sermons
Radical Hospitality
Just in Case
Ivy Anthony
Jan 05, 2025
It’s the year 2025, everyone. I’m leaving out the adjectives “happy” and “new” intentionally—not out of negativity, but because they don’t entirely capture what I’m feeling as we gather this first Sunday of the year. But I’ve been reflecting on some of Audre Lorde’s words that do deeply resonate with me, she says:
“There are no new ideas—only new ways of making them felt.”
And that sentiment rings true (for me), as we step into 2025.
As I move into this year, it’s hard to ignore how much feels unchanged. The year has already begun in violence, heartbreak, fear, and grief. Wars rage on. New tragedies unfold in places like New Orleans. Lives are continuing to be lost. These acts of violence in part reflect how little we seem to care for one another.
And I find myself searching/spinning — thinking
“what are the new ideas that haven’t been tried? What’s going to help — quell the violence, mend the divisiveness, fix what feels broken in the world?”
But if I’m honest and take a gauge of my energy — I’m not exactly overflowing with fresh creativity or ideas. But Audre Lorde’s quote got me thinking of how much of a deep well of timeless truths we have in our faith. Truths like love, care, and hospitality—that are meant to feel powerful, transformative, and good. They aren’t new, but it seems like it might be time to revisit them with open hearts. To inspect them. To embody them in ways that reveal new depths and expressions — so that they can be felt anew.
I’m not one for resolutions, but I do believe in revisiting what God has already planted in us—reflecting on those truths, and asking ourselves:
- How do we express them in new ways?
- How do we embody the roots of our faith in a world that desperately needs love and care?
Well for the next eight weeks we are going to do that together! Today we start a new series called, “Radical Hospitality.” We’ll be delving into this topic until Lent, stretching our understanding of what it means to live and be called to be ‘people of hospitality.’
We’ll cover a variety of aspects: our internal posture – “the hospitality of the hear,” “the Divine hospitality of God extended to us,” our home in God, and we’ll think about our homes — and what it is to open them to welcome the stranger — how hospitality compels us to seek justice.
This isn’t new. But we need a fresh expression of it. A re-commitment, a practice of it.
The word “radical” means both a return to roots – to something fundamental and foundation — as well as a desire for revolutionary change.
And ‘hospitality’ shares linguistic history with the word, “hospital” – bringing healing to host as well as guest — both receiving something they need.
Radical hospitality is a return to the fundamental practice of welcoming God and welcoming others with open hearts. Creating a space for both guest and host to experience healing and transformation through God’s presence. It is a revolutionary shift in how we relate to one another, grounded in deep, rooted care for all.
Radical hospitality is a core quality of the Way of Jesus — it rejects the divisive ‘us v. them’ mentality (those who believe differently, vote differently or those we treat as “other”) and it helps us
“stand in radical solidarity with everyone and everything else.” (Richard Rohr)
I wonder if we can find new ways in this year ahead *together* — to express what we already know — that radical hospitality is a potent, necessary way of being in our time. That matters — and it matters right now…
And we should do something about it. Just in case…
Just in case it matters to those who feel lonely and isolated…
Just in case it matters to those who are defensive and afraid…
Just in case it matters to those who are vulnerable, unprotected…
Just in case it matters to your neighbor.
Just in case it matters to a stranger.
Just in case it matters to us.
Just in case it matters to God.
Just in case it matters to our world.
Just in case….
I recently came across a short story by Howard Thurman—a mystic, theologian, and civil rights leader—that I’d like to share as we begin today’s exploration of radical hospitality. It’s both a reflection and an experience he had, titled:
“The Desert Dweller”
He has lived in the desert so long that all of its moods have long since become a part of the daily rhythms of his life. But it is not that fact that is of crucial importance. For many years it has been his custom to leave a lighted lantern by the roadside at night to cheer the weary traveler. Beside the lantern there is a note which gives detailed directions as to where his cottage may be found so that if there is distress or need, the stranger may find help. It is a very simple gesture full of beauty and wholeness. To him it is not important who the stranger may be, it is not important how many people pass in the night and go on their way.
The important thing is that the lantern burns every night and every night the note is there, “just in case.”
Years ago, walking along a road outside Rangoon, Myanmar — I noted at intervals along the way a roadside stone with a crock of water and, occasionally, some fruit. Water and fruit were put there by Buddhist priests to comfort and bless any passerby — one’s spiritual salutation to another. The fact that I was a traveler from another part of the world, speaking a strange language and practicing a different faith, made no difference. What mattered was the fact that I was walking along the road — what my mission was, who I was — all irrelevant.
