Tag Archives: hospitality

Sermon – Luke 14.1, 7-14, P17, YC, August 31, 2025

03 Wednesday Sep 2025

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Tables are a funny thing.  Tables are where families gather and catch up about how their day was.  Tables are where a young adult eats their first solo meal on the plate they got at the local thrift store and where a much older adult gets lost in thought looking at the China pattern their grandmother chose as a new bride.  Tables are where friends gather in laughter and storytelling, and where formal introductions are made over so many forks you do not know which one to choose.  Tables are where the cool kids, the nerds, or the jocks sit in the cafeteria, and where students ask the terrifying question, “Is this seat free?” 

Tables were no less meaningful in Jesus’ day.  Much of Jesus’ ministry and the stories we know from Jesus happened around tables.  As scholar Debie Thomas describes, “Though the Gospels record [Jesus] receiving and accepting many dinner invitations during the years of his ministry, those mealtime scenes usually ended in drama, provocation, or scandal.  Once, a woman of dubious reputation caressed his feet under the table.  Sometimes he interrupted a meal to heal sick people on the Sabbath.  Often, he ate with dirty hands, shared a table with riff-raff, and drank more than his enemies considered respectable.  Worst of all — he said things.  Blunt, embarrassing things that no one cared to hear.”[i]

Today’s gospel includes one of those same uncomfortable encounters at a table.  Jesus has been invited to dinner by the one of the leaders of the Pharisees – an honor, to be sure.  But after watching the other guests jockey for the seats of prestige – those seats closest to the host – Jesus begins to tell a parable – or at least, Luke’s gospel says Jesus tells a parable.  What Jesus says sounds more like advice – and his advice, on first glance, sounds oddly manipulative.    “When you go to a wedding sit at the lowest-honor seating so that you can be honored when the host insists you move up to the prestigious seat.”  Somehow humbling yourself will let you be exalted, but I’m not entirely sure how authentic one’s humility is if they are being humble just to be exalted. 

So, then what is going here?  Well, Luke’s labeling this as a parable is helpful.  Though Jesus does not tell a narrative or story, like we know most parables present, we know by the use of the word “parable” Jesus is speaking directly about something with a deeper level of meaning.[ii]  Jesus is not giving social advancement advice.  He is calling into question the entire social order and contrasting that social order with the kingdom of God.  As scholar David Lose would argue, in this parabolic advice, Jesus is calling all social orders into question, saying that “…these things are not of God.  Jesus proclaims here and throughout the gospel that in the kingdom of God there are no pecking orders.  None.  Zero.  Zilch.  And while that sounds at first blush like it ought to be good news, it throws us into radical dependence on God’s grace and God’s grace alone.  We can’t stand, that is, on our accomplishments, or our wealth, or positive attributes, or good looks, or strengths, or IQ, or our movement up or down the reigning pecking order.  There is, suddenly, nothing we can do to establish ourselves before God and the world except rely upon God’s desire to be in relationship with us and with all people.  Which means that we have no claim on God; rather, we have been claimed by God and invited to love others as we’ve been loved.”[iii]

I think that realization of the deeper level of what Jesus is saying is why what Jesus says next is even more unnerving.  Jesus says the next time you have a meal, not to invite your friends or your family or even your rich neighbor.  You are to invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.  In other words, our tables are meant to be a welcome space to outsiders. 

Dan Clendenin tells the story of family wedding.  When the young couple got married, “…they wanted to invite their entire church, but budgetary constraints prohibited that.  Instead, after the service they had the local police block off the main street in downtown Waco, Texas.  Guests danced in the streets and enjoyed refreshments from a Baskins Robbins ice cream cart.  The gazebo in the concrete park next to the theatre sheltered the wedding cake.  …[The groom] had made friends with a number of homeless men who lived under a bridge.  As a pastor [he] would employ these men for odd jobs at his church.  ‘Coyote,’ the leader of his homeless friends, came to the wedding in his usual attire of jeans with holes in the knees, a scraggly beard, and unwashed hair.  He organized his friends to clean up the streets after the wedding, then sat on the curb with a big smile and smoked a cigar.  Another guest was [the bride’s] next door African-American neighbor.  The little girl loved to spend time with [the bride], and really wanted to come to her wedding.  So the mother, the daughter, and the grandfather all came.  The 70 year-old grandfather was soon the center of attraction as he went out on the street and danced to the music.  Soon the college girls were vying to dance with him.  As passersby strolled by and inquired about what was happening, they too were invited to the wedding.  There were guests dressed in their nicest clothes alongside guests who wouldn’t feel at home at a formal occasion.  However they dressed, on this occasion every person felt welcomed as an honored guest, just as God himself welcomes us to himself, and invites us to welcome each other.”[iv]

