92.4K
Downloads
667
Episodes
Foundry is an historic, progressive United Methodist Church that welcomes all, worships passionately, challenges the status quo, & seeks to transform the world.
Episodes
Sunday May 22, 2016
Sunday May 22, 2016
Pastor's perspective and debrief about the United Methodist Church General Conference held in Portland on May 10 - May 21, 2016, by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli.
Sunday May 08, 2016
Sunday May 08, 2016
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E.
Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, May 8, 2016, the seventh Sunday of Easter.
Text: Romans 12:2-5, 9-18
In early 2015, the Institute on Religion and Democracy (IRD), a conservative Christian watchdog organization, published an article[i] snidely dismissing the ministry of historic Ebenezer UMC here in DC and, in the process, took a swipe at Capitol Hill UMC where I served as pastor from 2003-2008. Capitol Hill and Ebenezer share a city block and a sad history of separation due to racism, not unlike Foundry’s history with Asbury. The piece wasn’t about any of that, but rather wanted to make the claim that “The most powerful city in the world has almost no vital, orthodox United Methodist churches. Instead there are typically small, liberal congregations that celebrate their diversity but have little capacity for meaningful outreach.” To make his point, the author set up an apples-to-oranges comparison between a doctrinal statement of what the author considers a “vital, orthodox” church and the welcome statement of Capitol Hill UMC. Doctrinal statements, often called “creeds” –words that describe what scripture teaches us about God and the Christian life—are important and the historic creeds provide a life-long framework for our study and reflection. A welcome statement isn’t equivalent to a creed. It is a tangible expression of the hospitality we are called to extend to others because we have been fully received into God’s hospitality. The IRD author contends that leading with doctrinal statements is the best strategy for “meaningful outreach.” I counter that without a welcome open enough to receive folks who are at many different places on the journey of life and faith, “meaningful outreach” is impossible. In short, if folks don’t receive a true welcome from the church, they won’t learn the creed or receive anything else the church offers either. Because they will stay or run far, far away.
Imagine a beautiful home that is the location of a fantastic party—great food, live music, interesting people, amazing art, great conversation and even some dancing…the works. You can see this place and you have heard about the party going on inside, but when you try to check it out you struggle to get up all the stairs and to find the correct door to enter. Once you finally find your way, there is someone at the door checking whether you’re on the list of those approved to come in. If you get past that, then another person tells you that unless you speak this foreign language you aren’t welcome. And if you’re able to scrape by the language test, you’re then told that unless you believe this statement (written in that foreign language) you aren’t welcome. Where radical hospitality isn’t practiced, the true gifts of the church are like that party: wonderfully life-giving but inaccessible.
Today we have heard powerful and challenging words from the apostle Paul to the church in Rome. These words might be described as a kind of mission statement, a description of the way followers of Jesus are called to live in community and relate to one another. Paul calls us to do hard things, things that require us to think about others as much as we think about ourselves, things like being patient, forgiving, compassionate, generous. Things like being humble and blessing those who persecute us. At the center of our passage we find: “extend hospitality to strangers.” I got to thinking about how a photographer looks through a lens and chooses what appears in the frame—what is the center and what surrounds or “frames” that center? This passage of scripture is like a snapshot of what Christian life is called to look like. Hospitality is in the middle of it all, framed and informed by everything else it takes to live a life of faith, hope, and love. Perhaps the better metaphor for our text is not a still photograph, but rather a short video—because the life it captures is active. It isn’t enough for me to simply consider blessing that IRD author who persecutes those I love, I am to really pray blessing upon him. And, in the same way, it is not enough to just think about practicing hospitality or to read books about hospitality or to have hospitable intentions. We are called to truly embody hospitality, to practice it, to do something concrete.
Thank goodness, there are a variety of ways to “extend hospitality” that don’t all include speaking in front of people or to strangers! Many among us at Foundry practice hospitality through the work for justice for unhoused neighbors, others through advocacy for the welcome and inclusion of LGBTQ persons, others through designing and building accessible spaces here in our physical plant, and others through careful reflection about our use of language. All of these things are concrete actions to make Foundry an “open house” that extends hospitality to all people. While it is true that there are many ways to engage in the practice of hospitality, not all of which require one to be a chatty extrovert or party planner, there is a need at Foundry for folks who are comfortable greeting new people. We’re looking to put together weekly teams of ushers and greeters for each Sunday—the idea being that folks will need to serve in this capacity generally once a month. Each weekly team needs one person to serve as the team captain who can help with any special needs or instructions based on the day’s worship or other events. Training will be provided for this ministry and there is truly a great need for folks to step up and help us extend hospitality to every person who crosses through our doors. If you’re interested, please send me a message. I’ll get you connected.
