Everywhere we
go, someone or some place is welcoming us. We put out welcome mats. Some stores
have greeters whose only job is to say "welcome" to customers as they
enter. Go into a restaurant and you might hear, "Good evening and welcome!
Table for two?" Just up the road here on Belcher Road one sign welcomes us
to Largo if you’re going south, and another welcomes us to Clearwater as we
drive north. The ring master at the circus starts the show wearing his top-hat
and tails, saying "Ladies and Gentlemen! Boys and girls! Welcome to the
greatest show on earth!"
Welcome is a
lovely word with a long history, compounding two familiar words,
"well" and "come," though with slightly different meanings
than what we use today. The root of "well" could mean something like "wellness"
or "well-being," or can be a kind of blessing to “be well.” "Come" finds its roots in an Old
English word for one who arrives—no surprises there. So, in its earliest sense, "welcome"
is an invitation and a blessing to be received into the goodness of this new
place, where one has just arrived.
Making one feel
welcome is not as simple as offering a word. Preparing to welcome someone is an
art that takes thought, intention, and discipline. Some practitioners of
hospitality are always ready with the accoutrements of welcome: an appropriate
beverage, the right food at the right time, a comfortable chair, a few
thoughtful and respectful questions of the guest. An effective welcome
courteously wipes away the strangeness or awkwardness of a new setting and makes
one feel at home.
For Jews and
Christians, hospitality has always been at the heart of who we are. The call to
welcome the stranger is anchored in the Torah and was a part of the measure of
the Hebrew community's faithfulness to God. Jesus both received hospitality and
taught his followers to be hospitable.
Welcome is
part and parcel of the geography and culture of the Holy Land. We are used to
our planes, trains, and automobiles, but for most of human history people
travelled at a walking pace. And if you were going from Europe or Asia Minor to
Persia, the Nile Delta or Africa, or back, it meant that one passed on foot… or
maybe by horse or camel… through a narrow strip of land with the Mediterranean
Sea to the west and the desert or mountains to the east. One of the reasons that
Israel and Palestine is “holy land” is that it existed on a vital land bridge between
three continents. Geography is one reason that so many ancient empires coveted
that territory so much. And because the whole world seemed to walk through,
hospitality was baked into Hebrew culture from the start.
Of course, travelers on this land bridge were rarely family. These were folks unknown to the community. They were aliens and foreigners, people who ate different foods, wore different clothes, spoke different languages, worshipped different gods. Opening one's home could be risky but survival depended upon hospitality. Today we'd describe such a thing as out and out foolishness.
So, while our houses might have
welcome mats at our front doors, we also have locks, doorbells, peep holes, and
even cameras that broadcast to our phones when a person walks up to the door. It’s
been true since the dawn of time, while we humans need hospitality, we also
fear the stranger.
In biblical
times, hospitality was central to Hebrew identity. The risk did not define the
people; their hospitality did, because they knew that hospitality is central to
the character of God.
Early
Christian communities were also welcoming and hospitable. Paul reminded the
Romans to offer hospitality to the alien, and in the Letter to the Hebrews we
are reminded to show hospitality to everyone because, you never know, you might
be entertaining angels in disguise. In Acts, the early deacons practiced
hospitality throughout the community, bringing welcome to those in need. And in
Matthew's community, hospitality is a measure of the faithfulness of the
people. Welcoming prophets, righteous ones, and disciples (whom Matthew’s
Gospel called "little ones") was a disciplined practice of the young
churches.
In her book
Amazing Grace, Kathleen Norris tells the story of a nun who, although she had
Alzheimer's, still asks to be rolled in her wheelchair to the door of her
nursing home so she can greet every guest. Said one nun of her sister in
ministry, "She is no longer certain what she is welcoming people to...but
hospitality is so deeply ingrained in her that it has become her whole life.”
Norris writes that "in monastic spirituality…, only people who are
basically at home, and at home in themselves, can offer
hospitality...hospitality has a way of breaking through our insularity.”
Welcome as a
practice of hospitality doesn't just happen. It must be taught. But such
lessons don't come easily in our society. Some years ago, when I was serving as
a hospital chaplain, I used to go around filling in for small churches. In
nearly every case, the congregations were warm and welcoming… and also set in
their ways. And occasionally, as sometimes happens when you see the same folks
week after week, a congregation might get a little rusty in the art of welcome.