This year, Hickory Neck is planning to launch a third worship service.  The dream for that service centers around a table too.  The guest list does not really include any of you here (no offense!).  We are hoping to create place settings for those who do not have a church home.  We do not expect to invite people who are friends, family, or even rich neighbors – though we certainly would not turn them away.  And although all our services gather around tables to share the Eucharistic meal, this service will literally be conducted around a dinner table – a table that feeds us physically but also spiritually.  Where all sorts of folks can gather, can share in community, can learn about this radically good news of Jesus’ love, and can shape disciples who invite the wideness of God’s kingdom.  Like all experiments, I am not sure how the experiment will go.  But today’s text reminds me of why we want to center that space around tables.

Of course, endorsing this new ministry doesn’t get us off the hook.  We do not leave Jesus’ parable (or parabolic teachings) today with a promise of a ministry that absolves our call to love like God loves.  Although Hickory Neck is hoping to model a communal way to live into the gospel, Jesus still offers us a personal invitation to think about our own tables this week.  “Jesus asks us to believe that our behavior at the table matters — because [our behavior at the table] does [matter].  Where we sit speaks volumes, and the people whom we choose to welcome reveals the stuff of our souls.  This is God’s world we live in; nothing here is ordinary.  In this realm, the strangers at our doorstep are the angels.”[v]  Our work this week is not quick-fix, one-time work.  Our work is the on-going work of welcome, love, reverence, and humility.  We do that work one table at a time – and all with God’s help.  Amen.

[i] Debie Thomas, “Table Manners,” August 21, 2016, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/1070-table-manners on August 29, 2025.

[ii] Luke Timothy Johnson,The Gospel of Luke:  Sacra Pagina Series, vol. 3 (Collegeville, MN:  The Litrugical Press, 1991), 224.

[iii] David Lose, “More Than Good Advice [or] Why Jesus Gets Killed, Pt. 2,” August 22, 2010 as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/more-than-good-advice-or-why-jesus-gets-killed-pt-2 on August 29, 2025.

[iv] Daniel B. Clendenin, “Jesus Does Dinner:  Food for Thought for Guests and Hosts,” September 7, 2007, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/3637-20070827JJ on August 29, 2025.

[v] Thomas.

Sermon – Luke 10.38-42, P11, YC, July 20, 2025

24 Thursday Jul 2025

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Professor Jennifer Wyant describes “…a famous legend told about Martha of Bethany that was popular in the Middle Ages.  In this story, which takes place after the resurrection of Jesus, she becomes a traveling preacher and ends up in a small town in France that, unfortunately, has a chronic dragon problem.  She manages to slay the dragon and, in doing so, wins the whole town over to Christianity.  In that same story, her sister Mary, on that same trip, ends up starting a monastery in the wilderness, meaning they both live out the roles assigned to them in Christian history:  Martha acts and Mary studies.  Martha represents an active faith, while Mary represents a contemplative faith.”  Wyant goes on to explain that “This dichotomy comes in many ways from Luke 10:38–42 [that we read today], in which Martha shows Jesus hospitality while Mary sits at his feet.  The two women embody different aspects of Christian discipleship in Luke’s Gospel, and both are lifted up as positive characters.  They are both doing good things.  There is no villain in this story.  But ultimately, Jesus tells Martha that Mary has chosen the better part, and this represents a tension point for most readers.”[i]

Now like any good Episcopalian, I am not big on dichotomies.  I am not a fan of either-or options – I am more of a both-and Christian.  So, I am not sure if this story gets my hackles up because I think dichotomies can be dangerous, or if I am defensive because both this story and the Old Testament lesson have women hustling around in stereotypically gendered roles, or if Jesus’ lack of support and criticism of Martha is so biting, or if I just see too much of myself in Martha.  If Martha and Mary’s story today has you similarly anxious, uncomfortable, or defensive, or if this story has you feeling a bit affirmed and self-righteous, then we all need to dig a bit more deeply into this story. 

