As a guest. July 7, 2019 The Rev. David M. Stoddart.

Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

The week before last, I was with our youth community in eastern Kentucky, working with the Christian Appalachian Project. My particular crew had been assigned to a family that lived in a doublewide trailer up on a hillside: our job was to build a deck and handicapped-accessible ramp. And we did it: everyone worked very hard to complete that project in a week. But as satisfying as that was, building it was not the highlight of the week for me. On Tuesday, the husband and wife invited us in for dessert: the woman, who suffers from bad legs and mobility problems, had made us two cobblers: strawberry cobbler and peach cobbler. They were delicious — a real treat. Well, the next day, the husband told us that they had made some beans for us for lunch, so we went inside and found a lot more than beans: there was a beef and potato stew, hot pasta, pasta salad, fried bologna, corn, corn on the cob, cornbread, and, yes, beans, along with cake for dessert. It was amazing: we gladly ditched our sandwiches and dug in. And the last day was even better: they made us a brunch that was nothing less than a feast: fried eggs, egg casserole, bacon, sausage biscuits, gravy, chocolate gravy, pears. We were all gathered around this little table, and the dishes of food were literally piled on top of each other. It was obviously a poor family, and struggling, like many people in that part of the country. Putting on a spread like that had to be sacrificial for them, but they clearly wanted to offer us that kind of hospitality. And as we ate those meals, we weren’t just a bunch of privileged and affluent people riding into town to help them out: we were their guests, receiving from them as much as we were giving to them. I think eating those meals was the most important thing we did all week.

You ever notice how much time Jesus spends eating? He’s always going to dinner parties: his first miracle in John’s Gospel is turning water into wine at a wedding banquet. And, significantly, in all the stories of Jesus eating, he is always a guest. He’s even a guest at the Last Supper, where someone else makes the meal.  And of all the instructions he could have given to his followers when he sent them out two by two, these are the simple instructions given in our Gospel today: Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’” Eat what is set before you. Be a guest. Receive hospitality. This is at the heart of Jesus’ own ministry, and it is at the heart of all true evangelism.

I once heard a preacher from another tradition say that our job as Christians is to conquer the world for Christ, and that phrase made me wince. Too many Christians over the centuries have had an imperialistic outlook, bound and determined to convert unbelievers  and make them members of the church . . . or else. But there is no talk of conquest in this passage. The followers of Jesus are not told to convert anyone or persuade anyone to join anything. They are not to be arrogant or domineering in any way. Instead, like Jesus, they are told to be vulnerable and to rely on the hospitality of strangers. Their mission is to walk alongside people, to eat with them, to be friends with them, to care for them. This is the way God’s love is made known to the world . . . which is why we so often miss it.

 I remember when I first learned that lesson as a newly-ordained priest. I was visiting an elderly parishioner, a woman who was pretty isolated and who rarely got any visitors. So I arrived, and she offered me refreshments, and I firmly said no, nothing for me, thank you. And in my mind, I was thinking, “You’re not supposed to serve me, I’m here to serve you. I’m the minister, and I will be the one doing the ministering.” I am embarrassed to think how I must have come across, but I vividly remember the look of disappointment on her face when I told her I didn’t want anything.  At the end of our visit, as I was leaving, I happened to glance in the kitchen and saw a tray with cookies, cake, and tea, all prepared for me — hospitality that I rejected. A missed opportunity. I never made that mistake again.

This is how the reign of God is experienced: in our common humanity, in moments of shared hospitality. Christ comes among us gently and humbly, as a guest. There is a great image from the book of Revelation which I love. Christ says, Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me (Rev. 3:20).

So is the message here, “Go let people cook for you!”? Well, yes, sometimes. But it also goes deeper than that. If we are going to be Christ in this world, to be Spirit-filled channels of love, if we are going to experience that love and share that love, then we need to drop our egos and let down our defenses. We don’t always need to be the strong ones and we don’t always have to have all the answers. We just need to be humble enough to give and receive love. I’ve been thinking about that a lot as I have been recovering from throat surgery. Mother Kathleen, Emily, and others  have had to step in and help, and they have done so beautifully. Allowing that to happen has not always been easy, but it has been grace-filled. So often it’s when we are most vulnerable that the Holy Spirit is able to flow most strongly.

I would paraphrase the words of Jesus in our Gospel today like this: Wherever you go this week, meet people where they’re at, and love them for who they are. When they have gifts to offer you, receive them. When you have gifts to share, share them. Trust that when we walk alongside others with good will, God’s love is at work and the peace of God will prevail. Know that when we love like Christ — humbly, vulnerably — the kingdom of God is expanded, and we will all experience the quiet power of that kingdom to heal us and make us whole.