Our efforts to provide radical hospitality at Foundry are grounded in the awareness that without such hospitality, the good news of God’s love in Christ Jesus might never be received by folks who—like you and me—desperately need to hear it. There are so many stories to share about people whose lives have been transformed because they were welcomed and embraced in Christian community and, through that experience, came to know how much God loves them. Your life might be that testimony! Our own John Harden has shared some of his story over the past couple of years—telling about how he came to Foundry “lost,” in desperate need of “getting his life together.” He was initially welcomed by T.C. and Logan and then, once he started attending the 9:30 service, pew mates Carolinda, Doris, Arthur and Earlene reached out with open arms, saying, “Welcome, John.” John tells the story of Pastor T saying, “Take my hand. I’ll hold yours until you are able to hold someone else's.” John’s life has been transformed by the love of God in Christ, embodied through the hospitality of this congregation. It is through the door of welcome that John stepped into new life, new hope in Christ.
That is what can happen when the church embodies hospitality. But there can be tragic consequences when the church fails in this central practice of the Christian life. I recently read this story told by a lifelong United Methodist and “preacher’s kid” about her son:
“My son had been teased and bullied periodically throughout his childhood. We changed schools from public to private, back to public, to private and back to public again. Through all of this, Ben was wounded but remained kind and grounded. He found pure joy and solid friendships in our United Methodist Church youth group. He was funny and his confidence grew with beautiful shared joy. Unfortunately, with a shift in the youth leadership, there was a change in the message. Ben was singled out by the leader while in a circle of his friends. In other words, the intimidation, the misuse of power, and the bullying began again. This time it was inflicted by an adult in authority representing the United Methodist Church. The unsaid message was eventually spoken in full ambush fashion. Ben was outed as gay (based only on suspicion but Ben did not deny), and was given the message that he did not belong. He was not worthy to be a part of the group and was no representation of Christ. It was announced that he was going to hell. His spirit was irreparably damaged…Each of us felt so many raw and difficult emotions. We, as his family, could not say enough, pray enough, love enough to undo the damage. Ben, his father, I and many others were changed forever because of that cruel and betraying message. This type of betrayal by the church which we had trusted, invested in, and loved, produced trauma to every cell of our body and being… In May of 2012, we were in our small town for a spring celebration where many strolled around in little traditional family units. Ben said, “Mom, I will never be accepted here.” I responded, “Honey, most people are good and kind, they really are.” In a defeated and certain voice, he said, “Mom, you live in a bubble.” The North Carolina vote for Amendment One (taking away many rights of same sex couples) took place on May 8, 2012, thus piling on more heavy layers of emotional loss from disregard and abandonment. Not only had Ben’s church and his community degraded him by denying equal respect and rights, so had his state. Ben’s faith in God and humanity withered in an insidious manner. Ben took his life on May 8, 2013.”[ii]
Three years ago today, a lack of hospitality, the failure to share the welcome and loving embrace of God, led a beloved child to end his life in despair.
I know I’m “preaching to the choir” on this one. But sometimes folks “overhear” what we’re talking about here at Foundry and this is something I want people to hear. What we’re talking about when we talk about radical hospitality is life and death stuff. Our words and actions of welcome will either usher folks into a beautiful, meaningful life in Christ or will shut them out to fend for themselves or, as in Ben’s case, to die. Our sisters and brothers at IRD suggest that welcome, inclusion, and celebration of diversity get in the way of meaningful outreach. But I contend that welcome, inclusion, and celebration of diversity ARE meaningful outreach. And hospitality isn’t just outreach, it is at the very heart of Christian life and mission…to extend grace, embrace, friendship, acceptance, and love to all people just as Christ has done for us is what holy hospitality is, after all.
Hospitality isn’t the whole picture (I’ll give the IRD that), but without it, people see a distorted picture of Christian faith or don’t see it at all. Hospitality isn’t the end of the Christian journey, but rather an invitation to begin. Hospitality isn’t the whole story or the fullness of the faith, but it does open the door for those who are lost or in despair to receive the saving love of God. And what, I ask, is more “orthodox” or “vital” than saving the lives of God’s beloved children?