Starting with the text will help.  On the surface, this is a story about an older sibling, Martha, taking on all the household work while the younger sister, Mary, sits with Jesus, enjoying the luxury of learning from Jesus while Martha does all the work.  But in verse 40, the translation we have says Martha is distracted by her many tasks.  Now according to scholars, the Greek translation says something more like, “Martha is ‘distracted by much ministry.’”[ii]  This is not a critique of stereotypically gendered work women must do.  Martha is not just distracted by preparing food, cleaning the house, and making beds for disciples.  Martha is doing the sacred, faithful work of hospitality – a crucial act of ministry.  Later, Jesus says Martha is “worried and distracted by many things…”  Here, the Greek word for “worry” is “‘strangle’ or ‘seize by the throat’ and ‘tear.’  The root meaning of the word ‘distraction’ is a dragging apart of something that should be whole.  These are [two] violent words.  Words that wound and fracture.  States of mind that render us incoherent, divided, and un-whole.”[iii]

This story is not about who is the better sibling, whether women’s work is inferior to men’s work, or even about judgment of identity for us Marthas in the room.  This is a story about how all of us have ministries – ministries of discipleship that involve learning and action, of studying the Word and showing Christian hospitality to strangers, of speeding up and slowing down.  What Jesus is really concerned about is our intention around our discipleship.  The question is not if we are doing God’s work, but how we are doing God’s work.[iv]  According to Debie Thomas, Martha is in “such a state of fragmentation, a condition in which she cannot enjoy [Jesus’] company, savor his presence, find inspiration in her work, receive anything he wishes to offer her, or show him genuine love.  Instead, all she can do is question his love…fixate on herself…, and triangulate.”  Martha seems to think she can “invite Jesus into her life – and then carry on with that life as usual, maintaining control, privileging her own priorities, and clinging to her long-cherished agendas and schedules.”  And unfortunately, “That’s not how discipleship works.”[v]

So maybe instead of getting some either-or clarity today, we need to ask some both-and questions.  How are we approaching our ministry these days?  Are we so wrapped up in our assumptions about other people’s behaviors that we have forgotten to look at our own?  Have we invited Jesus into our lives, but only under our own set of requirements and strictures?  Once we refocus our questions, some clarity comes into view[vi].  Maybe we need to take some more time at Jesus’ feet, praying, reading scripture, coming to church, or joining something like Faith and Film or Sunday morning Bible Study.  Maybe we need to look at those metaphorical dinner plates as an invitation to prayer, holding dear the bodies that will be fed by our labor.  Maybe we need step out of our controlled kitchens and go serve up a meal at Meals on Wheels or at From His Hands.  Jesus loves us and affirms us in our varied ministries.  And Jesus also knows that when we start looking at how we are doing our ministries, the real, life-giving, whole-making discipleship will come.  Amen.

[i] Jennifer S. Wyant, “Commentary on Luke 10:38-42,” July 20, 2025, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-16-3/commentary-on-luke-1038-42-6 on July 19, 2025.

[ii] Amy-Jill Levine and Ben Witherington, III, The Gospel of Luke: New Cambridge Bible Commentary (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2018), 297.

[iii] Debie Thomas, Into the Mess & Other Jesus Stories:  Reflections on the Life of Christ (Eugene, Oregon:  Cascade Books, 2022), 51.

[iv] Matthew L. Skinner, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C., Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 265 and 267.

[v] Thomas, 51.

[vi] James A. Wallace, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C., Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 265.

