A sermon from The Rev. John G. Rights, preached June 29, 2008.
People talk about the crosses they bear, the burdens they carry, and the everyday pains they have to live with. Yet, when we look at the true definition of a cross, we realize that a cross is something you willingly choose to carry, a choice you make, decision you make that makes all the difference.
Making Room for God
Jesus said, ‘Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.’
There’s a story told that, years ago, there was a missionary leaving Honduras to come back to the U.S. after spending some time there. As he was about to board the plane at the tiny airport in a small town, a woman came running up to him, holding some fruit she had grown. The woman had worked for several weeks to grow it, and she had walked a long distance in the hot sun to get to the airport to give it to the missionary. It was a great, but humble gift she offered to him.
The missionary, though, trying to be polite, said “No, thank you. I cannot accept this gift from you!” And he explained that America was a wealthy country, and she needed that food more than he did. He didn’t want to take what she had grown away from her, so he politely refused, said goodbye, then got on the plane and flew away — leaving the woman standing there, very sad, with the fruit in her hands. And so she turned and walked the several miles back to her home, with the fruit.
This story has been told to and among Moravians for years as an example of what NOT to do when traveling — because when a host offers you something, you take it. There is a gift in receiving — there is a gift in allowing someone else to give you something, even if it seems to have cost them a great deal. And, also as a general rule, when someone gives you something to eat, you eat it, whether it fits into your normal diet or not.
And of course, there is a gift in giving, also. There is a gift in hospitality. When we give to God’s work, having put away our pride, then Christ sanctifies the simple gift. He makes it holy, useful.
In the dictionary, the definition for hospitable is wedged between the word “hospice,” which means shelter, and the word “hospital” which is a place of healing. Ultimately, this is what we offer when we open our home, our church, our lives, in the true spirit of hospitality. We offer shelter; we offer healing.
This is what Christ talked about in our Gospel lesson today.
“Welcome,” we’re told. We’re told to welcome one another, greet one another, and even take care of one another. And even those who think they play a small role, even those who welcome us — well, God notices that, too.
Frank Mason North was a pastor in New York, concerned about the growing, crowded cities of the 19th century. He labored as a pastor in New York City and in Connecticut, and worked, as he wrote, to extend the ministry of Christ “to the least of these, who are members of my family.” Much of his work has been forgotten, but not the poem that he wrote at the request of a friend. His colleague was in charge of compiling a new Methodist hymnal, and he asked North to write a mission hymn. Rev. North hesitated and then began reflecting on his years of experience ministering in the city, seeing the cities grow and the opportunities and the problems which followed close behind.
The poem he wrote became a hymn in 1905, which said “Where Cross the Crowded Ways of Life, where sound the cries of race and clan, above the noise of selfish strife, we hear your voice, O Son of Man” — this is still a well-loved hymn of the church. Rev. North’s call to provide a welcome for the most needy issues, comes forth each time the old hymn is sung, especially in the line he based on Matthew 10, “The cup of water given for Thee, Still holds the freshness of Thy grace, Yet long these multitudes to see The sweet compassion of Thy face.”
All of these acts Jesus tells about — welcoming strangers, giving a cup of cold water—simple, almost insignificant little things—can make all the difference. They sometimes mean the world to us when we’re on the receiving end. Jesus lets us know that those little acts of tender kindness are important functions of discipleship, signs of his reign, the measure of his realm.
For the people of Israel, through the years, and even for us today, such hospitality has always been a part of who we are. The call to welcome the stranger is emphasized in the Torah and was a part of the measure of the Hebrew community’s faithfulness to God. When travelers came to town, they waited by the well, and it was up to the townspeople to house and feed the visitors for the night.
Of course, these travelers were rarely family. These were folks unknown to the community. They were aliens, often foreigners, people who had different foods, different clothes, different languages, different gods. Opening one’s home was risky. Today we’d describe such a thing as out and out foolish. But such hospitality was central to the Hebrew identity. The risk did not define the people; their hospitality did, for they knew such hospitality was central to the character of their God.
The same was true in the early Christian communities. Paul reminded the Romans to offer hospitality to the alien, and in the Letter to the Hebrews the people were reminded to show hospitality to all for in so doing some entertained angels unaware. In Acts, the early deacons practiced hospitality throughout the community, bringing welcome to those in need. And according to Matthew, hospitality still measured the faithfulness of the people. Welcoming prophets, righteous ones and disciples (those whom Matthew called “little ones”) was a disciplined practice of the young churches.
And so we hear our Gospel text for today, as Christ has his last words of warning to his followers, before they are sent out into the world. They are needing grace, they are needing hope, for the difficult task of spreading the Gospel they are about to face.
For followers who are in desperate need of comfort, these are words of encouragement: “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. The one who serves God will find welcome, and even the one who welcomes God’s servants will gain a reward.” It’s obvious that the simple act of welcoming will always be noticed by God, a God who sustains the messengers and rewards those who show hospitality. Even for those who provide a cup of cold water.