Sunday Apr 24, 2016
Sunday Apr 24, 2016
A homily preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, April 24, 2016, the fifth Sunday of Easter and Confirmation Sunday.
Text: Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Today we have heard some very old, very important words from a very old, very important book of the Bible. For our younger folks, it may seem weird to talk about “very old” things being “very important.” What do those old words have to do with me? How can they possibly be important for our lives? Well, let me begin by inviting all of us to think about our families (whatever shape that takes for you)—think about the people who are important to you, who love you, who help you learn and grow, who push you to be the very best you can be, who have been with you through tough times, who have given you what you need to live. The people in my family (both biological and “found”) and the experiences we share give me a sense of identity and belonging. When we get together, we remember important and funny moments we have shared. We eat our favorite foods—Nana’s roast and gooseberry pie for dessert. I expect your families are the same when you get together (though your family might prefer huckleberry or blueberry pie). When we get together as families, we tell the stories that are “our” stories—the stories that bind us together as a family.
The words we heard today from Deuteronomy capture the heart of a story—not just any story, but “our” story as the family of God. Tradition says these words are Moses speaking to the people of God as they enter the Promised Land. Moses begins the family story with a reference to “Father Abraham”: “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor.” He goes on to tell how the people had been nomads with no land of their own, had settled as immigrants in Egypt and there had become slaves. They fled Egypt and became refugees, again wandering in the wilderness. And who was with them through it all? Who lead them out of slavery and oppression? YHWH. Throughout the story, the people receive the hospitality of God: God liberates, shelters, feeds, protects, and guides the people into the promise.
This may still feel like someone else’s story. But today, as we baptize, confirm, and receive persons into this congregation, we once again tell the “old story” of God’s love and grace. In our prayer over the water we hear: “When you saw your people as slaves in Egypt, you led them to freedom through the sea. Their children you brought through the Jordan to the land which you promised.” When we are baptized, confirmed, and received through reaffirmation, we claim our place in the story of God’s people, our place in God’s family. [The service says that through baptism we are “incorporated into God’s mighty acts of salvation”—that means we participate in God’s life, receive and share God’s hospitality, and offer love and mercy to others, just as we have received God’s love and mercy.]
I love the fact that the story begins with that “wandering Aramean.” Here at Foundry we proudly welcome everyone, wherever we are on our spiritual journey. In this, we acknowledge that we come from a people who wander, who are always on a journey. And, as J.R.R. Tolkien wrote in The Lord of the Rings, “Not all who wander are lost.” God’s people “wandered” in the wilderness because they sought the land God promised; they wandered on purpose. Our journeys are about seeking God’s promises for our own lives—we “wander on purpose,” seeking integration and wholeness, peace and purpose, love and acceptance, wisdom, justice, and joy. This is a lifelong journey. We are always seeking. This is part of what it means to be people of faith. To “have faith” doesn’t mean that we will always feel settled or sure. My very first semester in college in Dr. John Score’s Philosophy of Religion class I read this: “Show me someone who’s not confused and I’ll show you someone who’s not been thinking.”[i] If we’re really thinking and if we really care, we will have questions and doubts. Our faith gives us permission to be honest about that stuff, to be curious, to wonder about God’s sense of humor (have you seen the platypus?!), to wrestle with things in the Bible or in the church and even to get mad at God (Lord knows the people shared a few choice words when they were in that wilderness!).
Today as we tell our story again through the Baptismal covenant service, we are assured of God’s love and mercy for us—no matter what. And we are given grace to take our place and play our own part in the ongoing adventure. All along our journeys—in suffering and wilderness, as in promise and joy—God is with us. That is our story and today we have a chance to say we’re sticking to it. Thanks be to God.
Sunday Apr 17, 2016
Sunday Apr 17, 2016
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, April 17, 2016, the fourth Sunday of Easter.