Now this story echoes a deep spiritual and communal practice of welcoming and supporting others. Light, water, fruit — a sustaining, life-giving hospitality that is not conditional but given freely, embodying both the physical and spiritual nourishment.
I’d love for you to think about how many times Jesus has offered you something (however you define that), “just in case” you needed it.
Maybe it was a light — or a smile, a phone call, a mercy, a bird song, a funny absurd something that caught your attention. A spark of motivation, a pain-free moment, a nap, a moment of quiet, a stream of a sunbeam, a verse, a lyric, a hand-held, a milky way (both in chocolate bar form and the cosmic variety).
Whatever comes to mind for you — it seems God’s gifts come with unreasonable precision. Not because we’ve checked every possible box or planned for every contingency, but because they’re rooted in a radical, generous hospitality. A ‘just in case’ that flows from a love and presence that’s steady, simple, and full of grace.
Over Thanksgiving — we went to see Scott’s mom in New Hampshire — it’s not too far about an hour and 40 minutes. There had been in the forecast some possibility of snow showers, nothing substantial but you know as you go over the mountain in NH as Scott says, “anything can become a weather event — a full on white-out snow storm! So “just in case” — as we are leaving Scott says to all of us,
“you all need to bring your snow boots… and you need to grab some snow pants, and gloves and hats — and Reed, “you need to bring snow shovels — ‘just in case’ you know you need to shovel us out. We have to be prepared.”
(*now 2 of our grown children don’t even own snow pants* — and I dress like this every day!)… But to Scott’s credit it did snow. I mean we did see some snowflakes over that ‘mountain’ in NH — ha! But no accumulation.
But ‘preparedness and precaution’ are part of the “care/hospitality” of Scott’s attitude — I mean, did I get a compactable snow shovel for my car from Costco, for Christmas? Yes, yes I did! You know — “just in case.”
But this is the kind of “just in case” that’s about preparation about covering all the bases. It’s a little more about the possibility of something going wrong and needing to be ready for it—often out of caution, sometimes out of anxiety. It’s the kind of “just in case” that stems from an instinct to control what can’t be controlled.
But Jesus’ “just in case” hospitality is different. It’s not about planning for every possible outcome or controlling the outcome. It’s not grounded in fear or anxiety. It’s the posture of presence, listening and love. It’s the “just in case” posture that feels like a gift, a welcome, an “unreasonable love”, that sees us/greets us even before we know what we need.
Jesus’ ministry was deeply marked by this “just in case…” hospitality. He deposited radical care in the bodies and hearts of those around him – – particularly those that were deemed “strangers” or “other.”
His care for the vulnerable and marginalized was transformative, offering both “light” and “water” in various forms. Jesus healed the blind, welcomed the woman at the well, and sought out the lost, offering guidance and care to those deemed “the least.” In the Sermon on the Mount, He proclaimed blessings on the meek, merciful, and persecuted, providing light to the oppressed. Through the parable of the sheep and the goats, Jesus taught that offering food, drink, shelter, and care to the needy is akin to offering it to Him—an invitation to embody radical hospitality for those in need. And there are so many other stories like this…
Jesus’ actions—both literal and metaphorical—addressed the deepest needs of humanity: spiritual thirst and the need for companionship/guidance. His offering of light and water wasn’t just for physical survival, but for spiritual thriving — and a way of being in this world unto others.
It’s why the sacrament of communion can be so powerful right? A remembrance of the tender love of God that has been deposited along our life path(s)… and an offering, “Just in case”, here’s a little bit of something to drink, to eat — to feel.
Deep in your gut — in your spirit — through your body.
In a fundamentally inhospitable world it is easy to disassociate from the good, the beautiful, the honorable, the lovely. We can be like Teflon (for what’s good) and like Velcro (for what’s painful and negative). And yet, radical hospitality helps us counter this tendency, nurturing the connection to what is life-giving and affirming of humanity’s shared dignity — returning us to one another.
The call to “radical hospitality” is fundamentally a conscious choice to love rather than hate. It is an open-heartedness that seeks to mirror the qualities Jesus models—not just embodied for our own sake, but for the sake of others. It’s a love and care that flows outward, expanding beyond our immediate circles. When we’re not in this posture, our energy tends to turn inward—we get caught up in counting wrongs, holding grudges, and building walls instead of leaving notes, water, love, or care in our wake. We find ourselves focusing on who wronged us — blaming, who we don’t like, or why “so-and-so is a jerk.”
