Sermon Series Title: Radical Hospitality

Radical Hospitality Is An Upside Down Business

Let me pray for us. Holy Spirit, may the power of your truth speak to us now. That my words will fall and your words will stick. That everything we worry about, stress about, obsess about – may you suspend it for even a moment that you, God will be clear to us, that you will shine your face on us, that your breath will blow through us we pray, amen. 

Matthew 15:21-28 (Common English Bible)

21 From there, Jesus went to the regions of Tyre and Sidon.

22 A Canaanite woman from those territories came out and shouted, “Show me mercy, Son of David. My daughter is suffering terribly from demon possession.”

23 But he didn’t respond to her at all.

His disciples came and urged him, “Send her away; she keeps shouting out after us.”

24 Jesus replied, “I’ve been sent only to the lost sheep, the people of Israel.”

25 But she knelt before him and said, “Lord, help me.”

26 He replied, “It is not good to take the children’s bread and toss it to dogs.”

27 She said, “Yes, Lord. But even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall off their masters’ table.”

28 Jesus answered, “Woman, you have great faith. It will be just as you wish.” And right then her daughter was healed.

Hi My name is Lydia and I’m an Instagram addict. This is the part where you say, “Hi, Lydia.” Look, we’re all creatures of habit. It’s hard for us to change. I’ve been trying to replace my addiction with healthy coping skills, with Spotify, music, Libby, books, YouTube, clips of the Grammys. The dopamine hit is not hitting hard enough and I feel so bored and anxious. The other day my husband caught me pulling out my 6-year-old daughter’s watercolor and painting really ugly dahlias.

‘She’s obviously going through something.’ 

Things feel chaotic. I feel out of whack. Unsettled. These days, I feel grief and anger and then need to escape those things to enjoy something and it all feels like a paradox. How about you? How are you feeling these days? Anyone want to just pull out some watercolor and just paint with me? The bleeding water captures feelings I can’t seem to verbalize. Things feel topsy turvy upside down. 

I want to invite us into this disorienting feeling. When things are shifting, when changes are being made, for better or for worse, it feels like having vertigo. My question has been how can we center down in this time. As we wrap up this sermon series of Radical Hospitality, I was drawn to another story about a table.

It’s a story of Jesus extending his own work, being challenged, learning and growing, changing his mind even. I like to point to this story, on a side note, as a picture of the impact we have on God. I believe that our petitions and prayers move God because of stories like this one. That even Jesus moves through discomfort to accomplish God’s radical, generous, lavish love bestowed upon not just a few but all. 

The story follows a familiar or formulaic pattern of this kind of genre or style. Where the main character is obviously an outsider, asking for something, is then refused by the center of power or authority, but because of their unique wit or clever prompting, the outsider is granted something that would’ve otherwise not been granted according to tradition. It recalls characters like Tamar or Rahab, in which regardless of the impossibility of the situation, these ladies will, through using whatever they already have, get what they want from the place of authority. 

Now one thing I love to do with any story in the Gospels, the first four books of the New Testament, is do a quick check if that story is in any other of the four Gospels. This story from Matthew, Mark also tells the “same” story, but a little different. I think this exercise has great things to offer our modern day folks. In an age of misinformation and disinformation, and really a post-modern world, we have to be more grounded with subjectivity and open, not afraid, of two or in the case of the Gospels, four, sides to the story. The New Testament wasn’t afraid of that. There was no assumption that someone had the best and most reliable source. Now I’m not saying, it’s okay to say whatever you want even when it’s literally and factually false. But the reality is, whether I think that’s okay or not okay, plenty of people, people in places of power and authority, are saying all kinds of stuff. I’m saying that we still have the capacity to hear diverse stories and the ability to gain perspective, understanding, and maybe even truth through foggy cracked lenses. 

I love finding the discrepancies, or rather differences, between Mark and Matthew. Matthew, you have to understand, his target audience was the Jewish audience. He quotes the Hebrew Bible ( the Old Testament) alongside all his storytelling. You can find Matthew’s own commentary and expounding of the story in the story. 

Mark, his style is a bit more succinct, even casual. It’s thought by most of the biblical scholars that Mark probably put down his story first and Matthew, along with other resources, had Mark’s account on hand. 

In Matthew, Jesus “went” to the district of Tyre and Sidon and a woman from that district “came out”. Matthew may be upholding Jesus’ honor in some way, by not entering and residing and finding him in compromised soil. 

In MARK, it says that Jesus “WENT INTO” the region of Tyre and Sidon and

“He didn’t want anyone to know that he had entered a house, but he couldn’t hide.”

Matthew omits this house part.

And even Mark mentioning that the fact Jesus was in this house was a hush hush thing reveals that Jesus being inside of a Gentile, an enemy’s home is noted but not widely accepted. Matthew changes this story. There’s no house Jesus enters.

And then in Mark, she just begs Jesus to cast out the woman, in a narrative style.

But in Matthew, he quotes the woman saying,

“Show me mercy, O Lord, Son of David; my daughter is severely possessed by a demon.” 

She starts with

‘have mercy on me’

placing herself lower than Jesus, showing her humility and her placement in the hierarchy of the relationship, which in that context, hierarchy of relationship is important. She calls him

“o Lord, Son of David,”

a proper use of his esteemed title, like calling someone “Oh the Reverend Doctor” and maybe even add a little curtsy. Which is how you should address me. Just kidding. Shh, not a doctor. 

I point these discrepancies, sorry I mean, differences, out because in one sense it has implications for what they were trying to say. One might gain that, from Matthew, that the Canaanite woman, in order to be healed, had to assimilate and take on the tradition, the dominant and powerful tradition, in order to gain access and power. She had to leave her land, have the knowhow to call Jesus the right name, not only the knowhow but the willingness to submit herself to a tradition that’s not of her own. 

Another reader of Mark, might say, Jesus intentionally and possibly illegally entered the homes of those who were considered foreign and strange. There, he said things like

“Let the children first be fed for it is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.”

in the acceptable ways for others to hear, intentionally, speaking the politically correct speak on purpose, knowing well that he was about to do the opposite of what he just said. Did Jesus really think Canaanites were dogs or was it performance art to those who were watching? I don’t know. But the woman was in the end honored. The difference is that maybe in Matt, he’s pushing a bit more for assimilation, or at least honoring of the old traditions, which isn’t like bad, it’s just his opinion. 

In Matthew, Jesus says,

“Woman, you have great faith. It will be just as you wish.”

In Mark, there’s no prerequisite to the healing. Jesus simply refers to her witty remark, a picture of Jesus’ practical theology, saying,

29 “Good answer!” he said. “Go on home. The demon has already left your daughter.”

You see the slight difference? 

When I’m talking about Radical Hospitality, this is what I mean. I don’t care how we do it. I don’t care if our philosophy or theology is more like Matthew or Mark. I don’t care if we are the place of power and authority, in a lot of ways our church is resourced and filled with people that have privilege and access. And yet in a lot of ways our church is also filled with many many people that are just like this woman in our text today. The woman who is desperate. Coming out of their territory of distress, crying, shouting to the rest of us,

“this is what’s going on and you need to do something!”

The woman who is begging and yet also teaching us, casting a new perspective on old thoughts, spinning well known wise sayings on its head to include her, to serve her, to save her and her family. Radical Hospitality isn’t about just being more hospitable, but radical hospitality is an upside down business. Radical Hospitality is an upside down business. It’s not just about the center of power and authority beseeching its charity unto those in need. It’s flipping it all on its head and putting the vulnerable, the hurting in the center of the story, letting them flip our script, letting them set the tone, letting them be the main characters, the driving force of the story, putting her faith in the center. Radical Hospitality is about becoming “Wrong” about the whole situation and letting the stranger, the vulnerable speak to the time and listen, making space for that voice to be spoken to tell the truth. 

Cause it’s true, that woman, she doesn’t care about religion or politics. She cares about the health of her daughter. She doesn’t care if she’s being called a dog, it’s not important to her. She demands to be fed. She is scrappy and she’ll get it done. 

This is a reason why I have really loved the method of doing justice work through community organizing. Because the foundation of community organizing is listening to the stories of those who are struggling.

“What’s the challenge or struggle that you and your loved ones are facing right now?”

is the question we ask in these Listening Session that Faith Into Action has been hosting. For many of us, this is hard. We think, well I’m privileged. I’m okay. There isn’t a story I can really share. But community organizers from GBIO (the Greater Boston Interfaith Organization) that helps and support Reservoir Church to organize our power, their organizer Sneh pushes me to go deeper. No, something is hurting. Maybe it’s not your finances. Maybe it’s not your access to healthcare. Maybe it’s your conscience. Maybe it’s your deeply rooted faith, sense of justice, shalom, and peace and righteousness. Something is not right for you and you’re not doing well. What is your broken, hurting, suffering part in you that is actually the STRENGTH AND THE POWER to move you? Speak that out. Shout that out and turn that into action and you will see the power of healing that can take place! 

Because Radical hospitality is an upside down, inside out business. It’s moving out toward others but it’s also moving deeper into yourself. 

In the book(The Four Pivots: Reimagining Justice, Reimagining Ourselves

by Shawn A. Ginwright PhD

He Talks about this way of doing justice with the first pivot being what he calls the mirror work. I haven’t read the book but one of our members Alicia who currently heads the The Margaret Fuller Neighborhood House (MFNH) which is a nonprofit that was founded in 1902 as a settlement house providing information and services to help immigrants. She showed me the food pantry they run, which you’ll hear more about in a few weeks, and told me about this book. The mirror work is turning the lens through which you see the world, where you see injustice, the wrong in the world and shifting that into a  mirror on you to see the injustices right within you. That this is the first pivot you must make to become better activists and collective leaders. 