On Living into the Dream…

23 Wednesday Nov 2022

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Photo credit: https://www.cccnz.nz/intergenerational-ministry_cfm/

I served in a parish once whose strategic initiative was to grow the church.  At a leadership retreat, when the facilitator asked us about our intention to grow, a key leader said, “Well we want to grow.  But not too much.”  His words were a shock to my system.  Something I had seen as a common goal that everyone supported and for which I was working suddenly seemed to be in question.  I was left doubting how we could possibly move forward if we were not together in our sense of direction.

When I came to Hickory Neck, I was regaled with stories of this parish’s love for children.  The stories of children sitting in the window wells in the Historic Chapel (before there was a New Chapel), and toddlers crawling under the pews only to be captured and passed back overhead to mom and dad slowly became my stories.  As I learned about our surrounding community, which draws both young families and recent retirees, our collective identity and purpose became clear.  We are a multigenerational church whose entire sense of purpose is bringing together the generations to experience, glorify, and serve God in community.

So, you can imagine my shock recently when I was told that one of our families was made to feel as if they were not welcome at Hickory Neck because their children were too loud.  My dismay was two-fold.  First, I am deeply sympathetic to our families with young children.  That they have their children dressed and in church by the time worship starts is a feat so laudable they should receive gold stars at church.  Despite a desire to bring one’s family to church, I promise you, getting there and staying there is no small feat.  It can be stressful enough to make you wonder why you do it at all.

But second, I could not reconcile something so contradictory to our core values and sense of purpose.  As a church that values hospitality and living fully into its multigenerational identity, we know those things are inherently messy.  But every squeal, cry, and wiggle are the sounds of life for the church.  Every child who is loved in our space comes to know the love of Christ, every parent who is encouraged in our space comes to experience God’s grace, and every surrogate grandma, grandpa, auntie, or uncle who experiences the “noise” of church has the opportunity to know the Holy Spirit.

Claiming an identity is the easy part.  Living that identity is the hard part.  We will all have days where we fail miserably and succeed fabulously.  Just this Sunday, the same day as the other incident, a visitor intimated to me, “You know, I can tell your church really supports young families.  When my children were that age, I found most churches were not welcoming.  Honestly, it made it hard to go to church.”  This week, I encourage us to live into the reality we have claimed and that, most days, others experience.  It will not be easy.  It will be loud, messy, and some days frustrating.  But it will also be heart-warming, sacred, and beautiful.  This is the Christian witness into which we are called.  But we can only achieve it together:  young and old, loud and quiet, energized and exhausted.    

On Ghosts, Goblins, and Community…

03 Thursday Nov 2022

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Sometimes, when parenting children, you tend to operate in a haze.  In trying to harmonize work, family life, and everything else, you can become partially present in the parenting moment.  Halloween can be one of those instances.  In the rush of everyday responsibilities, you need to decorate the house, sweep off the driveway, purchase and prep candy for distribution, ensure your kids have all the costume parts they need (sometimes mending, gluing, pinning them at the last minute, or figuring out how to do their makeup), oh, and find that trick-or-treat bag they want from last year.  There is coordinating with other parents so your kid can walk with their friends, the needed photos, and the constant reminders to say “trick or treat!” and “thank you!” 

Fortunately, the Holy Spirit is always at work, giving us moments of the sacred in even the most hectic secular experiences.  This Monday, I was in that Halloween haze myself, trying to send off my older child, praying she made good choices, and accompanying my younger child, soaking up the chance to enjoy the night with her.  As we made our way from house to house, the sacred was slowly revealed.  I noticed as parents walked with their children, they connected more meaningfully than in our quick hellos at the bus stop and coordinating texts for playdates.  As homeowners emerged from their homes, I watched older adults light up with the chance to interact with children, I saw parents of older children wistfully watch the littles as their older children were too far past this precious time, and I noticed singletons relishing a chance for social interaction.  I was in the midst of community at its finest:  strangers extending hospitality, cross-generation lovingkindness, and deeply felt smiles. 