Texts: Isaiah 55: 1-3, 10-13; Luke 14:16-24
What’s the catch? I don’t know about you, but when I receive a message that I’ve won a free trip or a free case of wine or a check for thousands of dollars, I immediately start looking for the fine print—if I even bother to go that far. My assumption is that it is a setup, that the “free gift” is not really free, that I have to buy something or sign a contract, or sit through a day-long sales pitch to buy a condo. And these days, it seems common for any good thing or kind gesture to be somewhat suspect—I recall someone telling about the woman who greeted someone on the street saying, “Isn’t this a beautiful day?” to which the stranger replied (distrustingly), “What do you mean by that?!” These days, a freely offered thing—whether a gift or a greeting—may be assumed to come with a “catch” and most of us have (at some point in our lives) likely uttered the words “nothing in life is free.”
And yet what we hear today in the scriptures contradicts this perspective: “everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.” (Isa 55:1) Did you hear that?? Drinks are on God! God’s got you covered. It’s FREE. And what is it that God is offering? Life. “Incline your ear, and come to me; listen, so that you may live.” (Isa 55:3) The implication is that God offers things that—if received—lead to a life that is truly alive. I imagine that we all know how possible it is to stumble through life like the walking dead. I imagine we are familiar with the ways that our lives can feel lost, aimless, meaningless, passionless. I imagine that we or someone we know is thirsty for love, meaning, purpose, acceptance, peace. Have we ourselves never been hungry for something to do or to be that feels weighty and worthy of our very best efforts, some purpose that connects to something bigger than our own small vision? And today God says, “I have what you need to live, to really live! And it is free!”
When the prophecy first came, it was delivered to Israel at the end of a very long exile in Babylon. Whole generations had been born in the foreign land and the people likely had little hope in the old promises of God. With this prophecy it becomes clear that God’s words, God’s promises, will always be fulfilled. “For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth… making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.” (Isa 55:10-11) God’s promise to Israel is God’s steadfast love and a life filled with purpose: Israel is called to share God’s way of life in community with each other and also with the whole world. They are to be “a light to the nations.” (Isa 49:6, 55:5)
What God offers us isn’t that different from God’s promise to Israel. Each one of us is invited into God’s life—into God’s Kin-dom. Imagine you got an invitation to an open house in which all the good gifts of God’s Kin-dom were actively pursued…things like patience, kindness, compassion, playfulness, joy, mercy, friendship, justice, honesty, trust, peace, gentleness, self-control, love, creativity…Imagine you are welcomed into this open house by a host who knows everything about you—your greatest gifts, your saddest moments, your most painful regrets—and embraces you with open eyes, open arms, and a wide-open heart full of love for you. Your host sets a table before you with everything you need (and more) and invites you to stay. Imagine that you accept the invitation to make that house your home and continue to receive that extraordinary hospitality. Just think about how your life might change over time, how your mind might change, how your heart might change. This is the invitation we receive today—the invitation to receive God’s hospitality and to live as those formed and sustained by it.
What’s the catch? You have to be willing to receive it. You have to be willing to accept the invitation. That’s it. Receive God’s love, receive God’s call, receive the promises of God that will not fail. Why would we choose NOT to receive these things? It’s not a new question: “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?” (Isa 55:2) Eugene Peterson’s vernacular paraphrase of this passage says, “Why do you spend your money on junk food, your hard-earned cash on cotton candy?” God is asking, in essence, why are you rejecting the finest cuisine and, instead, trying to be sustained on junk food? Why? Perhaps, like some of those exiles in Babylon, some have figured out how to make a fine living in a foreign land and don’t think they need what God has to offer—so material wealth and the illusion of self-sufficiency is their daily bread. Perhaps some reject God’s invitation because they’ve been burned before and can’t trust that anything could be that good— so they end up living on insecurity and distrust. Perhaps some reject God’s gifts because they think they’ve got all the love they need with their new boyfriend or girlfriend—so when human relationships fail or disappoint, they end up gnawing on the bones of broken hearts and bitterness. Perhaps some are simply too overwhelmed with trying to get through the day to have time to show up and get the goods—so the well runs dry even as thirst increases. Perhaps some have started to believe that they aren’t worth God’s love or that their life is meaningless—lies do not sustain! Perhaps some are worried about what other people would think if they decided to take up residence in the Kin-dom of God—self-consciousness and pride are empty calories. Perhaps some have given up on God because, after all, “what has God done for me lately?”—really?!