Steve talked a few weeks ago in one of our Radical Hospitality sermon series, titled, ‘Can We Be a Friend to All the Parts of Ourselves?’ where he talked about Internal Family Systems theory from the therapy/psychology world. Meaning, there’s inside, a whole family of actors, right within us, that allows us to approach all the parts of ourselves with compassion and empathy. I’ve also heard that in Family Systems theory that the most problematic person isn’t the problem but the megaphone to the dormant unaddressed problems in the family. 

A few weeks ago, one of our very own, Aubrie Hills, who is the Pre/K pastor and a new role in our staff as the Mental and Spiritual Wellness Director this year, taught a Grief Workshop for our community group and other ministry leaders, a training on how to journey alongside those who are grieving in our ministry work. She started the workshop with, Step One:

Question number 1. What is the earliest loss experience you can remember? 

Oh C’MON! I came to this workshop to learn how to be there for OTHER people who are grieving. Not take inventory of my earlier loss experiences. In some ways the workshop is still workshopping me right now. She’s going to be running it again in April for the wider public and I promise you, you are going to want to attend this. 

Cause the thing is, if you want to be there for others grieving, you’re going to have to grieve yourself FIRST. If you want to do radical hospitality to others, you’re gonna have to radical hospitality yourself, to your most vulnerable, most hurt, move locked in and forgotten selves. Because the kingdom of God is an upside down inside out business. Jesus said the First shall be Last and the Last shall be first. What would it look like to implement this kingdom value in you?

And when you do this, it’s going to feel weird. It’s going to feel like you’re an addict to power. You will sit in a room full of all the internal family members of yourselves, including the older sister you that makes everything run (think Louisa from Encanto) and the crazy uncle you (think Bruno), and your opinions, values, intuition and tendency will keep tipping toward the power and authority of your life that has been in place. It will feel WEIRD to veer that 18 wheeler of life as usual toward a radical change in your internal family systems. It will HURT. Some of them will act out. Just like the -The Laborers in the Vineyard: in Matthew 20, the story Jesus shared to illustrate the Last shall be First concept of the kingdom of God, where, same daily wages were given to workers that came to work 9am, 12pm, 3pm, 5pm. And the 5pm received first and the others were like, EXCUSE me? IT will not make sense.  

But listen to little voices. Listen to them. Do you know where they are in the room? Can you place them? What do you think they will say to you? Mine started speaking in Korean to me after that Grief workshop. 

I’ll close with this. 

That woman reminds me of my mom. A first generation immigrant, who even through her broken English, bothered to always tell people about her life, always starting with, “When I lived in Korea…” And I was embarrassed of her. Embarrassed of my accent, that I got rid of it. I was lying earlier when I said I didn’t care if it’s Matthew’s or Mark’s view of Jesus. I like the Markan Christology to be completely honest. Well, now I do. When I first came to the US, I was like the Matthew Canaanite woman. I picked up, “Yo what’s up” and things like “toodaloo” to assimilate and sound American. Aubrie was telling us in the grief workshop, asking us how we engaged with our earliest loss. My biggest dramatic loss was the loss of Korea. I came to the US and I had to chop off everything back there, and only look ahead. 

Aubrie shared this picture with us. Saying that staying connected to the loss in some way is a healthy way to move through grief. And so lately I’ve been re-excavating some chopped off Korean parts of myself. Starting with, 

My Korean name is Injung, and I’m still an Instagram addict. (“Hi, Injung”) 

Let’s stay connected, to the losses, to the grief, and move about from there to rise up and carry on, stand up and make a change. Let’s stay connected to the most vulnerable in our country right now. We have thousands of know your rights cards available. Take a stack. Drop it off in your local communities.  You can join the Listening Session Reservoir Church is hosting for GBIO on Tuesday at 7pm, where you can share your injustice stories, cause that’s where our power lies. Grab a flyer on your way out from some of our Faith Into Action Core team. 

If you’re not rooted down, you cannot reach out. I pray that the radical hospitality of our God, the abundant overflowing grace, mercy, and love may work in you and through you. Amen. 

 

“See Here,” Sowing Seeds of Truth

Since the beginning of the year, I’ve taken up walking to a coffee shop very early in the morning. I timed it so that I would arrive just as the place is opening. And on two mornings a week, I usually run into an old friend of mine who is also trying to get a coffee before she heads off to her therapy practice.

Our moments of catching up are brief. I mean, both of us haven’t had any caffeine yet, so there are only so many coherent words we can string together. But recently she asked,

“So how are things in your world?”

and for a few seconds, I just paused—doing the mental checklist of ALLLLLLL the things happening in my inner world, in my personal life, and in the bigger world around me. And after a moment, I landed on,

“You know, we’re getting by—we’re standing up.”

And she—being a therapist—read that pause (and the panic and the attempts to de-panic that raced across my face), and she said,

“See here. When the macro is as dark as these days, the micro needs to be softer.”

We “cheers’d” our coffees, with that prayer hanging between us, and went on with our day.

We began this sermon series on Radical Hospitality on January 5th—just a few weeks ago, but it feels like January could have been a full decade ago! The world around us, the “macro,” has felt (in part), like a tornado of chaos. We don’t know where it will land, but we know it’s touching down and wreaking havoc, kicking up debris, dust, and uprooting good things—good things in us and around us.

And this is why this series on Radical Hospitality has felt so timely and timeless. It’s not only about welcoming people into our homes or churches; it’s about actively sowing truth into the landscapes we inhabit every day—in the micro and the macro.  It’s about directly combating the forces of division, fear, and dehumanization that threaten it. It’s about recognizing the vulnerability of being alive and the need for compassion in a world that’s often hard and unforgiving.

To be alive is inherently vulnerable, isn’t it? Knowing that whatever storm is brewing, could touch down right in the center of our own lives—just as much as it does someone else’s. Radical Hospitality isn’t just a good idea—it’s an essential practice. It’s an active practice of sowing truth and mercy into the soil of our everyday lives, where we remember that the truth of who God is — our center, our core —  is unshakeable, un-uprootable.

And when I think of the tension between chaos and truth/peace in our world, I’m reminded of a beautiful set of words by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. who said,

“God has two outstretched arms—one is strong enough to surround us with justice and move us toward justice, and one is gentle enough to embrace us with tenderness and grace.”

This balance of justice and grace is what radical hospitality embodies—it’s the strength to face the storms of injustice and the tenderness to offer compassion to one another  in the midst of it.

  • So, how do we live this out?
  • It’s what we’ve been exploring these last few weeks. How can we practice radical hospitality in a world determined to sow division and fear?

We will explore this together today — as we do, let’s ask ourselves:

  • How can we bring softness to the chaos?
  • How can we embody radical hospitality in our own lives today—no matter how stormy the world may BE and feel?

Prayer: God help us to call to mind the truth of who you are. The shelter from the storm — a refuge in turmoil — rest and peace in uncertainty.

To help us answer these questions, let’s turn to the wisdom of scripture. The prophet Isaiah spoke to a world in chaos and turmoil, much like the world we experience today, offering a vision of leadership and a just future. Let’s read together from Isaiah 32:1-8 as we look for guidance.

SCRIPTURE | Isaiah 32:1-8 (Common English Bible)

1 See here: A king rules to promote righteousness;
    rulers govern to promote justice,


2  each like a shelter from the wind
    and a refuge from a storm,
    like streams of water in a wasteland,
    like the shade of a massive cliff in a worn-out land.


3 Then the eyes of those who can see will no longer be blind,
    the ears of those who can hear will listen,

 

4  the minds of the rash will know and comprehend,
    and the tongues of those who stammer will speak fluently and plainly.

 

5 Then a fool will no longer be called honorable,
    nor a villain considered respectable.

 

6 Fools speak folly;
    their minds devise wickedness,
    acting irreverently,
    speaking falsely of the Lord,
    leaving the hungry empty,
    and depriving the thirsty of drink.

 

7 As for the villain, his villainies are evil.
    He plans schemes to destroy the poor with lying words,
    even when the needy speak justly.

 

8 But an honorable person plans honorable things
    and stands up for what is honorable.

 

CONTEXT

There are a couple of points I want to draw out of this scripture this morning. The first of which is the simple phrase, “See here,” that starts us off.

It’s a phrase that immediately demands attention. In the midst of all that is swirling — God calls the people to pause, to stop, and to encounter the truth clearly. It’s an invitation to look beyond the chaos and the distorted narratives around them and to fix their gaze on what is just, true, and honorable.

I appreciate this because it becomes easy to absorb and be overwhelmed by the distaste in our days — to give focus and energy to that… . And harder to identify what truths might be getting lost in the noise around us. This phrase “see here” asks us to recalibrate.

During the period when Isaiah was prophesying, Judah was facing both internal and external pressures. The kingdom was under the threat of invasion from neighboring empires like Assyria, and internally, it was experiencing a decline in righteous leadership. Kings and rulers were often corrupt, and just horrible. 

And there were just widespread injustices — the rich were exploiting the poor, and those in power were more interested in their own gain than the welfare of the people.  

The ‘villain’ and the ‘fool’ mentioned in these verses of Isaiah were not just those who acted immorally in personal (micro) matters — they were political figures, leaders, who had distorted God’s vision for justice and love. As the passage puts it, they

‘spoke falsely of God.’

This false narrative of God—one that justifies oppression and exploitation—only deepened the pain of the marginalized.

