Luke 14:12-24Last Wednesday in our Agape Prayer group meeting, a member shared what a joy it was to see my wife at the grocery store. Now, my wife is a lovely person, in fact, we just celebrated 20 years of marriage together, but it is interesting that – in our current state of affairs – a chance meeting in the grocery store is cause for celebration. It makes me wonder who else is longing for the touch of another person’s hand – a friend, a stranger, anyone really. We are all longing for hugs and handshakes and the physical, tactile reminder that we are not alone in the universe.
The mere suggestion of a sporting event sends some of us into shock, and our church buildings and public spaces seem to have an almost magnetic pull when we think about them. We long for Sunday dinners and BBQs and all of our rituals of community formation. It makes me think back to Sunday dinners at home as a child, church suppers here in our fellowship hall, and open grill nights in seminary. We would fire up a grill and everyone brought their own meat and veggies and we would share food and laughter.
Memories like these are the things many of us think of when we think about a word like “hospitality,” but hospitality in the time of COVID-19 seems like an oxymoron. If anything, all of our protocols and social distancing seem like the absolute reversal of hospitality.
As much as I hate it, I can’t help but wonder if the Pharisees were thinking the same thing when Jesus told them not to invite the people that could return a favor, but instead invite the poor and the blind and the lame – anyone who cannot pay you back. As rude as that may sound (he already told them not to expect the best seat in the house, now he’s accusing them of playing favorites with the wealthy), it seems like at least one of them agreed with him.
Maybe “agreed” is a bit generous, but at least one of them responded with, “Blessed is the one who will eat at the feast in the kingdom of God.” Of course, this person was responding to the carrot of resurrection that Jesus had dangled before him. Most likely they all would have known about Isaiah’s claim that all will feast on bread and wine that they did not buy or toil for one day in Zion, but Jesus had said that the reward for caring for the poor would be the resurrection of the righteous.
One thing the Pharisees believed in was the resurrection of the righteous, and they were pretty sure it meant them. The response of “Blessed is the one who will eat at the feast in the kingdom of God” may have been like saying “Amen!” Although, I guess he could’ve just said “Amen,” so maybe it was more like, “wouldn’t that be nice, Rabbi Jesus – except we aren’t in heaven, so…”
I like to think of this as one of those times when Jesus rubbed his temples a bit before telling the story to make clear what he had in mind. “Ok, so there was this guy…” then he tells them a story about a man who invited his contemporaries to a party and none of them came, so he invited the poor and the lame. Then he just grabbed anyone who would come, so that there would be no room for the ones he had invited before. The end, ha-ha. Gotcha!
Let’s come back to that ending in a minute. First off, it’s not hard to think of God as the “certain man” at the beginning. It’s certainly the character of God to start with the poor and the lame and then include anyone willing, but in the end, the man is just a man who is moved by pettiness more than pity. Yet, even in our pettiness, God is active. God is active when the ones that are a bother to us become the ones that matter most. God is active when the invitation is not connected to what we can get out of it, but instead becomes an invitation for us to share what we have with those who do not have the most basic of resources.
You know, come to think of it, there could be another angle on it. If the man invited those of high station and they did not come, and then he invited those of low station and they did come, then he would no longer be someone that those in high station associated with. He might have even made himself ritually unclean, but he certainly has made some friends and relationships that broadened his social circle. Maybe his intent was to keep out the guests that snubbed him, but the reality is that he made a move in his relationships that changed his priorities from self-serving to serving others.
Jesus wanted the Pharisees to hear that they were the ones being invited. Not only were they the ones being invited as honored guests, but they were the ones being invited into a new reality where relationships with those in need change our priorities from self-serving to serving God by caring for others.
Now, what does that mean for us – a congregation that has identified hospitality as a core value – during the time of COVID-19, hurricanes, and racial and ethnic unrest? What does it mean to you, as a follower of Jesus?
In some ways, it means the same thing now as it always has. Hospitality is not about lavish parties. It’s about showing compassion, which is really hard to do when so many of us feel overwhelmed by our own need for connection and relationships. So what do we do?
Jill Duffield, the editor of the Presbyterian Outlook, actually wrote about this in March, and she said that the biggest task of the church during this time of loneliness and isolation is to remind everyone that they are not, in fact, alone. It may sound trite to say, but the most intimate relationship that we have (or could have) is actually with the one who knows every fiber of our being already.
That means that the first task of hospitality in the time of COVID-19 is to see the reversals of social order all around us as an invitation into a deeper relationship with God. In that relationship, we realize our place, not as spiritual beggars but as beloved children. As beloved children of God, we cannot help but extend the same hospitality to others that we have received. COVID-19 doesn’t change that. It just changes the way that we do it.
Here’s what I mean by that. When we hear from the Mayor that we are not supposed to house or help after the hurricane – out of fear over protests questioning the equal treatment of blacks by police – and we hear from a member who is a mother of 5 and needs housing, we open our doors. When a representative of NECHAMA Jewish Response to Disaster contacted us to ask for a place to stay while doing recon for disaster response, we said come on down.
This is a community that was already delivering food to those quarantined and to those in hotels who were without homes before the storm. This is a community where the rules are reversed when it comes to hospitality as long as we can do it without causing greater harm. In fact, those “do no harm” Wesleyan Methodist down the street just called us last week to ask for a collection of peanut butter, and we delivered what we could. You see hospitality is always at work reversing social order when that order seeks to divide us and control us.
Hospitality is always calling to us, and this time is no different, to turn the table over to Jesus and be thankful when it is so full of those with a greater need that we can’t even get in the door! The good news is that the kingdom of heaven is always larger on the inside than it is on the outside. The good news is that the tables that we set up and gather together like so many family reunions are yet the same table when we proclaim the risen Christ together, and that’s what we are doing today.
The bread used in communion today was baked here in the church. Ingredients were brought from a certain person, the mixer and dough hook from another. Still another person kneaded the dough after it had risen. The loaves baked with it have fed and nourished children who have been displaced from their home. This bread is special, and yet it is the same bread as the bread on your table.
Knowing that we are sharing this bread as our proclamation of the risen Christ means that you know that God’s love is more powerful than death. It means that as we eat this bread we understand that God has set us aside for a special purpose just as this bread has been set aside. It means that the sacrament isn’t just an act or a ritual, it is the recognition that you and I and all those that share in this meal have been created to be live sacramentally.
We have been created to live as those who demonstrate love and mercy by inviting those who could never repay us to join in the feast that we can never pay for ourselves. That is what hospitality in the time of COVID-19 is all about – and it is really no different than any other time – and thanks be to God for that! Amen.
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