I know Halloween has pagan roots, and the Church, as it always does, worked to Christianize the day of All Hollows Eve.  We even have some neighbors who do not participate in the ritual of trick-or-treating out of Christian protest.  But when you strip away all the scary characters, fear-inducing movies, and sacrilegious legends, what remains is one of the best of examples of genuine Christian community.  Somehow, political differences fade, generational biases are set aside, and interpersonal anxieties ease, and what remains is an activity that allows for humble, gracious, affirming hospitality and care.

I wonder how we might foster those same sorts of conditions in our Church communities.  My church’s mission is focused on intergenerational ministry.  Sundays often demonstrate those values as intergenerational ministry blooms.  But the experience of trick-or-treating this year has me wondering what more we can do to create space where strangers can enjoy loving, affirming moments of intimacy and care with neighbors.  My prayer is the Holy Spirit works through our busy hazes to reveals those opportunities for all of us.

Sermon – John 13.31-35, Acts 11.1-18, E5, YC, May 15, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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Every three years, the entire Episcopal Church gathers for what is called General Convention.  Eight lay and ordained people from every diocese in the Episcopal Church and all the bishops gather in two houses to pass legislation that will govern the whole of the church.  Issues range widely, from authorizing new liturgies, to promoting social justice issues, to human resources issues for clergy and lay staff, to who will guide and govern the church.  One topic that is coming around again this year is whether the Episcopal Church should remove the baptism requirement for the reception of Holy Eucharist.  Even though practices range pretty widely, technically the canons of the Episcopal Church reserve communion for those who have been baptized.  The issue is highly contested, has been written about widely, and I could spend a whole hour teaching on this topic.  At the heart of the debate are issues of belonging, identity, hospitality, and evangelism.

 As I have watched some of the initial debate heat up in the Episcopal Church, I marvel at how, as much as the Church has changed over the years, much remains the same.  After Jesus’ ascension, and as the disciples and apostles began to spread the Good News far and wide, Peter and the other disciples begin to debate the issue of membership – whether uncircumcised Gentiles could become full members of the body of Christ without being circumcised.  In our reading from the Acts of the Apostles, we hear the story of how the apostles call Peter in and question his fellowship with uncircumcised Gentiles.  Peter launches into a story about a vision he had and what God said to him about “membership” in the body of Christ.  After hearing Peter’s testimony, there is silence.  The weight of such a change hovers in the silence – issues of belonging, identity, hospitality, and evangelism hanging in the air.

So much about this story today is human.  Time and time again, from the beginning of time, we have debated who is in and who is out.  There are benign ways and malicious ways of defining those boundaries, but ultimately those boundaries help us know who we are so we understand who we are not.  We agree to a set of behaviors and activities every time we reaffirm our baptisms.  Clubs and civic groups have criteria for admitting members.  Colleges have criteria for who can be a student, and what can get you expelled.  Even retirement communities have rules about what age you can be before you can move into the community.  But the malicious ones are trickier.  Redlining is a practice that has kept people of certain races and ethnicities from owning homes in certain areas.  Women are unable to serve as ministers in certain faith traditions.  LGBTQ identifying individuals were denied the same spousal rights and parenting rights as straight individuals.  The question becomes how do we define who we are and what we are about without harming or maligning others?

Some have argued Jesus gives us the answer in John’s gospel today.  Jesus says, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another.  Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.  By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”  The instructions sound simple enough.  Our Presiding Bishop preaches nothing but the gospel of love.  But the instruction to love one another so people will know we are disciples does not make the issue of membership simple.  I love my Jewish and Muslim brothers and sisters but that does not make them Christian any more than their love of me makes me Jewish or Muslim.  I remember in seminary an interfaith dialogue between our Episcopal Dean and a Muslim leader in the community.  When they were establishing the ground rules for the conversation, the Muslim leader said, “We both enter into this conversation with deep respect for one another.  But for either of us to say that we are not trying to recruit the other would be a lie.  Of course I want you to become a Muslim:  I would not be a good Muslim if I did not think being a Muslim was the right path.  The same is true for you.  If you are not trying to convert me, I would wonder about the ferocity of your faith.”