When the kings of the time, when the rulers of the day distort the image of God, it doesn’t just lead to poor decisions, it activates harm, it compounds harm, it is violence. It creates a storm of confusion and despair, leaving people without hope or the resources they need to thrive. This is why, for those who were oppressed — Isaiah’s words were not only a rebuke to corrupt leadership but a hopeful vision for what true justice and righteousness could look like—when the truth of God — one who promotes good things(!) — is held at the center.

When the truth of who God is is distorted, all hell breaks loose. Sickness and despair take root, and systems of injustice become entrenched, keeping the vulnerable in bondage. The kin-dom of God here on earth becomes a quest to dismantle these systems of oppression and to restore the brokenness that false images of God have caused. It’s a radical invitation to participate in God’s kin-dom, to be the hands and feet of God’s love and justice in the world, and to embody that…..

“See here —

It matters how we talk/what we say about God, it matters what we believe of God, it matters how we embody the truths of God. 

1 See here: A king rules to promote righteousness;
    rulers govern to promote justice,


2  each like a shelter from the wind
    and a refuge from a storm,
    like streams of water in a wasteland,
    like the shade of a massive cliff in a worn-out land.

 

Julia

Last month I attended the funeral of our 20 year old neighbor. She died unexpectedly of natural causes – home on Christmas break — at an unnatural age. The ripples of such unimaginable loss, disrupted life, and searing pain are now an unwanted part of the fabric of our neighbor’s household.

Death is its own horrific injustice. Grief its own perfect storm. One that whips up without warning, ambushes the rhythms of ordinary life. And, as I sat in the church pew at her funeral listening to story after story of friends and relatives and close family — her brother, her mother, her father, I braced myself for the final words of the pastor. I’ve been to many funerals where the opportunity taken by the pastor is to command everyone to

“Get right with God! Before your day comes!”

A grief-stricken audience, shaken by their own vulnerability and mortality, often becomes the perfect prey for a version of a God who seeks to threaten and control —  rather than comfort and restore.

But this pastor got up and shared a few words I don’t remember fully —  encouragement to the family and love for the family —  and then, in much a way that mirrored the opening of these Isaiah verses, he simply said,

“See here.” “See here.”

With such a gentle and confident cadence he went on,

“Our God is unshakeable,” “we serve a good God.”

“We serve a loving God, a God of comfort.”

“Our God will not leave us, our God is with us.”

Words I’ve heard and have SAID many a time before. But that morning, those words landed differently — they reverberated in my spirit as undeniable truths even as my mind and body in grief couldn’t fully absorb them. No one in that room could deny the grief, the overwhelm of what felt night-marish — yet, there was also a force of comfort and truth that was roused in our spirits as he said those words.

The truth of God can not be nuanced.

We need that truth — sown into our hearts. And WE need to actively sow that truth in the world around us. Because life does not often come to us in a nuanced fashion. It often comes with stark, unfiltered reality.

“See here. See here. Our God is unshakeable.”

These are the truths // the seeds we sow when we practice radical hospitality.

Point #2:

With the truth of God at our center, comes clarity. 

A parting of the fog and bombardment in a storm.

And with clarity comes restoration and transformation.

Isaiah 32 doesn’t just promise righteous leadership, but also restoration of the entire social order. It promises that the

‘eyes of those who see will no longer be closed’, and the ‘ears of those who hear will listen.’

This speaks to a future clarity, a time when people will be able to discern truth from lies, and live with truth.

Many of these people had never experienced a world that wasn’t infused with oppression, injustice and violence. So familiar was this pain and suffering, that these evils became the very air they breathed. A people exhausted by deception and manipulation, by false prophets and misleading leaders.  

So these words in Isaiah would have been an invitation to hope—a reminder that God’s justice is coming to set things right, and it is also about a radical transformation of society that plans honorable things and stands up for what is honorable — for a just society where the truth of God’s love becomes a guiding force for social transformation.

JESUS

In Jesus, the promise of Isaiah is realized:

the blind see, the deaf hear, and the oppressed are set free.

In three of the gospels we read the story of Jesus and his disciples crossing the Sea of Galilee in a boat to escape the crowds.. Where they become caught in a literal storm — threatening to sink the boat and threatening to sink their belief in Jesus. The disciples had known Jesus to be a teacher, a miracle-worker, a healer, a prophet of sorts  — but here Jesus reveals himself as the one who surrounds them with an unshakeable force of love. The one that says,

“See here” — “I am with you in the midst of upheaval and scary-things. “A shelter from the wind — and a refuge from the storm.”

 

Jesus’ dynamic presence in that story and storm —  interacts with the disciples in real time, in real circumstances. His words and actions in the storm are not predetermined or scripted but showcase God’s responsiveness to our human needs and emotions. God is constantly working toward clarity, healing, and restoration. The storm on the Sea of Galilee is not only about Jesus calming the wind and waves, but about God revealing the truth of who God is—both powerful and compassionate—and inviting the disciples, and us, to partner in that restorative work as well. Calling us to be the good leaders who promote righteousness and promote justice.

 

Toward the end of this passage, in Isaiah 32:17-18, we hear a promise:


“The fruit of that righteousness will be peace; its effect will be quietness and confidence forever. My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.”

 ALL OF US

When Isaiah speaks of peace, security, and undisturbed rest, it is a picture of the world as it is meant to be….. And Jesus’ invitation isn’t only for us to DREAM of that peace, or receive this peace, but to be agents of it —- to engage radical hospitality.

Jesus’ invitation to us is to help clarify the air.

YES — to mourn. Yes, to break out into tears when confronted with the absence or rupture of God’s truth and to use that ache, to disrupt and dismantle what is evil and breathe new life into beloved community.

And it’s why in part I believe we gather together here each week — to dream and gather strength to act –for a world we believe for, but don’t yet see. To still hope. To not give up on the God we think God is. To know God. To grow a deep knowing of God that becomes written in our bodies, our souls and our hearts as unshakeable truth.

See here. The practice of radical hospitality of sowing seeds of the truth of who God is— is not about stepping out of the motion of life and curating the perfect table or house or church meeting or whatever. It’s about embodying the love of God and stepping deeper INTO the fullness of our VERY REAL lives (whatever they might bring),  WITH God —  To know so deeply the love of God with such clarity — that we  see it, hear it, speak of it — we can PRACTICE it wherever we go. 

Howard Thurman says, 

“The evil in the world around us must not be allowed to move from without to within. Drink in the beauty that is within reach, clothe one’s life with simple deeds of kindness, keep alive a sensitivity to the movement of the spirit of God. This is as always the ultimate answer to the great deception.

Just because “a lie is elected does not mean the truth disappears.” — Andrea Gibson

Don’t give up gathering with one another, encouraging one another. Engage in chit chat in line at the coffee shop, take pound cake and soup to grieving neighbors, say “hi” to a stranger — whatever it is — don’t give up on seeding the

“micro with the softness of God’s unshakeable truth.” 

Radical hospitality puts our spirituality into practice — the truths of what we know, believe, experience, and hope of God — into the real world around us — storms and all.

The spiritual practice of radical hospitality is how we are called to live our lives.

It’s how we grow our capacity to love.

It’s how we grow stronger to love. 

It’s how we grow more tender to love. 

Again, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in his book Strength to Love says,

“God has two outstretched arms, one is strong enough to surround us with justice and  [and move us toward justice], and one is gentle enough to embrace us with [tenderness] and grace.” 

Divine justice and mercy are inseparable. And in our lives, this intertwining of strength and tenderness, justice and grace, wrapped in the truth of who God is —embodies the very essence of radical hospitality.

It is the call to extend God’s love through our very bodies and arms to others. 

After years of driving in and around Boston I’ve developed what my kids call a “mom arm” — where I throw my arm across the passenger seat when we hit an unexpected stop or bump, or sideways threat — whether someone is sitting in the passenger seat or not. It’s an instinctual, protective-even, loving response in the midst of danger and uncertainty. I think it’s how God invites us to show up for people, how we offer care, and compassion—without hesitation, instinctively, because we know the truth of God’s love so deeply. This is how we sow seeds of truth, it’s how we become  honorable people, who plan honorable things, and stand up for what is honorable….

And here’s where I want to close with an invitation to a tangible way of sowing truth *and peace* into the world around you — in your neighborhoods and city. 

One of the ways we sow truth is by empowering others to know their truth, their inherent worth and dignity. To know their rights, their civil rights. And in a landscape right now where many citizens and non-citizens alike are feeling threatened, scared, confused we produced 10,000 Know Your Rights cards.

If you haven’ seen these cards before — they are small, RED informational cards that outline the legal rights of individuals, particularly immigrants, in the United States when interacting with law enforcement, including Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). They provide clear, easy-to-understand guidance on what people can and cannot do in various encounters with ICE or other authorities. We have them printed in Spanish, Portuguese, Haitian-Creole, English, Vietnamese and Chinese.

I know many of you work directly with immigrant communities in health, education, and shelter programs. In a conversation with one of you this past week, it became clear that these cards are running out in hospitals and other community settings. Given the widespread radius that the Reservoir community reaches —we have a unique opportunity to help distribute these cards to businesses, organizations, and individuals who need them most.

So if you want to please grab a stack on your way out today — drop them at your local public library, take an envelope of them to a local restaurant, or daycare, or health clinic — wherever it feels helpful in your neighborhood and community. 

1 See here: A king rules to promote righteousness;

    rulers govern to promote justice,

2     each like a shelter from the wind

    and a refuge from a storm,

    like streams of water in a wasteland,

    like the shade of a massive cliff in a worn-out land.