In the story Jesus tells in the Gospel today, the people who were initially invited to the feast have all sorts of excuses for not attending. But the host of the party is determined to throw the party and extends the invitation to the poor and disabled, folks who—in that time—dwelled on the margins. When it is discovered that there’s more room at the host’s table, the invitation is carried outside of town to the “roads and lanes.” Folks on the margins and “outsiders” are welcomed to the feast of the wealthy and powerful. That is the story Jesus tells. And in the Isaiah prophecy, God invites those in exile, those who have been driven away, cast out, excluded from their home, to eat and drink for free. Perhaps some among all these groups made excuses and didn’t come, just as those first invited sent regrets. We don’t have the breakdown on RSVPs. But the point of both our scripture passages today has to do with the invitation. God extends an invitation to loved ones in exile; God extends an invitation to loved ones who have the means to buy property and oxen and to loved ones who are poor; God extends an invitation to loved ones who are married and to those who are not; God extends an invitation to those on the margins; God extends an invitation to outsiders. Some choose to reject God’s hospitality. But the table is set, the door is open, and everything is free for the taking. When Jesus ends his story saying “none of those who were invited will taste my dinner,” I hear both an angry, hurt, disappointed host whose gift has been rejected AND a sad moment of truth: those who rejected the invitation are missing out. The table is set and folks have chosen empty calories, tasteless food, things that do not truly sustain.
Over the past couple of weeks, we have been thinking together about what makes hospitality “radical.” We’ve explored “secret knocks” and liberal assumptions, invisible obstacles and dirty looks. We have learned the Latin phrase, tamquam Christus, calling us to welcome every guest as though they were Christ and we’ve pondered a bit about what that might look like. Today we are reminded that the best example of “radical hospitality” is found in the way that God loves unconditionally, invites all people, welcomes folks just as they are, and offers “food” that truly satisfies, food that leads us to abundant life. Spiritual master Henri Nouwen uses the language of being “fully received” as a way of talking about God’s welcome—the experience of being completely embraced, delighted in, forgiven of anything that needs forgiving, encouraged to keep growing and healing, and free to be yourself. Nouwen says that it is only when we have allowed ourselves to be received, welcomed into God’s unconditional love, that we can extend the same kind of welcome to others. He writes, “only when you know yourself as unconditionally loved—that is fully received by God—can you give gratuitously. Giving without wanting anything in return is trusting that all of your needs will be provided by the one who loves you unconditionally. It is trusting that you do not need to protect your own security but can give yourself completely to the service of others…When you know yourself as fully loved you will be grateful for what is given to you without clinging to it, and joyful for what you can give without bragging about it. You will be a free person…Free to love!”[i]
That is the kind of “religious liberty” that is truly at the heart of our faith. It is the liberty, the freedom, to love others as God loves us—which means to “fully receive” others just as we have been fully received. Barring the gates of bathrooms or borders is contrary to our call as those who seek to reflect life as it is lived in the Kin-dom of God. Standing by while others are systematically shut out of the feast of justice, equity, or full inclusion in the world and in the church is an affront to the God who calls us to radical hospitality. Radical hospitality is not just about what happens in our church when guests arrive—though that is critically important. (—if we can't even get that right, we won't be able to do the harder work that is required.) Radical hospitality is about receiving and then setting the table with all the good gifts that come from God and then flinging the doors of our hearts, minds, and doors open to share the feast with everyone, everywhere we go. Radical hospitality is a way of life that reflects the life we receive from Christ.
God doesn’t withdraw the invitation to live in the “open house” of the Kin-dom when our excuses carry us away. The invitation stands. It is free…so you—and others—might be free, too.
[i] Henri Nouwen, The Inner Voice of Love: A Journey Through Anguish to Freedom, New York: Doubleday, 1998, p. 65-66.
Sunday Apr 10, 2016
Sunday Apr 10, 2016
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC April 10, 2016,the third Sunday of Easter.
Text:Luke 24:13-35
A “Pooka,” from Irish/Celtic mythology, is “afairy spirit in animal form.” I learned thisat an early age from watching the1950 film adaptation of the play Harvey. From the movie, I also learned that a Pookais “always very large. The Pooka appears here and there, now and then, to thisone and that one.” Harvey is a Pooka whoappears to Elwood P. Dowd as a six foot-3 ½ inch tall white rabbit. Most people can’t see Harvey but we’re led tobelieve that the rabbit is real—and that those with the eyes to see encounterhim to their delight. Elwood (played byJames Stewart) has the eyes to see—and not just Harvey, but everyone hemeets. He extends the same warmth andopenness to everyone, from the hospital gate attendant, Mr. Shimelplatzer, tothe physician Dr. Sanderson. On morethan one occasion Elwood invites folks he just met to his home for a dinnerparty. He gives them his card and makes sure they know which number to call incase they need to be in touch. He is awonderful example of one who welcomes the stranger. And as someone who spends most of his time witha six foot, three and a half inch tall white rabbit, Elwood P. Dowd is also anexample of one who welcomes the strange.
