This is the sermon I prepared for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., for the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, July 18, 2010.

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Readings

Genesis 18:1–10a
Psalm 15 (antiphon v.1)
Colossians 1:15–28
Luke 10:38–42

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Prayer

Loving Father, lead us by your Holy Spirit to welcome your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, into our lives. Amen.

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Message

One of my friends in college was named Mustafa.
He came to Pennsylvania from Iran in the late 1970s
as a student and enrolled at Lebanon Valley College.
In 1979, the Iranian Revolution that led to the Shah’s exile
and to the return of the Ayatollah Khomeini
also stranded Mustafa in the states.

He found himself suddently cut off from his family back in Iran
and left without the pipeline of their support for his education.
A variety of churches in Annville pitched in
to help him out with an apartment,
giving him the most basic furniture and household items.

He didn’t have much,
but what has always stuck with me
was the overwhelming sense of welcome
he lavished on me every time I visited his apartment.

He would invite me—almost make me—sit in the best chair.
He would go to the fridge,
open the door to nearly empty shelves,
and get me a drink.
If there was only one, he gave it to me,
while he would drink water from the tap.

He said, in so many words to go with his actions,
“What I have is yours.”
This has rested in my memory all these years
as the epitome of hospitality.
He gave joyfully because—as a faithful Muslim—
he trusted that Allah would judge him by his obedience
to the command to practice this hospitality.
Mustafa’s obedience did not take away from the grace I felt
in his home in that small apartment in Annville.

I don’t know what part of Iran Mustafa came from,
but it was clear to me that he had learned and embraced
the wonderful practice of Middle Eastern hospitality.
It’s a tradition that crosses the fractures of religion and history
that divide Jews and Christians and Moslems from one another.

Who knows the roots from which it grows,
the foundations upon which it is built?
It’s genesis is lost in the dust and whispers of history.

But we could do worse than to trace back the roots of hospitality
at least to our common father and mother in the faith—
Abraham and Sarah.

We heard today in our first reading
the account of the visit the three strangers make
to Abraham and Sarah’s tent
pitched by the oaks of Mamre.

Listen to what Abraham and Sarah did
when the strangers approached.
Abraham ran from the tent when he saw the strangers drawing near.
He met them and bowed down to the ground.
He offered water to wash their feet,
bread to fill their stomachs.
Sarah baked cakes while Abraham prepared a calf.
They served curds and milk
along with the bread and meat.

By their actions,
they said to the strangers,
“What we have is yours.”
This was hospitality,
a Middle Eastern welcome,
a gracious embrace extended to strangers by people of faith.

And what dawned upon Abraham in the course of their visit together
was that he had welcomed
not a trio of traveling men,
but the LORD, Yahweh himself.

We know this because we read,
“The LORD appeared to Abraham by the oaks of Mamre
as he sat at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day.” (Genesis 18:1, NRSV)

At the end of our reading
we hear that one of the strangers reminded Abraham,
“I will surely return to you in due season,
and your wife Sarah shall have a son.” (Genesis 18:10a, NRSV)

And that word opens Abraham’s eyes.
This was God’s promise of grace,
Yahweh’s word of hope for the future,
his vow to make of Abraham and Sarah’s descendants a great nation.
Abraham had heard it at least four times before,
when he and God walked together and talked.

And so, when he opened his tent to the strangers,
when he gave them food and drink,
rest and refreshment,
he had, in fact, opened his heart and his home to God himself.

That is the ultimate hospitality.
And we give thanks
that Abraham and Sarah,
our spiritual father and mother,
offer this example of faithful obedience for their offspring to follow.

And so now we know the motivation
that drove Martha to welcome Jesus into her home
and to go all out to provide for his comfort.
She was practicing the hospitality of Sarah and Abraham,
welcoming the Lord the same way they had welcomed Yahweh.

And Mary, for her part, by sitting and listening at her Lord’s feet,
followed in the footsteps of Abraham,
who had walked and talked and listened to Yahweh.

In its own way, Mary’s embrace of the gift of time with Jesus—
her willingness to rest and to sit and to listen—
was her practice of hospitality,
welcoming the Lord into her heart,
just as her sister had welcomed him into her home.

The beauty of this story comes alive in us
when we realize that true hospitality
comes not in being constantly busy,
or in relaxing endlessly,
but in being open, attentive, ready to listen, willing to receive
both the words of our Lord and his gift of his presence in our lives.

Hospitality is openness of the heart.
When we truly welcome our Lord,
he comes into our heart and homes
and rests with us, dwells with us.

Sometimes Jesus Christ may send his messengers to us in disguise,
like the strangers who came to the tent at Mamre.
That’s why the book of Hebrews reminds us,
“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers,
for by doing that
some have entertained angels without knowing it.” (Hebrews 13:2, NRSV)

And if we recall our Lord’s words
from the vision of the Great Judgment,
we remember how he promises
that he will come to us through others,
the hungry person we feed,
the thirsty person to whom we offer a drink,
the stranger we welcome,
the person whom we clothe:
“Truly I tell you,
just as you did it to one of the least of these
who are members of my family,
you did it to me.” (Matthew 25:40, NRSV)

So where do we go to welcome our Lord,
to extend hospitality to him?
We can find him sitting down to dinner at Warren’s Table.
There he is, standing in line at the Community Food Pantry at St. John Lutheran Church.
Maybe he’s gathering here in the basement with Narcotics Anonymous.
He might be dwelling in the person sitting beside you in the pew right now.

So, let’s follow the example of Abraham and Sarah.
Let’s run from the entrance of our tent to meet the Lord.
Let’s bow down to the ground and welcome him.
Let’s invite him to stay and to rest with us.
Let’s make sure he can wash up and have some dinner and a drink.
Let’s say to him, “What I have is yours.”

And the most amazing thing happens to us.
As we show hospitality to him,
our Lord Jesus Christ shows hospitality to us.
He invites us to his table in his house.
We stretch out our hands and open our palms
to give him a place to rest his body in bread.
We open our mouths and drink,
inviting his blood in wine to enter us.

And when we do,
then he says to you and to me,
“What I have is yours.” Amen.