In 1931, Ted and Dorothy Hustead opened a very small drug store in Wall, South Dakota, a town of barely 300 people. Five years later, it was still a very small drug store. With a nine year old and a new baby, they were contemplating moving on to a better opportunity when Dorothy came up with the idea that travelers driving by had to be thirsty, and so she told Ted to put up a sign advertising free ice water. Ted didn’t think much of the idea, but tourists immediately lined up to get their free ice water (and they often bought things as well). Years later, the little drug store has expanded to where 20,000 people will come through on a hot summer day, and you can find Wall Drug signs all over the world.
The early people of Israel had a couple of sayings: “He who shows hospitality to the wise is as if he brought the first-fruits of his produce unto God.” And “He who greets the learned is as if he greeted God.” The idea was that to honor a person’s representative was the same as to honor the person. To pay respect to an ambassador was the same as to pay respect to the king who had sent him. The idea of hospitality was very important, adding to the comfort of this passage.
Not all people can be prophets, but the one who gives God’s messenger the simple gift of hospitality will receive no less reward than the prophet himself. When true greatness is measured up in the eyes of God, it will be seen again and again that those whom the world might glorify are entirely dependent upon others who remained unknown, at least in the eyes of the world. But the eyes of God will see the truth.
Those with the often thankless jobs of homemaking, cooking meals, washing clothes, or correcting thermostats, fixing drainage pipes, visiting shut-ins, bringing meals to those in need — these are the actions God sees. Not just the great things, not just the most-publicized things, but the everyday things … these are the matters that make up the kingdom of God.
Welcome. Hospitality. Giving and receiving these things are important. Jesus doesn’t just leave these words on their own, but in our Gospel, Jesus connects these actions to carrying the cross and following him. We’re told:
Whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.
People talk about the crosses they bear, the burdens they carry, and the everyday pains they have to live with. Yet, when we look at the true definition of a cross, we realize that a cross is something you willingly choose to carry, a choice you make, decision you make that makes all the difference.
A cross is a difficult thing to carry, but ultimately it’s up to each of us to decide to carry the cross or not.
Margaret Mead, who studied ancient cultures, saw the value of such tender kindnesses. One day a student asked her for the very earliest sign of civilization in a culture. He expected the answer to be a clay pot or a fishhook or maybe a stone for grinding grain. Her answer: a healed femur. She explained that no healed femurs are found among savages. Skulls crushed by clubs, yes, and temples pierced by arrows, but no healed femurs are found where the law of the jungle—survival of the fittest—reigns. A healed femur shows that someone had to show compassion. Someone had to care for that person with the broken leg while it healed. Someone had to do that injured person’s hunting and bring him or her food until it healed. To her, the practice of kindness was the first sign of civilization.
Our gospel underscores a Christian virtue which, though essential, is not large, spectacular, heroic, or great. Hospitality. Jesus urges his disciples to practice hospitality.
We are to perform acts of hospitality — welcoming the stranger, offering the cup of cold water — because, in Jesus, that is what has been done to us. We were all strangers, outsiders, and we have been brought into the family of God. And Christ now urges us to show that same sort of compassion to others in his name.
We do this in Jesus’ name. We do it because our Lord and Savior has commanded us to welcome the stranger and to give the cup of cold water. God has given us manna in the wilderness, has led us beside still waters, has comforted us, has calmed our fears. Even in the smallest action, the smallest offering, the smallest kindness, the presence of God is there.
Making room for those in need, is making room for God.
Hospitality is especially important in our times, it seems to me. We live in a nation of strangers, a society in which walls are built between people. There is less connection to our communities. We drive in our separate cars to our separate homes, returning to our separate lives. Because the world can be dangerous, we choose security, but often that brings isolation.
Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. These are our words to remember.
On a day when we send out 38 people from our church to mission camp, we remember the One who is really doing the sending. On a day when we, when all of us, go forth from this church into a world that really is a mission field, we remember the first disciples, how they were called and sent by Christ, told to take up their cross, and reminded that the way would not be easy.
Part of our challenge is to learn how to receive and how to be received; how to welcome and how to be welcomed; how to be a host; how to be a guest. That we might become guests worthy of a welcome. That we might become hosts worthy of a visit.
What is it you’re serving? Whom are you serving? What kind of master has a control of your life?
We choose our servanthood, we choose our ways of serving, and we have the assurance that every time we are welcomed, God receives the same welcome as well. Going forth, may we share that welcome with a world in need, day after day, after day.
Let us pray.
Great is your faithfulness, O God. From generation to generation you keep your promises. You welcome all who turn to you and seek out those who are lost. We praise you and thank you for your gracious love and care. Help us to welcome others, and welcome you, and so bring eternal glory to your most Holy Name.
Amen.
May Jesus Christ our Lord be near us to defend us, within us to refresh us, beside us to guide us, behind us to justify us, and above us to bless us; the One who lives and reigns with the Father and the Holy Spirit, God forevermore. Amen.
The Rev. John G. Rights
john@newphilly.org
New Philadelphia Moravian Church
4440 Country Club Road
Winston-Salem, N.C. 27104
336-765-2331