But to embody an inclusive wise way of LOVING is to be radically hospitable. It’s an otherwise unreasonable way to live, it’s so generous, so wild, so messy and so hard. But it holds the possibility of transformation and healing. It’s not a mere platitude or a quick fix, nor should it be used sentimentally or as a tool for superficial civility. Instead, it’s a courageous and intentional choice we make again and again — to love.
While Jesus’ life gives us ample stories of this kind of love — he too, likely reached back to his ancient roots for a deeper understanding of radical hospitality. Throughout the Old Testament, the theme of treating foreigners with love, justice, and care is mentioned over a dozen times in various forms. These commandments are deeply tied to the Israelites’ history as former slaves in Egypt.
We see this in Leviticus 19:34 where it says:
34 Any immigrant who lives with you must be treated as if they were one of your citizens. You must love them as yourself, because you were immigrants in the land of Egypt; I am the Lord your God.
This is a transformative moral teaching about how to treat immigrants and strangers – how to transcend tribalism and exclusion. In the context of ancient Israel, this verse was revolutionary in its ethical implications for an ancient society that would have marginalized or oppressed foreign residents. And yet, the call is to remember their own roots — that they are commanded to love the foreigner because of their shared history as immigrants in Egypt, to remember their own experiences of vulnerability and displacement, the pain of being outsiders.
The command concludes with the signature,
“I am the Lord your God,”
signaling that this teaching is not just a moral or societal guideline, but about recognizing the dignity of others and acting out of empathy and compassion — a divine imperative/directive. As Howard Thurman would say, it is a spiritual salutation—one’s offering of blessing to another—meant to take root in the land and be passed down through generations.
And this calls for a COMMUNITY of PRACTICE — to embody radical hospitality—loving the stranger. Nnot just for the people of Israel but for ALL PEOPLE who live among them.
It’s a new expression — of an old fundamental truth … of God’s love and provision embedded in the foundations of their faith — “just in case” — future generations should need it.
We see this same message echo in Deuteronomy, where the Israelites are called to remember and once again celebrate God’s provision .
In Deuteronomy we read this… Deuteronomy 26:9-12 (CEB)
He brought us to this place and gave us this land—a land full of milk and honey. So now I am bringing the early produce of the fertile ground that you, Lord, have given me.”Set the produce before the Lord your God, bowing down before the Lord your God. Then celebrate all the good things the Lord your God has done for you and your family—each one of you along with the Levites and the immigrants who are among you.
When you have finished paying the entire tenth part of your produce on the third year—that is the year for paying the tenth-part—you will give it to the Levites, the immigrants, the orphans, and the widows so they can eat in your cities until they are full.
Here the Israelites are instructed to bring the first fruits of their harvest to the Temple as an offering to God. This offering is an expression of gratitude for the land and abundance that God has provided. The person making the offering is not only to recall the journey from slavery in Egypt to the Promised Land but also to recognize God’s continued presence in their lives. The offering also includes a call to ensure that those who are vulnerable— the Levites (who did not own land), immigrants, orphans, and widows—are included in the abundance, sharing in both the joy & the celebration — as well as the provision.
God is giving us the picture that God’s love and care is not complete without creating a flow of mutual care and communal joy that includes ALL members of the community — “just in case” we all find ourselves in need at some point.
Carol Dempsey – a biblical scholar – says that
“hospitality of the heart” encapsulates the spirit of justice. When we open our hearts to hospitality, we feel compelled to seek justice. When we embrace creation, the poor, our enemies, strangers, foreigners, outcasts, and others, we desire justice for them. We welcome without judging. We love our neighbors as ourselves. We reflect the justice, love, and hospitality of God. This hospitality leads us to desire and work for the flourishing, well-being, and good of others.
And here’s the radical hospitality that’s embedded in this way of being — that is so fundamental to the way Jesus and God try to help us organize our lives — our joy and wholeness depend on every member of society being included. … it says,
“We don’t just welcome you or accept you; we need you. We are insufficient without you. In mutuality, belonging is both a gift received and a gift given. (Cole Arthur Riley)
It is “nice” and “comforting” to offer a welcome, but true dignity lies in belonging —in knowing that your presence matters, that you contribute to the whole, and that together we move toward deeper wholeness.
COMMUNITY GROUPS
Here at Reservoir, we have about 25 community groups meeting throughout the city to practice radical hospitality. Scott and I have held a weekly community group for 15 years. It started with a gathering of our neighbors – whose faith was unknown to us – and some friends who went to church most of their lives, and some folks who went to church most of their lives and will likely never go to church again.