3 Then the eyes of those who can see will no longer be blind,

    the ears of those who can hear will listen,

4     the minds of the rash will know and comprehend,

    and the tongues of those who stammer will speak fluently and plainly.

5 Then a fool will no longer be called honorable,

    nor a villain considered respectable.

6 Fools speak folly;

    their minds devise wickedness,

    acting irreverently,

    speaking falsely of the Lord,

    leaving the hungry empty,

    and depriving the thirsty of drink.

7 As for the villain, his villainies are evil.

    He plans schemes to destroy the poor with lying words,

    even when the needy speak justly.

8 But an honorable person plans honorable things

    and stands up for what is honorable.

17 The fruit of righteousness will be peace,

    and the outcome of righteousness,

    calm and security forever.

18 Then my people will live in a peaceful dwelling,

    in secure homes, in carefree resting places.

Prayer:  God, I ask you to surround us with your arms of justice and grace now.  Help us to know the truth of who you are, that you are always at work in the world. Help us to embody your love — teach us to live in such a way that this is reflected through us in the smallest and the largest of ways. May our lives be an act of radical hospitality, a witness to the truth of your love that is always inviting, always healing, and always present.    Amen.   

The Way Out of No Way

Most months, I have one day where I clear my schedule for a prayer retreat. I know, it sounds wicked lazy, and maybe it is, but don’t say I didn’t tell you. 

Beyond an aversion to real work, though, I do it for a few reasons. As the senior pastor of a church, I don’t really have a pastor myself, so during this day I meet with one who’s looking out for me. Pastors also pray for people, we promote a life of prayer, so if I’ve fallen off the wagon at all in my spiritual life, I use this day as a reboot. And lastly, it’s a day for my own focus and health and well-being and all that. And last month, on my prayer retreat, I weirdly found myself doing the Baby Shark song motions over and over… Mama shark, Daddy shark.. Just holding out my hands in a big triangle as I was thinking about life. 

And what I was trying to get at in the gloomy mood I was in that day was that I did not like the range of possibilities available for us all. 

Here’s what I mean. 

You can imagine your past as a single point at your birth, and then every moment, every hour, every year, there’s different ways your life can go. Get read to or get sat in front of the TV when you’re two. Eat oatmeal for breakfast or a big plate of sausages when you’re six. Parents make that big cross country move when you’re 14 or they don’t. Walk down the street where the car crashes into you and end up in the hospital or walk down the one where you bump into and meet the love of your life. There have been a maze of possibilities in our lives, personally and as a whole collective human family, and the one set of lines we’ve followed by accident or choice or other people’s choices to this point represents our past. 

But then today, here we are. There’s only one present. I can’t be here in Cambridge and down the street in Boston at one time. I can’t be preaching this sermon and working as a plumber at the same exact moment. We get one present – here we are.

And then out in front of us, so to speak, there are all our future possibilities. There are so many, and they’re not sorted out and all decided yet, not even by God. We have real choices we get to make. And so does everyone else. And there is chaos and accidents and all kinds of good and bad things that will affect our future paths. 

Our futures are open. But they are not infinite. When one of my kids was little, someone asked them what do you want to be when you grow up, and they said:

a frog.

I loved that – what a bold vision. A frog! 

But becoming a frog next year is not in my range of possibilities. Not mine, not yours. 

And that day on my prayer retreat, when I kept making the daddy shark arms to express what seemed possible now, I was struggling with these ranges of possibilities. There were a couple things I wanted in my life and in a couple of other people’s lives – people I love very much – that for a variety of reasons – were off the table in the near future. They just weren’t going to happen! Those possibilities were out here somewhere, in the land of the impossible. And I was like I hate that.

I felt the same way for our country. As 2024 was wrapping up, there were a few things that really pissed me off, pardon my language. As a country, as a species, as a planet, there were things that I wanted for us all that were not in our range of possibilities, at least in the near future. And I had not made my peace with that yet. 

Here I am.

Here we are.

Here’s what’s possible. 

And I do not always like it!

  • What do we do with this present moment that we have inherited?
  • How do we make our peace with it?
  • How do we embrace this moment for all that is possible? 
  • How do we live into what the Way of Jesus says are the most important things in life – increases in faith, hope, and love – wherever we are?

One way or another, I preach about this a lot, because it comes up a lot and I think it’s near the center of our meaning and purpose in life. 

One way I talk about this is through a phrase I’ve learned and love, that Reality is the Friend of God.

And another way I want to talk about it today is through another lens, which is the radical hospitality of God. 

We’re talking about Radical Hospitality for much of this winter. Some of this discussion is growing our human to human radical hospitality in how we pray, and how we interact with friends and strangers and everyone in between, but some of this is deepening our perception and experience of what God is like too. 

So let’s talk about the radical hospitality of God some more.

For our scripture, I’ve got the beginning of a prayer from the Bible’s prayer book called Psalms. Here it is.

Psalm 116:1-7 (Common English Bible)

I love the Lord because he hears
    my requests for mercy.
2 I’ll call out to him as long as I live,
    because he listens closely to me.
3 Death’s ropes bound me;
    the distress of the grave found me—
    I came face-to-face with trouble and grief.
4 So I called on the Lord’s name:
    “Lord, please save me!”

5 The Lord is merciful and righteous;
    our God is compassionate.
6 The Lord protects simple folk;
    he saves me whenever I am brought down.

7 I tell myself, You can be at peace again,
    because the Lord has been good to you.

I herniated a disk in my back last year, and I’ve been spending months rehabbing, trying to get stronger as the pain slowly subsides. And my physical therapist had me weightlifting again. And some of the exercises – like the deadlift – are kind of weird. Because if I do it just right, I get stronger in all these places that support a healthy lower back. But like 10% off in my approach, and I push up all that weight, and, PAH, like there goes my back again. Not good. 

The approach really matters.

Reading the Bible is like this, friends, all of it, including these Psalms.

Our approach really matters. Bible reading can be so encouraging and life-giving and empowering for more loving and just and flourishing lives, or it can mess us up, make faith more difficult or make us more difficult to the people around us. The approach matters.

Like with this Psalm. 

There are three movements going on here. The first two are clear and moving.

One, there’s the state of the human.

Full of trouble and grief, calling out to God – I need kindness, attention, help. I need mercy. We’ve all had our moments like this. We’ll have more to come. Because life is vulnerable. And the Psalms in the Bible give voice to a huge range of our vulnerability.

Two, there’s the posture of God.

Once, early in our work together, my therapist asked me about a particular time in my life – she said,

when things hurt, who did you talk to?

And I thought about her question, and I said

the answer, truthfully, was nobody.

There was nobody to tell, at least I didn’t think so. 

Friends, moments in our lives if you’ve ever had them, when our troubles command nobody’s attention are heartbreaking. We were not meant to live without any relationships of tender care. And if that’s your current state, I pray that the warmth of an attentive, compassionate friend or family member returns to you. I do. 

But the Psalms tell us that

with God at least, this is never true.

That when we ask God for attention and mercy, this is what God is like. 

God is faithful and compassionate and attentive. God says:

I hear you. I see you. I know how important this is to you, and I am glad to be with you in this.

This is the radical hospitality of God, to attend to all the experience of everyone and everything with empathy, compassion, and care. It’s beautiful really.

But then three, and here’s the tricky part, here’s where the approach makes all the difference between rich, empowering faith, and a way of religion that ends in judgment, delusion, or despair. 

Three is the reaction of God. What God does in response to us because God loves us so. 

The language in this Psalm is that:

God looks after simple folks, like you and me. That God saves us. And that our peace can and will return because God has been our help.  

God saves us. 

God has been and God will be our help. 

Let’s talk about an approach to these big claims. 

If you think that God’s help is going to be fixing everything, or reversing time and taking us back in those past possibilities that have moved on, well, that’s not going to go well for you.

Me in December with my range of possibilities, if I’m like God, I want a world with healthy wise governments that respect human rights and the rule of law, and protect children and treat the earth with respect and choose compromise and collaboration instead of war and battle, if I’m praying that our world will look like that today, then my choices are delusion or despair. 

Find a way to pretend that God’s 100% in control and everything is OK, or lose my faith. 

If I pray for my friend who is hurting, like God, I hate this problem. Take it away, make it like it never happened, again, that’s not the way things work.

Faith involves in part a surrender to the way things are. Here we are in reality. This present moment. Like it or not, what can mercy and saving help from God look like? 

This is a three point sermon – you ready?

One, it’s not fantasy based but reality based.

When we call out to God for help, God’s not like:

shoot, how did we get here? Where’s the rewind button? Can we get a do-over?

God does not live in the past, but in the present. And whatever faults, even whatever horrors the present may hold, reality is the friend of God, because reality is where God lives. Remember, God is compassionate, omnipresent, empathetically attentive everywhere. And so God is always re-wondering, revising the best possible range of options we’ve got today. 

Hey, what have we got here that can be great, or at least better? 

Maybe God didn’t want us to burn all that wood and oil and gas. Too much carbon! But there were so many of us, and we didn’t know better, and then some of us did know better, but we hid those insights and we lied, because some of the human family knew we could make an awful lot of money burning all that stuff. And then, now, most of us know better, but it’s really hard to change our habits. I’m there, friends, right?

So here we are, with our species changing our climate at unsustainable rates, and we call out to God, and God’s never going to be like, hey, let’s pretend this never happened. God doesn’t deny the present or change the past. And God’s also not going to be like:

“ha, ha,told you so, now you’re screwed. Good luck, y’all!”

God doesn’t give up on us. God’s not like:

you all have made a mess of this planet, I’m out of here.

