HOSPITALITY (Gen 8:1-8; Mt 25:31-40)

I read recently of a group of Protestant women who had gone to a Benedictine monastery on a retreat. On the first day they met with the abbot to learn something about monastic life. During his presentation one of the women asked – ‘Well what exactly do you all do here?’ Without hesitating the abbot replied: ‘We pray five times a day and we practise hospitality.’ Puzzled the woman responded, ‘But what is it that you actually DO?’ Again the abbot responded, ‘We pray five times a day and we practise hospitality. Still not satisfied she pressed him further – ‘O K, but what do you do with the rest of your time?’ Calmly the abbot looked her in the eye and said – ‘We pray and we practise hospitality.’ Finally the truth began to sink in. This was what this community felt called by God to be about and this was more than enough to keep them busy.

So behind this woman’s persistent question lies two misconceptions – that prayer is unimportant and that hospitality is not ministry. It’s this second misconception that I want to look at today.

As a nomad in the ancient Near East, Abraham knew the sacred rule of hospitality. It was more stringently kept than many written laws. There were many dangers, and travellers were at risk. The rule of hospitality was that a guest would be treated with respect and honour. Water would be provided for foot washing and a large feast prepared. The traveller enjoyed protection from all enemies for three days as the host was to provide sanctuary. This provision became part of Psalm 23 where the psalmist writes about God – ‘You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.’

Three things to consider from this story. First: We know from verse one that it was God who was visiting Abraham, but in the actual story there is no indication that Abraham knew it was God. When he used the words, ‘My lord,’ he uses a word with a small ‘l’ which is simply a term of respect.

Second: While there is no indication that Abraham knew it was God, there was a common belief among the ancients that a wandering stranger could be a deity or the servant of a deity. Hebrews 13:2 reads, ‘Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.’ In other words Abraham was surprised when it turned out that God was his guest.

The third consideration is that Abraham did not greet the men by asking them their business. Only after meeting their physical needs did he dare ask questions. This too was part of hospitality

This story of Abraham and the three visitors has a real sense of mystery to it, with God being presented in an almost New Testament, Trinitarian way. But if we are meant to treat all people as if they are ‘the incarnation’ it hardly matters that we don’t understand the mystery. Let me take that a little further.

In her book ‘Making Room – Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition’, Christine Pohl claims that the term ‘hospitality’ has lost its moral dimension, and in the process, most Christians have lost touch with the amazingly rich and complex tradition of hospitality.

Today the word ‘hospitality’ conjures up the picture of having family and friends over for a pleasant meal, or of the ‘hospitality industry’ of hotels and restaurants which are open to strangers as long as they have money or credit cards. Perhaps large churches come to mind with ‘hospitality committees’ which coordinate the coffee hour, greet visitors, or help with the parking – all of which, important as they are have a minimal moral component. Hospitality tends to be seen as a nice extra if we have the time or the resources, but we rarely view it as a spiritual obligation or as a dynamic expression of vibrant Christianity.

In ancient times all strangers depended on someone else’s hospitality. Today it is those without resources who depend most on the free provision of food, shelter and protection.

For the people of ancient Israel, understanding themselves as strangers and sojourners with responsibility to care for vulnerable strangers, was part of what it meant to be the people of God.

Jesus, who was dependent on the hospitality of others during much of his earthly journey, also served as the gracious host in his words and in his actions. Those who turned to him found welcome and rest and the promise of welcome into the Kingdom.

Psalm 145 beautifully portrays our God as a God of hospitality—gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, providing for the need of all with great tenderness. Is He asking us to imitate this sort of hospitality? If so, where do we start?

Certainly we fallen human beings cannot attain the same standard. My husband and I have blundered along in something of an attempt all our married lives and would want to say that the benefits to us and our family in the richness of diversity in human nature and needs has built understanding and compassion into each of us. Hospitality wasn’t learned behaviour for me as the home I was raised in barely coped with the eight of us, let alone visitors. So we never had guests. We never invited friends home let alone strangers. But somehow from the time Rowland and I settled in after our honeymoon we found people who needed a home, and I cannot recall a time when there was not someone living with us. We didn’t study hospitality in the Scriptures and conclude that this was something we ought to do, so I can only say that it must be a spiritual gift – something that God equipped us to do. Let me be quick to add that we were not always successful hosts. Some had expectations of us that were far beyond our giftedness, and left dissatisfied. A few (only a few) we have asked to leave as their behaviour was not what we expected. But generally, we have kept in touch and re-acquainted ourselves with fondness with people over many years.

