. No male or female. We are one. We are kin. When we reclaim this truth, when we clothe ourselves in it and own it, we will be following God's plan for humanity, and we will be blessed. In offering hospitality, we begin to see God's face in those we meet.

"Namaste," the Hindu greeting, means "I greet and honor the face of God in you. In offering hospitality to strangers, we welcome and honor the face of God. In our culture, xenophobia – fear of strangers and aliens – runs rampant. We are fighting two wars (Terror and Drugs) in which we can't always recognize the enemy, so, increasingly, we keep all strangers at arm's length.

Yet today we may chafe at the timeless words of Jesus. His words may even seem to be poking us; taunting us. Invite the poor, the crippled the lame, the stranger, those who can't repay us. These texts bring with them some tough questions:
How do we offer hospitality to the stranger who wears the hajib – the Muslim headscarf?
What do we owe the migrant workers?
Might the inner city gang banger bless us?
And do we have to invite them to our homes? Or to our churches?

Chicago journalist Finley Peter Dunne is probably best known for coining the phrase that the job of journalism is to: "Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable." Frankly, the same can be said of Scripture. These readings afflict the comfortable. Yet time and time again God is revealed in stories of hospitality.

Scripture invites us into the margins to dine with prostitutes and tax collectors – terrorists and migrant workers. God invites us out of our fear and into trust. Invites us to re-form our lives and our opinions; and to re-imagine the Kingdom.

"When you give a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed.........

Those are our marching orders. And we will be blessed.
Who will you invite to dinner? And how will God bless you?
Amen.