No, in the radical hospitality of God, God will sit at every table we have set, no matter how messy or stinky we have made it. God will work with every situation we have got, no matter how weird or complicated or dysfunctional. God is with us still. God’s going to work with reality.

So one, God is reality based, not fantasy based. 

Two, God does not control, but inspire.

Keeping with the whole environment thing, God’s not going to take our cue from all our burning and just lightning zap all the fossil fuel equipment, and lightning zap all those of us who still burn gas in our cars and our homes, and just like – bam, make us stop. 

God’s not doing that. 

Change the example, if I’m praying for the course of my beloved friend’s life to change or for my beloved child’s life to change, God is not going to take over their brain and body and circumstances and just MAKE THEM CHANGE. 

Like puppets control their life into health and function and thriving choices. Not gonna happen. God does not control like that. God does not force. What God can and will do is inspire, invite, lure, woo. 

Maybe God empowers some awesome scientists to invent cleaner, cheaper ways to mass produce energy.

Maybe God inspires cultural movements to be more content and consume less.

Maybe God helps more people get curious about indigenous wisdom that thinks more sustainably and looks forward seven generations, not seven freaking minutes, when making big policies and big life choices.

And with my friend or my kid, maybe God helps them grow a friendship with a person that has a nurturing, healthy influence on them. And maybe God stirs a kind of yearning in their soul for a new way forward. 

And I know God does these things. I have experienced it. And I have borne witness to it again and again, in history, and in my life and in so many others. But it’s on us to perceive it and to pay attention and to walk in some faith and hope to say yes to a next step that is healthier, freer, move full of love and goodness. God doesn’t control, but God inspires.

And lastly, God has not pre-planned every bit of the future, but God improvises toward the best possible ends given where we are today. 

Improvisation is the art of acting or making music where things aren’t all scripted out. But you listen to what’s happened to what’s happened so far, you work with the reality in front of you. And you say yes to that. You accept it, receive, and then take it somewhere interesting. Yes, and… 

This is actually what God is like. 

God has not magically steered and controlled every person and every creature of all kinds and every minute of time and every element of nature to follow a single pre-set course. Some religions, some forms of Christian faith talk like that’s the way things are. But if that is true, then our sense of freedom and choice is 100% an illusion, and our faith, our will, our efforts, none of it matters. 

God hasn’t scripted out the exact course that anything will follow going forward. But, given where we are today, and given the everlasting kindness and love and wisdom of God which in God’s character do not change, God will again and again inspire whoever is listening toward good paths forward. 

The saving help of God is based in reality, is about God’s next ways of inspiring and encouraging, and is adaptive to our every cry for help and every need. Our loving God, our ever present help in times of trouble. 

Friends, I took some acting classes when I was young. We had a kid that took all the acting classes their big high school offers too. So I’ve seen a lot of bad improv. Where you’re like: what the heck is going on here? And folks, this is not funny. Nice try, kids, but can we have a different show please?

And I don’t know if I’m laughing or crying with this connection now. But sometimes these days I feel like life is a bad improv show. 

Like:

how did all these people get on stage? 

And what the hell is happening? Like how did it get so weird? And by the way, this is not funny. Is this supposed to be a joke? Because it’s not. It’s not. 

Couldn’t somebody have written a script for this moment? 

Friends, if you feel this way, I would encourage you simply to not give up on God. And also to not give up on ourselves or each other either. 

This is not the first time in history that people have had big troubles. It is not the first time in history where nations have faltered. 

It’s the start of Black History Month, and there’s an old saying that’s been circulating in the Black church now for centuries, that God makes a way out of no way. 

That when the present or future looks bleak, hopeless, like all is lost – no way forward. Just then God has an idea. A way appears. And we can have the courage to get up and go there with God or not. Making a way together out of no way. 

A friend just told me she’s using the word “FEARS” as her wordle starter, because it gets her curious about what we can make out of our fears. I love that. 

In every fear, there’s an opportunity, a set of actions hiding there. In every time of trouble, there’s a God who’s ready to help. 

I love the Lord because he hears
    my requests for mercy.
2 I’ll call out to him as long as I live,
    because he listens closely to me.

Friends, don’t give up on God. Because our radically hospitable God is still with us, and God hasn’t given up on us. 

Let’s pray together. 

A theological coda note- 

Some theologians talk about what I’m saying by calling this the consequent nature of God. They see God has a primordial, everlasting nature. God has God’s ever changing essence and character. God is spirit. God is truth. God is wise. God is love. God is creative. Always has been, always will. And God has original intentions: the desire to grow life, to see increasing love and beauty come into being. The primordial or the everlasting nature of God.

But God is also adaptive. God is radically hospitable. God receives into God’s being, into God’s heart and mind, all of our experience. God takes it in. God feels it all. God smiles. God weeps. God sings with joy. God yells in anger. Whatever response is appropriate to a fully wise and fully loving God who receives the present moment. And based on everything that is happening, and based on all God knows and has experienced, and based on the range of possibilities, what is actually possible yet, God does everything God can to inspire creation to the next best possible actions.

Radical Hospitality as Justice Work

Mark 11:12-25

12 The next day, after leaving Bethany, Jesus was hungry.

13 From far away, he noticed a fig tree in leaf, so he went to see if he could find anything on it. When he came to it, he found nothing except leaves, since it wasn’t the season for figs.

14 So he said to it, “No one will ever again eat your fruit!” His disciples heard this.

15 They came into Jerusalem. After entering the temple, he threw out those who were selling and buying there. He pushed over the tables used for currency exchange and the chairs of those who sold doves.

16 He didn’t allow anyone to carry anything through the temple.

17 He taught them, “Hasn’t it been written, My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations?[a] But you’ve turned it into a hideout for crooks.”[b]

18 The chief priests and legal experts heard this and tried to find a way to destroy him. They regarded him as dangerous because the whole crowd was enthralled at his teaching.

19 When it was evening, Jesus and his disciples went outside the city.

20 Early in the morning, as Jesus and his disciples were walking along, they saw the fig tree withered from the root up.

21 Peter remembered and said to Jesus, “Rabbi, look how the fig tree you cursed has dried up.”

22 Jesus responded to them, “Have faith in God!

23 I assure you that whoever says to this mountain, ‘Be lifted up and thrown into the sea’—and doesn’t waver but believes that what is said will really happen—it will happen.

24 Therefore I say to you, whatever you pray and ask for, believe that you will receive it, and it will be so for you.

25 And whenever you stand up to pray, if you have something against anyone, forgive so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your wrongdoings.”[c]

Let me pray for us. 

Holy and Loving God, anoint us with your spirit, let our hearts be filled with your presence now, as we meditate on your word, and listen to our hearts. Give us your grace that we may set aside all that jumbles our minds, and tune our hearts to you. Maybe like the beginning of an orchestra performance, when the instruments tune with one another, even as it starts out like a random cacophony of noises, settle us in, to your perfect tone and sound, which is love, and justice, and mercy, and goodness, tune our hearts to that song I pray. Amen. 

This was one of the first stories from the Bible that came to my mind as we began to think about the Radical Hospitality sermon series. Maybe I was just thinking of Bible stories with tables. As Ivy and Steve have been saying in the last few weeks, this is NOT Hospitality, or is maybe one but isn’t the main or best way to do hospitality. That’s not what we’re talking about. 

And I’m not talking about THIS either. Apparently this is an AI image of Jesus flipping over the tables. Let’s just say ChatGPT didn’t write this sermon. Cause it would get it wrong, very wrong. 

So what are we talking about when we say Radical Hospitality? I think our today’s scripture can show us what radical hospitality is trying to do, trying to accomplish. The WHY behind any radical hospitality. 

Now, first of all, it is radical. This story is placed toward the end of the book of Mark. Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, who wrote the commentary on the Gospel of Mark in the Women’s Bible Commentary, called this portion, “The Prelude to the Passion of Jesus.”

By the way, I’m not a gatekeeper, and all my good stuff comes from this book. It’s a big textbook, textbook price too, but it’s so good. Anyways, there’s a sense that Jesus’ work and ministry intensified over time. Another New Testament scholar named, N.T. Wright says this,

“Jesus engaged in it (this flipping the tables event) only as the climax of a whole career of healing teaching, feeding, and simply loving people into God’s new life. And his action led directly to his violent death.”

I’ll be mentioning Malbon and Wright a few more times. 

Trust me, I have no intention of radicalizing us to be physical or violent of any sort. So please remember that this is not a one off act of Jesus but a part of an arch of his whole life ministry and work. I do see Jesus’ anger and a resolve to a kind of “this is enough!” about it all. 

The story is told in a “sandwich” style, starting with the mention of the fig tree, and then the flipping of the table, and then ending with the fig tree that intends to reinforce and amplify the middle bit with metaphor and symbolism. 

The first part really is quite peculiar.

12 The next day as they were leaving Bethany, Jesus was hungry.

13 Seeing in the distance a fig tree in leaf, he went to find out if it had any fruit. When he reached it, he found nothing but leaves, because it was not the season for figs.

14 Then he said to the tree, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again.” And his disciples heard him say it.

He wasn’t just hungry. He was hangry, where you’re so hungry that you’re angry. The text clearly says it’s

“not the season for figs”

and so like why is so mad enough to curse the little guy! So extreme! So the lesson here is, don’t let anyone go hungry. I’m kidding but not kidding. And I I know hospitality is not cooking up a storm in the kitchen, but if you don’t know what to do, and you want to do something, not a bad place to start, feed them. Okay, that’s a minor point. The major point to this fig tree sandwich, now I’m getting hungry, is that, Malbon says,

“Holy trees and holy temples were often associated in the ancient world.”