Two of our daughters and the husband of one of them now run a community in our home at Heathmont with the help of two other Christian girls. They take in homeless girls or post release prisoners who need temporary accommodation and try to help them get established. The rules are very strict and it has a pleasant atmosphere.

Now you may not be called upon to this extent, but all Christians are, I believe, called to be hospitable, because hospitality is ministry and is absolutely essential to the health and vitality of Christian community. Those of us who are not dependent upon hospitality for basic needs know something of the joy of being warmly welcomed, and also the pain of being excluded. Although hospitality has lost much of its ancient significance, memories and feelings associated with it can still be very powerful.

Early Christian writers claimed that transcending ethnic and social differences by sharing meals, homes and worship with persons of different backgrounds was a proof of the truth of the Christian faith. For most of the history of the Christian church hospitality meant a recognition of a person’ s worth and common humanity. The shared meal is an important way of recognising the equal value and dignity of persons. Yet we still struggle to find better ways to respond to homeless people, those with disabilities, immigrants and refugees. We search for more personal ways to respond to youth who are detached and alienated from family, school and church. Discussions about the ‘deserving vs. undeserving’ poor, whether people will take advantage of generous hospitality, and whether it is too risky to respond to strangers are as ancient as early Christian texts and as current as today’s talk shows. But there’s plenty of wisdom to be gained on these matters from experienced practitioners.

We start with the premise that we need each other. Here in this church you place importance upon welcoming people, both those you know and those you don’t know, you honour each others’ needs in times of crisis and pain. You share one another’s journey through thick and thin, but hospitality goes even further than that

I recently read about a wonderful Christmas ritual in the Hispanic tradition, called Las Posadas. The word posada means ‘shelter’. Adults and children take on the role of Mary and Joseph and for nine nights prior to Christmas they process through the church and the neighbourhood, stopping at designated stations that represent the innkeepers. At each encounter ancient words are exchanged. Joseph says to the innkeeper: ‘In the name of God, we ask those who dwell here, give some travellers lodging this evening.’ In response a chorus of voices cries out: ‘This is not an inn; move on – I cannot open lest you be a scoundrel.’ This is repeated over and over again with the voices becoming more and more angry. This continues each night for eight nights and on the ninth night which is Christmas Eve an innkeeper is so moved by their plea that he opens up his barn, and this humble posada becomes the birth place of Jesus. Much celebration follows when children are showered with gifts and people in the community recall how the stranger at the door can actually be the presence of God

Hospitality means living life with an attitude of openness and welcome and acceptance toward others. When we can live with those attitudes it brings a quality of posada, a sheltering quality to people around us. Henri Nouwen has written that one of the gifts we bring to the world as Christians is ‘making our lives available to others.’ Your gender, or skin colour or cultural background aren’t relevant. The stranger in us all longs as Mary and Joseph longed, for posada.

What made Jesus’ life so compelling was the availability of his life. Sure he needed time out (especially with his Father) and each person ministering or living in community needs their private space as well. Although Jesus didn’t have a personal residence, to be in his presence was to be at home. Jesus himself was a stranger his entire life, but what we also know is that Jesus continues to be a stranger in this world until we practice the attitude and actions of hospitality.

It seems to me that hospitality is not only important but it is foundational for genuine spirituality. In an uncaring world where many receive only rebuke and rejection, our little, unspectacular acts of kindness and open generosity can make all the difference, and just may be the only sign of the love of Christ that some other person experiences that day, that week or ever.