We have had highly curated content, read the Bible together, listened to songs, pored over poetry — done cringe-worthy icebreakers together — but mostly — MOSTLY we’ve shared about our lives. Vulnerably, honestly, open-heartedly.
I’m not that good at hospitality to be honest — likely tied up in the unhealthy way the ‘hospitality’ ministry of my childhood church rested solely on the shoulders of women. The word “Hospitality” has been soooo domesticated in my experience.
I forget to offer people something to drink when they come in — I often don’t talk to everyone in the room — I often don’t greet people, I forget to say “good-bye.” I am underprepared at times….
But radical hospitality is not a singular, individual act.
A community group is not about one personality-driven leader. It’s about the WHOLE. It’s not about personal preference — “we should be doing this or that — or let this person in or not” — it is about being present as a whole body to whatever may transpire. Whoever walks through the door. Whatever their stories are… It is about
“putting in the work to learn and to listen with a heart wide open, to collectively understand another’s experience well enough to know how they are feeling it, not as we imagine we would feel — it is fundamentally not about you — and what you think you would do in a situation you have never been in and perhaps never will be” (as Isabel Wilkerson defines radical empathy).
Over the years we’ve been part of stories that have been gut-wrenching — deaths, cancer, rejection, racial profiling, unstable housing, lost careers — and good ones too — adoptions, promotions, relationships mended, love found — scary stuff and hard stuff and joyous stuff — life stuff.
For 15 years I have felt like we have held space for other people “just in case” they might need a space to experience the hospitality, the love of God. *And for 15 years I have needed that space as much as anyone else.
The stories shared in our community group have illuminated the richness of God’s presence — the stories shared have been lanterns along my journey — notes that I’m not alone. Each story has expanded my own perception of God — so much more multifaceted and radical than I could perceive on my own. *So I don’t know! Join a community group for this season — practice and experience some radical hospitality!*
Radical hospitality goes beyond obedience to a commandment or an act of charity. It is an invitation to see one another as siblings in Christ — a fundamental way of sharing our real lives… fully known to us at times and completely UNKNOWN to us at times. A remembering that the call to love beyond our own flesh and blood is ancient — a deeply rooted one — it comes to us from indigenous leaders, spiritual teachers, and social reformers all throughout the centuries.
From Buddha to Abraham to Muhammad to Jesus. .. they all speak of a common vision for “radical hospitality.”
We are all indivisibly part of one another. We share a common ancestry with everyone and everything alive on earth. (Richard Rohr & Valarie Kaur)
There’s no perfect blueprint for radical hospitality without love. We can’t study enough, feel ready enough, or learn enough to get it right every time. I mean we could speak all the languages of earth and angels — but if we didn’t love others — we would just be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And I guess we could have the gift of prophecy and we could claim to understand all of God’s secret plans and possess all knowledge — and we could proclaim the faith it takes to move mountains —
but if we didn’t love others – we would be nothing. We could give everything to the poor and sacrifice our bodies — and boast about it — BUT if we didn’t love others — we would have gained nothing. I Corinthians 13:1-3
If we don’t love others, there is no posture of ‘just in case.’ ‘Just in case’ is living with open-heartedness and risk—opening ourselves up to the possibility that sometimes we’ll overdo it, underdo it, or not want to do it, or miss it entirely. ‘Just in case’ is about leaving space for the unexpected, for the stranger, for the unpredicted need…
Being “radically hospitable” is RISKY — especially for those of you who might already be vulnerable and underprotected.
That’s why the solidarity and the practice of radical hospitality as a community feels so important — and makes me wonder what we could do together….
How might we use our space—this church, your space, your home—to offer radical hospitality for those vulnerable to housing instability?
What does it look like/mean for our church to be a sanctuary church for ‘new arrivals’ facing threats of deportation?
What support and space can we offer to queer or trans youth who don’t have hospitable homes/churches/states/nation?
What does it look like to commit ourselves to the practice of “radical hospitality”?
How do we want the expressions of the roots of our faith to feel — to US — for EVERYONE?
What is the commitment to such manner of love? To being a prophetic witness?
That’s A LOT of questions to think about — but I want to unabashedly offer two more! Howard Thurman ends his short story with two questions that I’d love for you to take with you today — and return to this week — he asks:
In your own way,
Do you keep a lantern burning by the roadside with a note saying where you may be found? …..“Just in case?”
Do you place a jar of cool water and a bit of fruit under a tree at the road’s turn, to help the one traveling through? ……”just in case?”