The fig tree represented the temple. Jesus was condemning the temple. Why?

Because the temple wasn’t doing what it was supposed to be doing. You see, to enter the temple, you had to pay the temple tax. The tax, it had to be paid in a particular kind of coinage, so whatever money you brought, there’s an exchange rate here. And people came from all over the area to the temple and what you imagine is right, the exchange rate right at the entrance is the worst. Everyone knows that you shouldn’t exchange your money at the airport when you land! You just use the credit card that you have most points on for travel. Well, not if you have no credit and only some cash, then you get hit with the fees. It really isn’t that different then, or today. 

I remember first hearing about this story in seminary. I had grown up hearing this story with the plausible simple direct application of this story to our church, that it was to be a house of prayer, so don’t be doing business here. Like, don’t pass out your private business cards and try to get more clients at church or don’t set up a girls scouts cookies table at the entrance of the church. It’s much deeper than that. It was a whole system of exploitation, upselling, capitalizing on the poor. Another commentary said that,

“Outside doves cost as little as 3 ½ p, (I don’t know what the P stands for, I fell into internet rabbit hole in trying to figure out how much a shekel is worth in modern day but I stopped), inside they cost as much as 75p.”

That’s a ridiculous upsell. And if you brought your own doves, they would surely find something wrong with it, a blemish or whatnot, that would be unfit for sacrifice, leaving you no choice but to buy the 75 price one. 

Malbon says this,

“Without the essential activities of changing secular currency for temple currency and procuring approved sacrificial animals, the temple could not serve its function as the sacrificial center for Israel. Jesus’ critique of the temple officials is steeped in Jewish prophetic tradition, echoing Isaiah and Jeremiah. Jeremiah accused the leaders of Israel of taking economic advantage of the poor and unfortunate in their overall dealings with them, then taking refuge in the temple as a robbers’ den (11:17, quoting Jer 7:11)”

One of my favorite things to do when I read the Bible, is to read the footnote! It’s like little secret gems you find!

So she’s getting this form Mark 11:17, where Jesus is explaining why he just flipped the table. He says,

“Hasn’t it been written, My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations?[b] But you’ve turned it into a hideout for crooks.”[c] 

You see the [b] and [c], [b] quoting Isaiah 56:7, [c] is quoting Jer. 7:11. 

Jesus is quoting the Hebrew Bible, that many of them knew, especially the popular verses by heart. It would have conjured up not only the phrase or the verse but immediately resurrected in their minds Isaiah’s imagination and vision and Jeremiah’s great teachings. It’s a cue. It’s a cross reference point. Bible Study tip, when you see a footnote saying that it’s quoting, go to that verse, and read the whole chapter. 

Well that’s what I did. And I’ll just do Isaiah with you guys and I’ll finish up soon. 

And you guys when I did, go and read Isaiah 56, I was like, wait, am I writing this sermon or is the sermon writing me?! You ever read something and just have to physically and audibly react to what you just read? Let me read it for us. 

This is what the Lord says: I’m just going to read Isaiah 56:1-8

1“Maintain justice

    and do what is right,

for my salvation is close at hand

    and my righteousness will soon be revealed.

2 Blessed is the one who does this—

    the person who holds it fast,

who keeps the Sabbath without desecrating it,

    and keeps their hands from doing any evil.”

3 Let no foreigner who is bound to the Lord say,

    “The Lord will surely exclude me from his people.”

And let no eunuch complain,

    “I am only a dry tree.”

4 For this is what the Lord says:

“To the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths,

    who choose what pleases me

    and hold fast to my covenant—

5 to them I will give within my temple and its walls

    a memorial and a name

    better than sons and daughters;

I will give them an everlasting name

    that will endure forever.

6 And foreigners who bind themselves to the Lord

    to minister to him,

to love the name of the Lord,

    and to be his servants,

all who keep the Sabbath without desecrating it

    and who hold fast to my covenant—

7 these I will bring to my holy mountain

    and give them joy in my house of prayer.

Their burnt offerings and sacrifices

    will be accepted on my altar;

for my house will be called

    a house of prayer for all nations.”

8 The Sovereign Lord declares—

    One who gathers the exiles of Israel:

“I will gather still others to them

    besides those already gathered.”

It starts with,

“Maintain justice!  Do what is right,”

and who are the two people groups specifically that Isaiah is talking about? Foreigners and Eunuchs. 

Let no foreigner say,

    “The Lord will surely exclude me from his people.”

And let no eunuch complain,

    “I am only a dry tree.”

Eunuchs are Bible’s rare mentions of people of gender ambiguity or fluidity. I can’t help but think of today’s immigrants who are in fear that they will be excluded and LGBTQIA siblings who are afraid and wondering if they would even be recognized as people. They are right now saying the things that Isaiah specifically painted as God’s vision for justice in which these people will not be saying. That was really hard to say. 

So when Jesus is quoting this text, saying,

“my house will be called a house of prayer for all nations,”

this is what he’s conjuring up. This is what it means for the temple, the church, to be a house of prayer for all nations. Just as Isaiah and Jeremiah had done, Jesus was critiquing the exclusionary posture of Israel. They were supposed to be the light of the world. Wright says,

“The Temple had been intended to symbolize God’s dwelling with Israel for the sake of the world; the way Jesus’ contemporaries had organized things, it had come to symbolize not God’s welcome to the nations but God’s exclusion of them.” 

Look, I don’t expect nation states or administrations to substantialize Isaiah, Jeremiah, or Jesus’ vision of justice. Although throughout time and even today many run social economical political realms in the name of religious motivations, as did the Temple. Because spirituality is a powerful motivator and shaper of ideologies. I do think that Jesus’s vision for his world was one where the religious center and the political powers and the foreigners, eunuchs, outcasts, the poor all live in harmony. 

As Nicholas Wolterstorff, who was the Professor of Philosophical Theology at Yale for decades says in his book Justice in Love, 

“Isaiah foresees a day when the Lord will prepare “for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear” (Isa 25:6). He foresees the day when the people “will abide in [habitations of shalom], in secure dwellings, and in quiet resting places” (Isa 32:18) 

Food. Housing. 

Justice. I think that’s Radical Hospitality. Radical Hospitality is justice work. 

The wolf will live with the lamb,

    the leopard will lie down with the goat,

the calf and the lion and the yearling[a] together

That’s what Jesus was establishing in his context and that’s what we’re called to do. 

I felt cautious in conjuring up this story, as some groups of people have taken such acts literally and confused the metaphors and mistaken the core value and purpose of Jesus’ action, inciting violence in public spaces. In fact, Wright points out that

“The word ‘brigand’, in Jesus’ day, wasn’t a word for ‘thief’ or ‘robber’ in the ordinary sense, but for the revolutionaries, whose we today would call the ultra-orthodox, plotting and ready to use violence to bring about their nationalist dreams… The holy brigands who were bent on violent rebellion against Rome – which in Jesus’ view was exactly the wrong way to bring about the kingdom of God – looked to the Temple as the central focus of their ideology. And the guardians of the Temple itself were notorious for their rich and oppressive lifestyle.” 

This was printed in 2001. I had recent news images pop up in my head when I read this and checked its print date. So please, don’t storm any house on a hill. 

I think the message here is that there is a protest against the system. It reminds me, as we’ve just celebrated MLK Day, the Montgomery bus boycott. Did you know that boycott lasted for 13 months? And actually, they wrote letters and The Women’s Political Council (WPC), a group of black professionals founded in 1946 met with the city council and mayor to seek change in the bus system for a year before Rosa Park’s arrest.

Can you even imagine a 13-month boycott of your main mode of transportation? It was radical because it cost them. And it cut off the money to the power that be. And while it was happening, some may have asked, it’s such an inconvenience to you, why would you do that? 

I have a close friend who fosters. She already has 3 kids of her own and she makes 1 extra room for a kid in need. When I talk to her about her experience, there is a part of me that still doesn’t quite understand,

“why do you do this?”

because it makes her sometimes a bit more busy, extra meetings she takes on with social workers, extra time and energy to work with the foster kid’s school, on top of her 3 kids. It’s hard, stressful. And she says that God humbles her to see the love of a child in and through the broken situations and her heart grows even as her hours in the days get shorter. 

We’ve been curious and already a few of you have reached out to see how we can house, feed, support, help in real ways to those who might be feeling extra vulnerable. I am so grateful for our church to have such heart. Jesus would not be flipping tables here I think. Cause if we’re not doing that work, Jesus I think would say things like,

“May no one ever eat fruit from you again”

oh he’s direct, he’ll say his piece. Let’s maybe even clear some things that we seem to be so busy with, to make room for the kind of radical hospitality that Jesus calls us to in this temple. Church, let’s really be clear, and hone in, don’t get distracted with business as usual, but flip every rock to see, okay can we do something about this? Can we make room? How can we help? Let’s be the church foreal. Let me pray for us. 

Jesus, thank you for your passion that you so embodied in and through your words, your actions, even to your death.

Can We Be a Friend to All the Parts of Ourselves?

Hi friends, it’s good to be with you today. In many ways, it’s been a particularly rich week in my life as a pastor in this community. I don’t take for granted the ways that you welcome me into important parts of your lives, even listening to me now as I try to help us connect our old sacred texts with the stories and concerns of our lives today. So thank you again, from my heart, for the privilege of our relationship. 

I’m aware that it’s inauguration weekend, but I won’t be talking about that day. One, it’s not where my attention is this weekend. Life’s too short, and I have my own people and stories going on that have nothing to do with Washington D.C. Two, the public life that matters to me is our celebration of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. We haven’t organized our service around the holiday this year. Our inclusive liturgy committee this fall decided to celebrate Lunar New Year, Juneteenth, and Pride as our three specially themed services in the first half of this year.