I’vebeen thinking about those words, “stranger” and “strange,” this week as wecontinue this series on being an “open house,” a community of welcome,inclusion, and radical hospitality. Fromancient times, hospitality has been understood as a bedrock value for thecreation and maintenance of an orderly, morally just civilization.[i] But there is always some ambivalence abouthospitality. In antiquity thestranger—one who is not part of one’s tribe, race, family, or religion—wasconsidered in one of two ways: as an enemy or as a guest/host. This inherent ambivalence about welcoming thestranger is found in the etymology of the language of hospitality. “In Greek, words of the xen stem (we’ve been hearing about xenophobia more than we care to,no?) mean ‘foreign’ or ‘strange’ but also ‘guest.’… In Latin, the word that signifies host is hospes and the word for enemy is hostis, from which our word hostile derives.”[ii] All this is to say that it is a deeply rootedpart of the human experience to encounter those outside our group, those whoare strange to us, as either potential foes or friends.
The Christian tradition provides clear direction onthis point. Last week I lifted up the monasticRule of St. Benedict that says every guest is to be treated tamquam Christus, as if they wereChrist. This rule is based on Jesus’swords in Matthew 25:35, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” Throughout the scriptures, Jesus is always inthe role of “stranger”—the one who was born in a stable because there wasn’troom for him elsewhere, the one who wanders without a home (Mt 8:20) anddepends upon the welcome and hospitality of others. Jesus is poor, comes from the proverbial“other side of the tracks,” (Jn 1:46) and isn’t really known or understood byanyone—even those closest to him. Thereare many ways to be a “stranger”— being a traveler, refugee, unknown to others,speaking a different language, of a different race or culture, being rich,being poor, being…different…strange to others. Jesus embodied pretty much all of that for folks he encountered. In Matthew 25, those to whom Jesus speaks ask,“When did we welcome you?” And Jesus says, “just as you did it to one of the least of these whoare members of my family, you did it to me.” (Mt 25:40)
“I was a stranger and you welcomed me,” saysJesus. Would Jesus say that to you? Let’s face it—our general tendency is towardthe ambivalence of which I spoke earlier. Perhaps, we don’t consciously think of persons who are not like us asenemies, but there can be a lack of comfort, ease, or understanding with folkswho are different. There may be a lackof energy or motivation to do what it takes to really welcome people westruggle to communicate with or to like or agree with. At worst, our reactionto some strangers may involve prejudice, judgment, hatred, fear, resentment andother destructive kinds of things. Thebottom line is that difference, otherness, “strange”-ness presents challengesin human relationship. But asChristians, we have been given a clear mandate; and that mandate is to welcomethe stranger, the “other,” the “strange.” As followers of Jesus, our focus is not on our comfort and ease but rather on easing the discomfort of thepersons in our midst who may be alone, vulnerable, hurt, or simply trying tofigure out the place and people in which they find themselves. // Again, I go back to the ancient monasticrule of St. Benedict. As one Benedictineteaches, “… the monk’ssilence and retirement are constantly being invaded by a very awkward reality. [Their]Work demands effort and often involves failure; reading means getting to gripswith ideas one may not find congenial; and guests? Well, guests are communitywrit large, the most demanding and difficult of all, for they are to bewelcomed tamquam Christus, as though Christ, and they have theunfortunate habit of behaving in very un-Christlike ways at times. It is herethat the monk discovers what his vows…really mean and begins to understand whypatience is his way of sharing in the passion of Christ.”[iii] Last week was the finalsession of the course I facilitated during Lent on spiritual practices. The topic was the practice of“community.” During the conversation,one participant reflected about the fact that Christian community isn’t easy—itrequires work, sacrifice, and even pain at times. We thought together about how nice it couldbe if relationships and community could be designed to serve us, our schedules,our preferences, our comfort levels. Butthen agreed that Christian community—and any honest, healthy relationship—willemphasize the care and needs of the other as much as one’s own needs and willalways require some work and sacrifice.