What the texts do today is invite us into a challenging space.  By telling us to love one another, Jesus is not telling us that love denies who we are.  Likewise, by the disciples arguing about who can be Christians and who cannot, and coming to a conclusion that the Holy Spirit is doing something new does not mean that the disciples are diminishing their identity or the identity of the community.  Peter does not water down the gospel.  He simply invites the disciples to reconsider who could ascribe to that gospel.  What these two texts do together is remind us that loving one another means both holding fast to the gospel, while trusting the Holy Spirit enlivens the gospel.  The two texts together remind us that loving one another means we can be both generous and orthodox.  The two texts together remind us that loving one another means we can say yes and no, and find a gracious gray area where love abides.  What Jesus simply asks is that in the silence of the question – the silence that stood between Peter and the disciples before they made a decision – we allow love to do love’s work, so that our discernment of the Spirit can flourish.  Amen.

Sermon – Matthew 10.40-42, P8, YA, June 28, 2020

01 Wednesday Jul 2020

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This summer, several parishioners are participating in our 90-Day Bible Reading Challenge.  In supporting each other in our reading, one of the patterns we have noticed is the break-neck pace of reading twelve pages a day means we do not have a lot of time for traditional Bible Study – looking at the original Hebrew or Greek, discerning the historical context of the book, studying the cultural norms of the community, or even delving into the literary devices of the book.  Instead we are drinking from the fire hose of Scripture – capturing the larger narrative God’s covenantal relationship with humankind, but not indulging in the intriguing details.

With a passage like the one we hear in today’s gospel from Matthew, we could easily do the same.  There are only three verses in the text, and they are somewhat repetitive in pattern.  A quick skim brings up an old adage we have learned by heart – welcome the stranger because you may be welcoming Christ himself.  Maybe your mind immediately leapt to a time you saw Christ in a stranger.  Maybe you began thinking about the ministry of hospitality, particularly how strong that ministry is at Hickory Neck.  Maybe you even started to wonder what you could do to be more hospitable, especially during this time of social distancing.

But here’s the thing:  when we slow down our reading, we realize Jesus does not say, “whoever welcomes the stranger welcomes me.”  Jesus says, “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me…”  Often when we think of hospitality, we think of hospitality from the perspective of the host.  Whether we acknowledge the reality or not, we are people of power and privilege, and our notion of hospitality is rooted in how we can offer hospitality to others.[i]  There is nothing inherently wrong with this dynamic – in fact, our sense of obligation to offer hospitality is an answer to Jesus’ call to love neighbor.  But Jesus is not talking about offering hospitality to others from a position of power.  Instead, Jesus is inviting us to give up power and receive others’ hospitality.

If you remember, we have been in the midst of Jesus’ Missionary Discourse[ii] the last several weeks.  Jesus told the disciples to go out, without resources, to do the work of discipleship.  He warned them they would face persecution, and family members would turn against one another.  And today, as Jesus concludes his discourse, he tells them whoever welcomes them, welcomes Jesus.  So not only are the disciples to make themselves vulnerable to the hospitality of others, they will be mirroring Jesus to others.  In other words, in every moment, every interaction, every relationship, encounter, conversation, and conflict among the disciples –the disciples will be witnessing Jesus.[iii]

I do not know about you, but that is a lot of pressure.  Making oneself vulnerable is hard enough.  Making oneself vulnerable means opening up all our flaws, weaknesses, and doubts.  And now, Jesus is saying while we are vulnerable, our homes, our marriages, our workplaces, our extended families, even our friendships are windows into Christ for others.  As Debie Thomas asks, “When we know Jesus is visible in and through us at every moment…[will] we tread more lightly on the earth?  Speak less and listen more?  Reconsider our grudges and grievances?  Choose our words with greater care?  Examine our motivations more closely?”[iv]