But I will be at Cambridge’s Martin Luther King, Jr. commemoration tomorrow as one of the community readers. You’re welcome as well if you have the time. One of my colleagues in Cambridge, Rev. Jeremy Battle, will be speaking. Friday night I was at Temple Israel – one of our fellow GBIO congregations – for their annual justice service and we prayed these words as part of the service. We prayed

“And let us dress ourselves in the garments of God – compassion for those in need, embrace of the stranger – and then spread the canopy of peace over all the world.” 

I thought this was a beautiful prayer. And in many ways that’s what we are talking about in this whole radical hospitality series this winter – playing the long game in the context of our world right now, seeing if things can form in us and in our community which will be of radical good in this season. And today in particular, committing to the profound compassion of God and seeking to mirror that compassion more ourselves, starting right at home. 

So, if you will, pray those words with me again.

Our loving God, help us dress ourselves in your clothing –

Compassion for all in need and embrace of the stranger – 

And then may we together spread the canopy of peace over all the world. 

Amen.

Friends, my big new year change in life is that I’m singing with a choir again.

There was a time when I was young when that was a lot of what I did. School choirs, community choirs, gospel choir, semi-professional choirs, little paid singing gigs in restaurants and churches and commercials. I’d been a mediocre sports-playing kid who discovered I could sing and loved doing it. Until in my early 20s, I stopped, cold. And other than singing here or singing to my kids, singing in the shower, it was gone.

Long story why I made that choice, but mostly it was rigid thinking, different forms of fundamentalism – religious and not – that made me think that the part of me that loves to sing needed cutting off and shutting down. Singing felt like a waste of my time, not valuable, not spiritual or mission-driven – so it had to go. 

Over the years, I’ve regretted that. I’ve missed making music. Sometimes I’ve felt like I lost a part of myself. Now and then, I thought about getting back into it, but it always felt like there wasn’t time. Professional life was too full. Raising our children didn’t leave room for another night out. So I mostly made peace with letting go.

Until a couple years ago, when I was preparing for my sabbatical and writing a grant that asked me:

what makes your heart sing?

Because the premise of the grant was that when your heart can keep singing, you do your best work better and longer. And I thought:

funny that you phrase the question that way, since singing makes my heart sing.

And then finally this winter, in the few days off after Christmas, the time felt right.

I spent a bunch of time online looking for the perfect local choir for me – music I’d like, rehearsal times and location that would work, right level, right vibe, concerts I could actually attend, and eventually I found one – just one that seemed right, and I auditioned and they have welcomed me in. 

After my first rehearsal, I came home glowing. I am still to tell you the truth, so happy. Because it feels like I’ve got a part of myself back again. It’s hard to put a word to it, but if I could, I might say:

Complete, or Happy, or just YES!

So I want to share my joy with you, and I want to tell you today how this experience is connected to radical hospitality. 

If you’ve missed it, for January and February, that’s what we’re teaching on. 

We’re exploring the central roots of hospitality deep in the heart of our faith. 

We’re remembering that hospitality isn’t just “women’s work,” or the special gifting of people who own houses or people who are good cooks or people who are nicer or more extroverted than me or you. It’s a way of more abundant life for us all.

We’re seeing if our Sundays here can become yet more warmly hospitable, in part through recommitting to our three minute rule. That’s a commitment to spending the first three minutes when the service ends getting to know someone – just a little bit – that you don’t know already. 

We’re hoping we can all try on a spiritually hospitable daily practice, through “praying for our 6” each day – short prayers of blessing for 6 people, half of whom we aren’t close to already.

With structure and support, we’re wondering if a few of us will consider opening our homes to vulnerable strangers. So that many of us can also support those few with our time and funds and help. If you think this might be for you, please let Ivy or Lydia or me know.

And lastly, we hope we’ll have deeper faith in, deeper experience of God’s profound hospitality for all of us. And that’s what we’ll keep exploring in today’s sermon. How much God really loves and knows and affectionately cares for all the parts of ourselves, and how much that love for our own selves can be more of our lived experience.  

We’ll look at three short scriptures and I’ll share a little bit about my experience with a framework called Internal Family Systems, which provides some great language and helps for living the truth of these big ideas.

First the scriptures. 

From the very beginning, 

Genesis 1:26-27 (Common English Bible)

26 Then God said, “Let us make humanity in our image to resemble us so that they may take charge of the fish of the sea, the birds in the sky, the livestock, all the earth, and all the crawling things on earth.”

27 God created humanity in God’s own image,
        in the divine image God created them,
            male and female God created them.

So the key here isn’t a gender binary culture war thing. Nature and experience teach us that with most binaries, there are exceptions and gradients in between. The point here is that all people – regardless of sexual or gender identity – are made in God’s image. Unlike other near eastern creation stories, this one tells us that people aren’t aren’t accidental byproducts of conflict, people aren’t slaves of the gods, people – you, me, all of us – look a little bit like God. We are God’s representatives, God’s co-creators, here to enjoy and love and take care of the earth in God’s name. All of us alike in this great dignity and worth, and yet each of us in our own very different way.

I’ve been reading a book called Judaism is Love, by Shai Held. He shares what the mishnah – the ancient Jewish oral commentary on the scriptures – teaches about this passage. 

“‘Adam was created singly to proclaim the greatness of the Blessed Holy One, for a human being stamps many coins with one die and they are all alike one with the other, but the King of the kings of kings, the Blessed Holy One, has stamped all of humanity with the die of the first man, and yet not one of them is like his fellow.’ The mishnah’s message is startlingly powerful: never before in the history of the cosmos has there ever been, and never again in the history of the cosmos will there ever be another human being just like you. (names….) And that simple fact testifies to the glory of God.” (Judaism is About Love. Shai Held, 29)

And then here is how that mishnah ends:

“Therefore, each and every person is obligated to say, ‘For my sake was the world created.’” (Held, 30)

Woah! Not only “my sake.” But not not my sake either. For my sake was the world created. 

Talk about hospitality. To invest in each person as a work of art not just with your best craftsmanship, but with the best parts of your very self. And to create a whole world for each person in which it is possible for them to flourish. Not guaranteed, but possible. That is radical hospitality from God.

Second scripture, from the fifth book of the Bible, near the end of the Torah.

Deuteronomy 10:12 (Common English Bible)

12 Now in light of all that, Israel, what does the Lord your God ask of you? Only this: to revere the Lord your God by walking in all his ways, by loving him, by serving the Lord your God with all your heart and being.”

In light of all creation, in light of all the story of history, all the story of God and the story of us, what does God want for humanity, for each of us? 

Rabbi Held again:

“Notice the pattern of verbs in this verse: (revere or) fear, which is an emotion; walk, which is an action; love, which is an emotion, and serve, which again is an action.” It’s an interweaving of emotion and action. Here’s what that suggests. “God asks both of our inner life and our outward deeds, for our feelings as well as our actions. Our aspiration, even if it can never be fully realized in this lifetime, is the full integration of who we are on the inside and of what we do on the outside.” (Held, 226)

God wants us to be fully integrated people – the outside shaping the inside, the fully connected inside shaping the outside, the same whole person wherever we go, caught up in cycles of belovedness. What do I mean by that? Each of us:

  • Celebrating that the whole world was created for me, 
  • Increasingly aware that all of me is entirely a child of God, the one who loves me, who likes me, who sees Godself in me,
  • Each of us: Increasing in love and gratitude for God and for life itself, and 
  • Learning more and more in our own way to imitate God by loving all of creation, including all our fellow image bearers – our family, friends, strangers, enemies – all of them. 

What a rich and stunning vision for human purpose and meaning? Integration, worth, and love. 

Final scripture. Brother Paul, who wrote a number of our New Testament letters, praying that all of this will take hold in us. 

Ephesians 3:14-19 (Common English Bible)

14 This is why I kneel before the Father.

15 Every ethnic group in heaven or on earth is recognized by him.

16 I ask that he will strengthen you in your inner selves from the riches of his glory through the Spirit.

17 I ask that Christ will live in your hearts through faith. As a result of having strong roots in love,

18 I ask that you’ll have the power to grasp love’s width and length, height and depth, together with all believers.

19 I ask that you’ll know the love of Christ that is beyond knowledge so that you will be filled entirely with the fullness of God.

I love this prayer. I love to pray it for you, friends and for me, and for anyone. 

So many of us have come to think that God loves the idea of us, like God loves our best self, or God loves who God can see us becoming someday. Or theologically, God loves us in Christ, like when God squints carefully and thinks of his favorite person, which is his son Jesus Christ, then God can imagine that we too are like that (even if we really aren’t.)

This is not love, though. Imagine if I said to my kid – I will really love you when – game lost already, right? But I will really love you when you stop sabotaging your life with your stupid habits. Or I will really love you, kid, when you grow up and stop acting so immaturely. Or kid, I love this side of you – the good side – but the rest of you kind of pisses me off. Large parts of you mostly disappoint me. 

I know some of us had parents that whether they said those words or not, they gave some of that vibe to us. To the extent that is you, I am so, so sorry. 

This is not what love looks like. We are all worth more than this. 

And yet, it’s often how we view our own selves, isn’t it? 

The ancient Torah’s word on God, though, is better than this. As expressed here in the good news of Jesus about God, listen to the immense hospitality of God’s love. 