Our youngest daughter Lindy has been a volunteer in the Women’s prison now for five years and since I retired I’ve been able to be involved there with her. Sometimes I feel the wrong people have been jailed. Some women have been abused as children so it is not long before depression sets in, and then drugs to alleviate the depression and then of course stealing to support their habit. We teach craft to the women, but our real desire is to get into conversation with them. Some will then come to the Christian Discussion Group, and hear the Gospel. Last week I asked a young lady of eighteen where she was brought up. Her response was the eastern suburbs of Melbourne, many areas. I asked what area was the best. She thought awhile and acknowledged that I may find it strange but the best place she had ever lived in was prison. She enjoyed being in community and knowing where her next meal was coming from. Many women find it impossible to adjust to life outside prison, and take their own lives within days or weeks of their release. They have never experienced any form of hospitality and the loneliness is too much to bear. There is a tremendous need for support for these women.

Let me close with a glimpse at that passage read to us from Matthew 25. This has always been my least favourite passage of Scripture because in my little scheme of things I have had a secret hope that God in His great eternal plan may have room in His eternity for everyone and this passage clearly separates people. We have an amazing portrayal of the ‘Last Judgement’ with Jesus on the throne and the vast masses of ‘all the nations’ and all the angels with him. And he separates them as a shepherd separates sheep from goats. Did you notice that there is no harshness or sternness in this judgement. It’s a judgement of love. But the point is that judgement has been going on all the time. In fact every day is judgement day. Every day we are each becoming a more compassionate person or a more self-centred person, and surely this passage is questioning whether our faith is genuine if it does not produce a certain type of behaviour. As James wrote ‘Faith without works is dead.’

Now in one case they were not aware of the significance of what they were doing. What they did was spontaneous, because people were poor and hungry and it never occurred to them that they were doing anything to build merit in Christ’s eyes, and Jesus had to explain that what they did for the ‘least ‘ member of his family they did for him.

But others were so preoccupied with their own affairs that the cry of human need was unheard. The inference is that if they had known that Jesus was interested in that kind of person, they would have responded. But they didn’ t know. They didn’t know Jesus well enough to share in his involvement in the needs of the world. In fact there were certain things they didn’t want to see because they were too disturbing.

Well, there are lots of things we don’t want to see today. We watch our T V screen and can’t believe what is happening in our world in this century. But this passage brings hope. To know Christ in any real way is to share his involvement in human concerns. The word became flesh and lived among us, involving himself totally in our human condition, hearing every signal of distress, sensitive to every ‘least’ cry for help, culminating with leaving this life on a gallows. So Hebrews says: ‘For this reason he isn’t ashamed to call us brothers and sisters.’ He is concerned not merely with us as individuals but also with our life together as a Christian and a human community. It’s as if Christ has nominated needy people as his proxies so that what we would gladly give to him if he were here we must now give to them. And it seems it is not possible to obey the great command to love God with all that is in us and our neighbour as ourselves unless we are also obedient to what Jesus the King is saying here.

Let’s be careful to note that Matthew here does not record Christ resolving the problem of the order of events at the end of the world by decoding apocalyptic signs. He recalls his church to the requirement of love. Let’s not forget too that faith that receives grace becomes gracious.

There is such simplicity here. v35. ‘You see, I was hungry and you gave me something to eat.’ You don’t hear: ‘I was sick and you healed me,’ or ‘I was in prison and you freed me.’ Big miracles aren’t happening here, little ministries are. It is precisely in these little ministries that the miracle of the big mystery – eternal salvation – happens. That is the fantastic drama of this story.

Feeding ministries, sheltering ministries, visitation ministries – these basic, mundane and unflashy services are given Jesus’ highest honours. Whatever we call them, these ministries are within the reach of everyone. Jesus deflects his disciples’ goals from great plans for personal success and redirects them to serving others. Hospitality, as an attitude of the heart, is the very essence of ministry.

I must conclude then that the lesson in this passage is crystal clear. We do not earn our salvation from our attitude to others, but it is an essential outcome of our rebirth. In fact it very strongly shows us that God will judge us in accordance with our reaction to human need. His judgement does not depend on the knowledge we have amassed, or the fame we have acquired, or the fortune we have gained, but on the help we have given. We know that he who will judge the human race will be he who died for the human race.

My earnest prayer for each of us here this morning is that we will be those to whom the Lord’s call will be: ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. You see, I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you took me in, I was without clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’

(Rev.) Jan Croucher October 29, 2000.