There is a lot about this pandemic that has been absolutely awful – devastating, painful, and full of death.  But one of the things that has happened to Hickory Neck in this pandemic represents new life too.  Before we closed our buildings in March, we offered hospitality from our comfort zone – hospitality unparalleled once you walked in those doors – hospitality that made most of us join this church.  But once we moved everything online, the doors and walls of this place lowered – we went out, showing who we are and what we are about to a much broader audience.  Here in this exposed setting, we are carefully, thoughtfully, intentionally showing others what Jesus looks like.  The work is hard and scary, but the reward is great too.  In letting down our walls, we are helping people to see Christ – the same Christ who redeems us, gives us strength, and makes us whole.  But the work of discipleship is not just happening on livestream.  I see this work happening in you – as you call to check in on people in the parish you have not met before because you attend a different service, as you don a mask and attend a rally in support of our African-American brothers and sisters during this raw time, and as you have socially-distanced conversations with neighbors about the power of Christ in your life.  The promise Jesus made at the beginning of his Discourse is still lingering today.  Christ is with us always, even to the end of the age.  His promised presence will allow us to keep letting down walls and being Christ’s mirror in the world.  Our job is to take up the challenge we will hear in our dismissal today:  Go.  Receive God’s love and hospitality.  Serve the Lord as Christ’s mirror.  Amen.

[i] Debie Thomas, “Welcome the Prophet,” June 21, 2020, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay on June 26, 2020.

[ii] Eugene Eung-Chun Park, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 3 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 189.

[iii] Thomas.

[iv] Thomas.

On the Power of Hospitality…

02 Wednesday Aug 2017

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Hospitality

Photo credit:  www.riversouthbay.org/my-river/opportunities/hospitality-team

As a priest, it is pretty rare that I get to sit in the pew, let alone worship in or experience another church’s community.  But last week I had the opportunity to do that in two very different, but blessed ways.  The first was taking my children to Vacation Bible School (VBS) at a local Disciples of Christ church.  The church is one of our ecumenical partners, and I had preached there during a pulpit exchange last Lent.  Our children had requested attending VBS, but our shared Episcopal offering was at a time we could not do.  So off to the Disciples of Christ church we went.  As we ate dinner each night, and as the kids ran off to crafts, music, teaching, and play, and as I sat in on the adult class, I felt like a guest in a wonderful house of hospitality.  I watched as within just a week, the church members fell in love with our children, giving them hugs and high fives, teaching them powerful lessons about how they are made for a purpose and that God is always in their corner.  It was a wonderful gift to be welcomed as strangers and sent off as fellow disciples in Christ.

The other experience was quite different.  A gentleman who had worked for the cleaning company we use at our church passed away unexpectedly a few weeks ago.  His church hosted the funeral, and I attended the service on Sunday.  The funeral was admittedly a difficult one.  Lonnie had experienced a rough road in life – from the loss of family, addictions, homelessness, imprisonment, recovery, and new life.  I only knew his story superficially, having been introduced to him through one of our parishioners who was a mentor of his.  But what I witnessed was a community of faith who completely embraced Lonnie in every way – loving him fully, accepting him as he was, incorporating him into the life of the church, welcoming him into their homes, and being active agents of his recovery and faith life.  They offered me a powerful witness about what Christ-like relationship looks like.

I come out of those experiences with two distinct conclusions.  First, I have a renewed appreciation for my own faith community.  Though I learned powerful lessons last week, I also developed a renewed love for Hickory Neck and our distinct work in furthering the kingdom in the greater Williamsburg area.  My experience reminded me of what radical hospitality can feel like as a recipient and made me want to offer it more.

Second, I am impressed with the broad range of expressions of faith in Williamsburg, and I am grateful that there is a place where anyone can find a church home.  The witness for Jesus is strong in this community.  I suspect that the more we appreciate our collective witness, the stronger our individual witness will become.  If you have not invited a friend or acquaintance to church lately, I encourage you to do so.  Experiencing the gift of Christian hospitality, community, and formation at Hickory Neck is not a gift to keep to ourselves.  That gift can be life changing!