Over the years, I have thought a lot about the riskspeople take every time they choose to cross the threshold into a church. What will be found on the other side? Will they be welcomed as friends or treatedas enemies? These days, if we arepracticing hospitality well, folks will have found helpful information abouttheir first visit on our website or through a phone call to the churchoffice. This may minimize thesurprises. But the actual experience ofwalking into a new community—especially without any prior exposure tochurch—has to be daunting. Some yearsago, the United Methodist Church’s communications agency developed resources tohelp churches open their eyes to the strangers in their midst and to offerChristian hospitality. One of thoseresources was a video that told the tale of two churches. Both churches were told that on a specificdate, they would be receiving “a very important guest.” We then watched as the two churches wentabout their planning to welcome the guest. One church thought it would be smart to look for a special vehicle orextra important-looking people as indicators of the guest’s presence. They had wonderful plans for what to do whenthe obviously important guest arrived. The other church started their planning by studying the scriptures andpraying about how to prepare for this guest. They read those verses in Matthew 25 and others about welcoming thestranger. As a result, they thought theyprobably wouldn’t be able to recognize the special guest for sure and so theysimply needed to treat every person who entered as the “very important guest.” You can imagine the results. A woman and her child who hadn’t been tochurch in years made it to the first church. Everyone looked right past them as if they were looking for someoneelse; and seemed aggravated that she and her child needed assistance when they neededto be focused on welcoming an important guest. The family almost didn’t try to go to church again after thatexperience. But the next Sunday, they managed to get themselves together andarrived at the second church. That day,they were welcomed as important, honored guests—as though the church had beenwaiting just for them! Tamquam Christus…welcome every guest asif they were Christ.
Whenwe welcome Christ, we invite the “strange,” the mysterious, the new, theunknown. When we welcome Christ, weinvite change, challenge, and even danger. I cannot help but think of those faithful folks at Emanuel AME whowelcomed the young stranger into their circle for Bible study, the samestranger who indeed turned out to be an enemy as he shot and killed 9 of thosewho had so warmly welcomed him. Thechurch’s response to that racist crime was not to shut or bar their doors fromstrangers, but to vow that they would continue to be a place of faith,forgiveness, and Christian hospitality.
The potential danger weface isn’t only this kind of extreme, murderous violence. More often, when we welcome the stranger thedanger is that we will be treated with disdain or prejudice. There was a guy years ago who took issue withthe part of my welcome statement that includes “whatever you believe…” He didn’t want people who came with what heconsidered hateful, exclusive beliefs to be welcomed. As a counter to that, I am reminded of themoment, captured in a great photo, of Pastor Dawn offering Holy Communion tothe guy who was yelling hateful words to and about Foundry through a bullhorn. TamquamChristus…welcome every guest as if they were Christ.
Today in our Gospel, weencounter two of Jesus’ followers on Easter evening, probably on their way hometo the village of Emmaus, some 7 miles from Jerusalem. They have heard the story that Jesus isalive, but clearly don’t believe it. Heis murdered and gone and they are going home to try to forget Jesus and thegreat failure of his life. They were hopeless. And along comes this stranger… Asthey reached their homes and the stranger began to move on, the disciplesoffered him hospitality, they invited the stranger into their home and to theirtable. And as they sat down to eat, thismysterious traveler took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them. And all at once, they recognized who wassitting at their table. It was Jesus whohad been walking and talking with them. And as soon as they caught a glimpse of him, he was gone. What was left behind were strangely warmedhearts and encouraged disciples who were ready to get back on the journey toproclaim life and hope where before there had been only the story of death anddefeat.
Takingthe risk to welcome the strange, the mysterious, the difficult, the unknown,the stranger to our homes, our church, our table; sharing the sustenance of ourlives, seeking to be human with other humans, to be fellow travelers on theway…this is our calling. The xen, the “strange” or “guest” appearshere and there, now and then, to this one and that one. And when we welcome the stranger, we welcomeChrist. When we welcome Christ, we find ourselves in a position to have oureyes opened, our understanding adjusted, our hearts set afire, and our courseset for a new journey toward a life that is more full, more free, morestrange. And I would argue that’s a goodthing.