I remember
going to one church for the first time and had no idea how they did things. I
chatted with the organist and a lector, but after I put on my vestments, I
found myself all alone in the sacristy with no idea how to find the sanctuary
or where to procession formed. I opened a door, thinking it led into the
church, and found myself outside and before I could turn around, the door
closed. Locked. So, I went to the front of the church, thinking at least I
could go in the front door, and, wouldn’t you know, the big red doors facing
the busy main street under an “Episcopal Church Welcomes You” sign, was also
locked. I could hear the opening hymn start up, and the tower bell rang over my
head, but I couldn’t get in! It looked like it was going to be a very short
service that Sunday! I knocked as loudly as I could… pounded on the door, actually.
Finally, a fellow in choir robes opened the door, looked at me as if I had
grown two heads, and asked, “What are you doing there? We never use this door!”
Hospitality
isn’t just about being nice, and it’s more than putting out a welcome mat. It's
a matter of attention: attention to those barriers, impediments, biases, and
obstacles that we construct through habit and tradition, that can be barriers
to the good news, a deterrent to participation in the church, and a distraction
from abundant life in Jesus Christ.
The Greek word
for stranger—xenos – is also the word for guest and host. In this age of
contemporary tribal warfare, of Balkanization and gated communities, most of us
are aware of the term "xenophobia," or fear of the stranger. This
fear leads to nationalism, racism, and even genocide. But, on the other hand,
Jesus' call to welcome another is a call to “xenophilia,” or love of
stranger. With xenophilia, the stranger is also the guest, and in the
Gospel of Luke, welcoming the stranger is how the risen Christ is made known after
that long walk on the Emmaus road, becoming both the guest and the host.
Hospitality is
a skill that is taught. Miss Manners, Hints from Heloise, and Martha Stewart
would all be out of business if it came naturally.
It all begins
with practice, by simply doing hospitable things. The best hosts simply bring who
we are, what we have, where we are, as graciously as we are able to the table. Sure, that might
mean putting out the best china, silver, and linens; at other times it may simply
be a cup of coffee in a disposable cup and a cookie. In every case, it is the
gesture itself, the practice, that shapes the character of the encounter, and the
participants, into a story of grace that is the essence of the moment.
Often, we
learn such lessons by experiencing just how involved hospitality can be. A coarse
blurt of honest feelings might let off some steam in the moment, but it rarely
serves the target of our discharge, or ourselves for that matter. But a
gracious welcome can transform not only a moment but a life. A thoughtful
pause, a quiet nod, an encouraging, courteous word of welcome can make Christ's
presence known and perhaps even help one hear God's call.
When I was a
brand-new deacon and priest, I served a
church in a small city that had seen it’s mills and factory close up and leave
town, the parish hosted a six-day a week noonday meal that was free to everyone,
as well as a food pantry, a fund for emergency fuel-oil, and hosted several
twelve-step groups. We also served a small group of special needs adults who
used to be housed in big institutions, but who now lived in nearby apartments
or group homes.
One of those
folks was a guy named Billy. Billy was always the first one to arrive at
church, waiting for whoever would unlock the doors on Sunday. Billy had no filters and no
‘off’ switch. The previous Rector taught him to light and put out the candles
for the early Sunday Eucharist, and to serve the altar, which he did very
faithfully. But this also meant that every Sunday the early service was a kind
of liturgical improv because one never knew exactly when an item would come
next, or what it might be. Remember that lack of an “off” switch? From the moment
he came to the time he went home, he talked, hummed, sang, or would parrot
whatever car or motorcycle drove past the church during the service. It was
simply how Billy was wired.
And I have to
say, it drove me bananas! Raised, as I was, in a household where church meant a
certain decorum, I was not prepared for this! But my supervisor, a retired Cathedral
Canon (whom Billy called ‘Kenny’), never seemed to mind. He took every curve
ball in stride.
One day,
after a particularly wild Sunday that severely tested my stamina, I went to my
mentor and asked him how he did it. How could be handle Billy so calmly and
graciously, when I was feeling myself on full alert whenever he was around.
After a moment’s
thought, 'Kenny' said, “Why, he’s Jesus.” At once I felt about two inches
tall, but only for a moment. That wisdom changed everything for me. It was from there that I began
to develop what has become a regular prayer for me:
“Grant us the grace, O God, to see the
face of Jesus in the people you bring to us; and also give us grace to be the
face of Jesus to those we meet.”
Welcoming
another requires attention to the other. The welcome Jesus invites us to share is
an act of grace, vulnerability, and love because we must set aside our
discomfort around difference or strangeness and choose instead to accept the
grace of meeting another of God’s children as they are. And in that meeting, we
are reminded what Jesus taught us: that in giving even a cup of cold water to
one of Jesus’ little ones is also caring for Jesus himself.
No comments:
Post a Comment