Trinity Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)

Sermons 

Title: "Welcome: Risk and Reward"

Text: Matthew 10:40-42

to a story from the Old Testament

that we heard two weeks ago.

If you weren’t here, or you don’t remember, that’s okay:

it’s a familiar one.

Abraham is sitting at the entrance of his tent "in the heat of the day,"

and he sees three men approaching.

We know that it’s God, because the narrator told us so,

but Abraham doesn’t know that yet.

All he knows is that here are three travelers,

journeying in the heat of the day.

Now, before we remind ourselves of "the rest of the story,"

think for a moment about what you would do

if you and your spouse were camped someplace alone,

and three strangers approached your tent.

Would you be frightened?

Maybe … it might depend on their gender, their age,

how they were dressed, a few other details.

I suspect I’d probably try to look real busy all of a sudden,

in the hope that they would pass on by

and not disturb us:

"Gosh, sorry I can’t stop to chat,

I just realized that I need to …

break all these kindling sticks into smaller sticks …"

Would you greet them as they approached,

with something friendly but noncommittal,

like, "Hot enough for you today?"

Would any of us do as Abraham did:

run from the tent to meet them –

and remember, Abraham is now 100 years old,

and this is the desert, and it’s hot as Hades –

run to greet them, bow down to the ground before them,

invite them to sit in the shade of your tree,

insist on washing their feet,

and then kill a calf from your herd to feed them?!

(And I couldn’t help but notice,

that Abraham served the veal along with curds and milk,

which reminds us that this was in the days before

anyone knew about keeping kosher!)

Would any of us react in that way?

I suspect not.

And while that tells us something about ancient near Eastern culture,

and our own as well …

I suspect it also tells us something about ourselves.

Among most nomadic cultures,

particularly in ancient times,

any wanderer, or stranger, or alien,

unless he or she was a known enemy,

was to be welcomed and cared for.

You didn’t have to roll out the proverbial red carpet if you didn’t want to,

but you had an obligation to provide food, water, shelter,

a safe place to stay overnight.

The desert is deadly.

If you had to make a desert journey,

you would need to be able to count on the kindness of strangers.

Consequently, the expectation was

that you should always expect to provide kindness to strangers.

Even so, Abraham goes out of his way.

The hospitality that he and Sarah provide is off the scale!

And they are, nine months later, rewarded for it,

with a son named Laughter … Isaac.

Fast-forward to today’s very brief gospel lesson:

This is the tail end of the instructions Jesus gives to the Twelve

as he sends them out on their mission of preaching and healing.

"Whoever welcomes you welcomes me."

It’s almost as if Abraham understood that,

centuries before:

When you welcome a stranger, you are welcoming God.

"Whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person

will receive the reward of the righteous …"

"Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones

in the name of a disciple …

none of these will lose their reward."

A few hundred years after Abraham,

fewer people are wandering nomads;

they are still in the desert but are more settled into cities and villages …

Travelers in Jesus’ time may be at risk from bandits and thieves,

but are less likely to be desperate for food and water.

Even so, the rules of hospitality haven’t particularly changed.

To welcome the stranger is to welcome Jesus, is to welcome God.

To minister to the stranger is to care for Jesus,

is to receive the reward of God.

But how do we welcome the stranger,

in the 21^st-century world we now find ourselves in?

Hospitality is increasingly a lost art,

even among friends, neighbors, co-workers, non-strangers.

To welcome someone into our home

feels as often like a burden as a blessing.

Some of that may be a gender-thing …

Lots of men I know feel perfectly okay about

inviting friends over if the house is a mess,

and there’s nothing to eat in the fridge –

after all, one can always order a pizza.

But for most of us of the female persuasion,

having someone over to the house means

cleaning for days,

fixing something special to eat,

a seemingly endless list of preparations.

After all, we’re the ones who do things like

clean the house before the maid comes!

For which, the men in our lives think we are certifiably nuts.

At any rate,

hospitality seems to have become more and more scarce

in our culture, and in our time.

I was astounded – pleasantly astounded, but astounded nonetheless –

when we moved into the house in Duncanville,

our next-door neighbor came over and brought us

a fabulous chocolate pie, to welcome us.

