Isaiah 35:4-7a
Psalm 146
James 2:10-17
Mark 7:24-37
When thinking of hospitality, we think usually
of welcoming into our homes, into our circle, those who we already know, or at
least those known by those whom we know.
However, the biblical image of hospitality is markedly different. Looking especially at the Hebrew Scriptures,
hospitality was an utter necessity in a nomadic culture, as well as in areas
without any heavy concentration of villages, towns or cities. As such, it was one’s honor and duty to make
his or her tent, his or her household, open to the wayfarer and traveler, and
most usually this would be someone unknown, it would be a stranger; and the
relationship between host and guest was considered absolutely sacrosanct. Witness the disturbing, but revealing episode
in the book of Genesis when Lot would rather throw to the angry mob his
daughters than betray to them his guests – angels posing at men. (cf. Genesis 19) But this is only one example of the
host/guest dynamic in Scriptures.
Perhaps the most well known – not least on account of the famous Rublev
icon, The Hospitality of Abraham –
appears also in Genesis and features also some sort of divine messengers
appearing as men. Abraham’s words as he
meets them highlights the honor in being a host, indeed an honor conferred by
guests themselves: “My lord, if I find favor
with you, do not pass by your servant.” (Genesis 18:3) Immediately Abraham commands food and other
comforts for them, including cakes, veal, curds and milk, then stands by while
they eat and rest. (cf. Genesis 18:6-8) Fleeing from Egypt, into the land of Midian,
Moses finds hospitality among the tents and the household Jethro. Here the main protagonist is the guest, but
the dynamic is the same. Moses, the
stranger is invited to break bread, to stay with Jethro and his people, and is
even offered Zipporah, Jethro’s daughter, in marriage – yes, in a patriarchal
culture that’s part of hospitality too – and by marriage is transformed from
guest into kin, made welcome into full inclusion, as it were. The New Testament too commends in various
ways this relationship of guest and host: “Come, you that are blessed by my Father,
inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I
was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to
drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” (Matthew 25:34b-35) In the Gospel of Luke, the Emmaus narrative
places Jesus himself – unrecognized by his disciples, therefore a stranger – in
the role of guest. “Stay with us,” they
say to him, “because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” (Luke
24:29) Among the epistles, the author of
the letter to the Hebrews writes: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers,
for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” (Hebrews
13:2) All these instances in the
Scriptures reveal the common cultural understanding of the guest as primarily
the stranger, and that by welcoming the stranger we somehow welcome the divine
purposes, we welcome a transformation, we welcome a new path.
Today’s
gospel is all about the encounter with the stranger, and about Jesus’
particular kind of hospitality which offers refreshment, restoration and
wholeness; and yet it takes some
convincing for Jesus to see the stranger as guest, to reach out in hospitality
to the stranger. The woman who
approaches Jesus is a foreigner, “a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin” (Mark
7:26a), the writer of Mark tells us; and when she asks Jesus for the healing of
her daughter, in a sense when she requests the time-honored and socially expected
hospitality: “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the
children’s food and throw it to the dogs” (Mark 7:27) – now, “dog” was a common
and derogatory term among Jews for referring to Gentiles, outsiders. In turn, she comes back with a clearly
logical, but also shaming response. While
aware, that the host should offer his or her guests the best the household has
to offer, like Abraham who brings out some of the choicest foods, she says to
Jesus, in effect, well at least you could be hospitable enough to give me the
crumbs. (cf. Mark 7:28) Here something changes in Jesus’ thinking,
and he says to her “for saying this, you may go – the demon has left your
daughter.” (Mark 7:29) In Matthew he
first commends her faith – “Woman, great is your faith!” (Matthew 15:28) –
before sending her home to find her daughter sound and well. In welcoming the stranger, Jesus’s own vision
is enlarged as to what his mission is about – perhaps it is not only to the
children of Israel – and to signify this he goes beyond the domain of his own
people, beyond the familiar. The next
section in Mark takes him into the Decapolis, a region full of strangers, a
group of cities which were centers – not of Jewish – but of Greek and Roman
culture. There Jesus makes God’s welcome
and hospitality available to all, even opening the ears of a deaf man with a
speech impediment which allowed him to hear more effectively and more
eloquently proclaim the good news of the hospitable and welcoming God. Jesus allows himself to be changed by the
encounter with the stranger to such an extent that it opens up a whole new
dimension to his ministry. In the
stranger he was able to hear the promptings of his Father to go beyond the
familiar, and to live out the radical kind of hospitality which was already an
integral part the Jewish tradition, even if not well-practiced.
In
thinking about welcome and hospitality, the Judeao-Christian tradition not only
holds in high regard the host/guest relationship, but has a special place for
the stranger, indeed consistently seems to point to the possibility that it is
in the encounter with stranger that the divine is revealed, both divine glory
and the divine plan. We can ignore the
stranger and the stranger’s message but we very well may do so at the risk of
ignoring God. Sarah laughed when the
strangers predicted she would bear a son even in her old age. The disciples on the road to Emmaus did not recognize
the risen Christ in the stranger walking with them. Jesus himself did not initially see in the
plea of Syrophoenician woman the invitation to go beyond his upbringing. But in each case, it is the stranger who is
vindicated, offering to the hosts a wider vision, perhaps even a new direction.
When we genuinely place ourselves in the posture of host, every stranger who
comes into our lives, who comes through our doors here at the Church of the
Saviour, brings with him or her this possibility, the possibility of
transforming us, the possibility of widening our vision. But it requires of us that we take seriously
the posture of host, that we rediscover its meaning in our tradition, that we are
willing like Abraham to offer the best to the stranger who comes our way,
making ourselves present – really present – to them and to their needs, allowing
ourselves to be surprised by the possibilities they offer. And the ironic thing about it all – and the
scriptures bear witness over and again – it is the host that in the end is more
blessed; because as we reach out in welcome to the stranger we are further
caught up into the mystery of the God’s plans, of God’s own life, who himself –
as the psalm says – “loves the righteous [and] cares for the stranger.” (Psalm
146:8)
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