Homily – Luke 7.37-8.3, P6, YC, June 12, 2016

15 Wednesday Jun 2016

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Most of you know that before I went off to seminary, I worked with a Habitat for Humanity affiliate.  My time at Habitat taught me a lot about politics, about motivating volunteers, and about organizing people for change.  But some of the more profound lessons came from the homeowners themselves.  The Habitat program includes sending homeowners to financial counseling so that once they purchase the home they are financially stable enough to stay in the home.  I remember getting feedback from one of our financial counselors.  You see, in looking at one particular homeowner’s budget, the counselor realized that the homeowner was giving 10% of her income – a tithe – to her church.  The counselor tried to reason with her – that the 10% could really get her out of the hole – even if she only gave 5% to church, the homeowner would be able to manage some of her debt.  But the homeowner refused.  The Lord had gotten her this far – and there was no way she going to stop giving to the church now, she argued.

Our staff conversations were all over the map about the issue.  We wondered what arguments might convince her – the welfare of her children, the parable of the talents, or something else.  We wondered whether her pastor had guilted her into her tithe.  We wondered how much of the issue was cultural, as most of us were of Caucasian descent, while the homeowner was African-American.  While most of respected her decision, and did not pressure her to give up her tithe, what we never talked about was our own practice around giving.  Being people who work in nonprofit, one might argue that we were already big-hearted people.  But our discomfort with and unwillingness to talk about our own financial generosity probably said more than we ever realized.

That is what is so hard about our gospel lesson today.  The sensationalism of the story tempts us to be distracted from the heart of the story.  I mean, what this woman does with Jesus is scandalous on so many levels.  One, she is a known sinner in the community, so she has no place at the table.  Two, she is showing a level of intimacy that makes us uncomfortable even by today’s standards – kneeling by Jesus, crying on his feet, using her long hair to dry his feet, touching him in a vulnerable way.  Three, she shows no sense of shame – she does this in public, in front of everyone, and she, according to Jesus, does all of this because she knows that she is forgiven[i] – she claims her forgiveness boldly like a slap in the face.

But while our minds are filled with visually stimulating, scandalous images, the real story is happening off stage.  The Pharisee, Simon is exposed as a mess.  He disregards conventional hospitality norms, neglecting to offer Jesus water for his feet, a kiss of greeting, and oil for anointing.  He judges the woman (muttering about her known sinfulness).  He judges Jesus (muttering about his claim to prophecy).  He begrudgingly admits that the answer to Jesus’ parable about the forgiven debts is that the one with bigger debts is more grateful than the one with few debts.  To all this commotion, Jesus says, “the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.”

This is the turning point in Jesus’ interaction today.  Jesus does not say, “Watch out, Simon, because the one who loves little is forgiven little.”  But rather than render judgment, Jesus instead simply offers a description:  Those who have been forgiven little love very little.”[ii]  Now, it could be that Jesus is not talking about those who are not forgiven, but those who don’t notice their forgiveness.  Or perhaps those who don’t even think they need forgiveness.  If we cannot admit our need, we cannot receive the remedy for our lack, will not experience the gratitude of those who have received, and so are unable to love with abandon.[iii]

If, then, we are people like Jesus says, who need little forgiveness but then risk loving little, what can we do to find a well of gratitude and generosity that goes deep into the soul?  The number one thing we can do is to surround ourselves by people for whom much has been forgiven.  That means not just helping other people or those less fortunate than ourselves, but really getting to know those less fortunate than ourselves.  That means listening to the stories of those whose struggle is not like our own.  That means examining our lives in light of those experiences, and turning our hearts to abundant gratitude too.

I often think back to that experience with the Habitat staff and wonder whether we could have asked each other different questions.  We could have asked each other how much of our own budgets are designated for church giving – and what that says about our priorities.  We could have had longer conversations about what our financial practices say about our lives of faith – where our sweet spot is between trust, responsibility, and faithfulness.  But mostly, we could have trusted the homeowner – perhaps even admired the homeowner.  The implication was that her tithing was foolishness – but perhaps her tithing was extravagant generosity in the face of threat.  Those questions, like the interaction between Jesus and this woman, are going to feel awkward sometimes.  But the tunnel of awkwardness leads to the freedom of abundance.  Amen.

[i] M. Jan Holton, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 144.

[ii] David Lose, “Forgiveness & Gratitude,” June 9, 2013 as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2601on June 9, 2016.

[iii] Steven J. Kraftchick, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 143.