At one level, that seemed so quaint …

but at another level, what a beautiful thing!

I tell myself I don’t have time to do that sort of thing,

but the truth is, we all have time to do what’s important to us.

And most of us here – perhaps not all, but most –

also have enough money to do what is important to us.

I suspect that part of our difficulty is

in choosing what’s important.

In a sense, it was much easier for Abraham;

easier, even, in Jesus’ time.

A stranger shows up, dusty from the road.

You live in a tent, or perhaps a small two- or three-room house.

There is no expectation that you can provide something elaborate.

There’s really not all that much else to keep you busy …

conversing with a stranger for a few hours

may be the most interesting thing that happens all week.

You provide a little meat, and wine, maybe a place to rest for the night,

and in exchange, you hear the news from other places along the road,

and maybe a few really good stories as well.

You didn’t have to polish the silver, iron the tablecloth,

vacuum the carpets, dust the cat, etc.;

you don’t even have any of those things!

How many of us now, though,

would even feel safe welcoming an unknown traveler into our homes?

The world is different … but so are we.

Nevertheless, imagine that situation for a moment.

Someone appears in your neighborhood,

and needs a place to stay for the night.

How would you respond?

Might it depend in part on how they were dressed,

and whether they were driving a car, and what kind it was?

Would any of us be brave enough to say,

"Sure, come stay with me."

I know I probably wouldn’t.

So, what would I do?

Would I offer to drive them to a nearby motel,

and pay for one night?

Would I offer to take them to the Salvation Army?

Would I ask them if they needed a meal?

Would I say, "sorry, I can’t help you," and walk away?

Even if we can’t "do" hospitality and welcome

in exactly the same way it was done in biblical times,

how can we do it?

Just because it’s difficult,

doesn’t mean that we get to decide it doesn’t have to be done!

So, I’m pretty much willing to admit or to confess

that I’m not willing to open up my two spare bedrooms

to homeless people.

Okay, then, what am I going to do

to help provide shelter for those who are wandering,

and in need of help?

Am I going to give some of my income

to organizations that do provide food and shelter,

whether it’s the Austin Street Centre, or Family Gateway,

or the Salvation Army, or the Stewpot?

Am I going to volunteer my time,

making sandwiches, teaching English,

befriending those in need, serving on a board?

Am I going to ask uncomfortable questions of powerful people, like,

do you really think that bulldozing people’s cardboard shacks

is going to make them go away?

Don’t you think that if they had somewhere else to go,

Am I going to insist that we think about systemic problems, like,

why is it that,

even while homelessness in this nation is still increasing,

the number of people buying second homes is at an all-time high?

Look what happens when you try letting Jesus in!

You start with thinking about little things like offering a welcome,

and giving a cup of cold water,

and you end up getting questions about

not only your individual priorities and commitments,

but about world political and economic issues!

It might actually be simpler in the long run

to let that stranger bunk in the spare bedroom

than to take Jesus’ teachings to their logical conclusions.

Of course, offering welcome and hospitality, just like all of discipleship,

is not only about risk …

it’s also about reward, as Jesus makes clear.

"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."

Talk to those who have served meals at Hillcrest House,

or Austin Street, or the Stewpot,

about the rewards of doing that sort of work.

Not just the gratitude of those you are helping,

not just how good it makes you feel,

but also about the opportunity to connect with strangers

and find out how different you aren’t.

Or … think about the welcome and hospitality we have offered to our neighborhood

by having DISD use our building for their adult and children’s classes.

There is both risk and reward.

In fact, it’s kind of like those MasterCard commercials:

- Extra expense on coffee for all those folks … couple of hundred dollars

- Extra toilet paper needed for all those people … couple of hundred dollars

- Repairs for things that accidentally got broken … couple of hundred dollars

- Watching adults and children learn and grow … priceless.

 

What risks have you not taken,

that you perhaps should get ready to take?

What rewards have you been missing out on?

What risks are we, together,

perhaps being asked to undertake?

Who else is "out there" that needs to be welcomed,

needs a cup of cold water,

needs our hospitality?

Where is Jesus still waiting for us to recognize him,

dressed as a stranger?

And if we don’t do it,

who will?

Amen.