  • All the ethnic groups – even the ones you all don’t know about, the ones yet to come – I recognize them all. I honor them all, they have their roots in God. 
  • What do I want for you, God wonders? I want for you strength, strength in your inner self.
  • How can you have it? The riches of my glory are in there – in your soul, in your self, I am with you through my Spirit.
  • Where does God live? Amongst other places, God lives in your heart, through your faith. Right in your very own self. When my Sunday school teacher told me Jesus will live in my heart if I want him too, it wasn’t the whole story, but it was not wrong. 
  • And what are your roots, human? Love. You come from love. And tap into love and it will grow – wider, higher, deeper, longer than you can imagine, as you become increasingly filled, entirely filled with the fullness of God? 
  • How big is God’s fullness? Beyond knowledge. Infinite. 
  • But how small is God’s fullness? It can fit inside of you and me. All of God, with all of us. 

This is mystical. It’s big, deep, hard to measure. But it’s not meant to be aspirational or abstract. Our birthright as children of God is to live in this profound, regular awareness of our immense belovedness and our immense internal power.

Do you walk around knowing all this? 

Probably not. 

Maybe you’re like me. You think: this part of me that’s really important to me, maybe it’s just stupid, a waste of time. Cut it out.

Or maybe you feel alone a lot of the time, forgotten, unrecognized. Or maybe there are unloving things that have been said about you that you’ve internalized – you’re too sensitive. Or you’re too short, too messy, too weird, too whatever. 

Or maybe there are parts of you that you do not understand – like why you shut down inside when someone’s upset, or why you’re so defensive or angry, or why it’s hard to let people get close to you, or why you work so hard all the time. Or whatever.

How do we move from our dis-integrated ourselves toward being more at home in our own lives, our own bodies, our histories? 

And how do we move from our reactivity, or our emotional dysregulation, or our dis-ease with our lives toward this beautiful vision of the deep strength of all that love inside, toward being full of all the fullness of God. 

I don’t have a three step process for that. Not sure anyone does. But I have benefited from a psychological theory and a mode of therapeutic practice called Internal Family Systems. It’s a set of insights that many of us think aligns pretty well with this teaching on God’s great hospitality toward all the parts of our lives and God’s tremendous love for our whole selves.

Internal Family Systems – people call it IFS – is a complex theory. I’m not the right one to teach it all and we don’t have time for that either. But it has two big starter insights that can really help us here.

One is that all of us are made up of many parts. Just like family systems have lots of people that play lots of roles, so we have different parts of ourselves that have picked up different roles they play over the years. Walt Whitman was right about all of us when he said:

I contain multitudes. 

The second big insight that IFS has is that the best way for us to be integrated and healthy, for all the parts of ourselves to best function and thrive is for us to befriend all the parts of ourselves, to be a friend to all the parts of our inner life. And that friendship starts with two habits, which are curiosity and connection. 

So at the most basic level, this means that we act like we matter. Our lives matter. Remember the great dignity with which we are created. Because you matter to God, you are allowed to matter to yourself. So, for instance, what makes your heart sing matters. Maybe you need that. Maybe we all need that.

For me right now, this means welcoming back the musical me, the singing in me. This still may or may not be strategic. Me singing Renaissance choral music in a little choir for a few hours every week is not going to save the world or do anything else strategic or heroic. But it’s helping me be more fully integrated, more fully myself, more joyful and alive. And turns out, that does matter. 

So level one, you matter to God. And in God’s great hospitality to you – welcoming all the parts of yourself, you can to join God and act like you matter two.

And then level two, we can try to start practicing more curiosity and compassion for the more befuddling and difficult parts of ourselves too. I was talking with one of our members, Stephanie Choo, this week. She’s studied and practiced the connections of Internal Family Systems theory and spirituality more than me and helps guide people in these insights. 

And she reminded me of the different ways many parts of ourselves are affected by the burdens we carry. 

There are our personal burdens – all that has happened to us individually. 

There are our legacy burdens – what comes down to us through our family lines.

And there are our cultural burdens – things like racism, patriarchy, individualism, and materialism for instance. These harmful forces in our society that Martin Luther King, Jr. and others have so powerfully named and resisted but which shape us all still. 

These three kids of burdens – personal, legacy, cultural – are often intertwined in our experience and shape many parts of ourselves. 

Ways we are chronically sad or lonely or angry or anxious or impulsive or many other things we wish we weren’t so much. 

A lot of the time we don’t know what to do with these burdens so we push them down or try to forget about them and move on. But they are still there.

IFS teaches us that to be a healthy, integrated self, we are invited to be a friend to all the parts of ourselves – and friendship starts with curiosity – I want to know you and with compassion – I want to love you. It’s a way of living out that beautiful prayer for us in Ephesians. God is so glad to know us that God accompanies us in all things, lives with us as deeply within as we will welcome and allow. And God loves us so thoroughly, so completely, so intensely, that the scriptures insist that the more we know that love within, the more powerful we will be. 

So when hard feelings or hard habits or hard behaviors are surfacing again, we can try to get curious, just slow down for a moment without judging ourselves and ask:

I wonder what is going on here. Where does this come from?

And then, whether we understand it or not, we can try to choose compassion – to say there’s a reason I’m doing this. I probably come by these feelings or these ways I’m asking honestly. I’m not some broken or messed up person – I’m this way for a reason.

And a funny thing happens when we befriend ourselves, when we get curious and compassionate about all the parts of our lives. If we’re trying to live a good life, to be a positive and loving and responsible person, when we pay more attention to ourselves and our kinder to ourselves, we don’t need to just indulge all our instincts anymore. Curiosity and compassion for ourselves often produces more internal freedom to choose how we’d like to move forward. 

Put it differently, when we know our own worth, when we can say – I too am the image of God, this world was made for me – we have more security to make choices about our way forward in any situation.

When we are more integrated – all the parts of ourselves – we have an easier time aligning our emotions with actions we think will lead to a better life and a better world. 

Sometimes that means giving more space to parts ourselves we’ve shut down or abandoned. I’m singing again, partly because I can, and partly because singing came into my life to do some really good things for me, and I’m welcoming that back. I’m worth it. And a more integrated, more joyful, playful, creative me makes me a better friend and husband and father and pastor – even if it takes some time. 

And sometimes this means letting parts of ourselves have smaller spaces, like helping them stop grabbing the steering wheel and taking control of our lives. Like when we get curious and compassionate about why we’re so angry all the time, or why we’re always escaping into sexual fantasy, or why we’re always trying to fix everything, then those parts of us can learn to chill out and let go a little. 

Upshot for today, friends, if there are parts of you that aren’t working very well, then God isn’t disgusted with you, or pissed off, or needing you to be a person that you are not. God still loves all the parts of you. But God might want you to learn to befriend yourself as God does, not to indulge every little dysfunctional whim you might have. That’s not friendship.

But to learn to join God in God’s hospitality to your whole self. To learn that there are no bad parts of you, just parts that aren’t integrated, or parts that aren’t in their right place. Parts that with enough curiosity and compassion can realign so you can be stronger, more full of love and all the rest of God’s fullness within.

Our Legacies of Hospitality

Last week, a childhood friend of my family passed away. And as I thought about Corrine, and her four children I played with in our backyard as a kid, I started thinking about all the people – those now living and those who have passed on – that came in and out of my childhood home. And there were a lot of them. 

Maybe like 90% of the time, our home had no guests in it, but the 10% that we did disproportionately shape my memories.

My mom worked part time at a pet store at the mall for a few years when I was a kid. And for a while, some different folks who worked at the store would stay in our basement when they were displaced – couldn’t pay rent, going through a break up or a divorce, that kind of thing. And they were a colorful crowd. Different things happened while they were in our home, not all good, like the time one of their dogs attacked me. But memorable. One time one of them was around and a huge food fight broke out at our table. We were not a food fighting kind of family. But with these new characters in our home, a food fight erupted at the table, and it spilled out into the front yard as my father chased our guest across the yard, heaving a whole bucket of water in his direction. My father was mostly not a playful man, but he was then, and I loved it. 

Another memory I have was of one of my mom’s friends. She came over sometimes and was smoking at our kitchen table while preteen me was on some kind of anti-cigarette rage kick, and I remember grabbing a bottle of Lysol and walking around her in a circle as I kept spraying that thing right at her and her lit cigarette. Shockingly, she left, and my mom was so angry with me, as she should have been.

Paula, the friend, must have forgiven me later because she was a single mom and for a while, I watched her kid after school. And my mom got a call years after that while Paula was in the hospital dying telling my mom to come see her quickly, and I went with my mom to her beside as she lay dying, so that Paula – once the guest I had so rudely driven away – was the first person I ever saw pass from this life. What holy hospitality, to be invited to someone’s bedside as they die. 

Not pretending that all hospitality is happy. But it’s all important. It shapes us – not just the people who receive it, but the people who give it as well. There’s something about interrupting the privacy and separation of our walls – letting them be more permeable sometimes – that has a big impact on everyone. 

This is true in the collective memory of people of faith. Christians, Jews, Muslims, more than half the world calls Abraham and Sarah of the Bible founding father and mother figures of their faith, and their story is also shaped by their giving and receiving of hospitality.

Let me read the main scripture we’re thinking about today. It’s the first half of the 18th chapter from the first book in the Bible, called Genesis, the beginnings. It goes like this:

Genesis 18:1-15 (Common English Bible)

The Lord appeared to Abraham at the oaks of Mamre while he sat at the entrance of his tent in the day’s heat.

2 He looked up and suddenly saw three men standing near him. As soon as he saw them, he ran from his tent entrance to greet them and bowed deeply.

3 He said, “Sirs, if you would be so kind, don’t just pass by your servant.

4 Let a little water be brought so you may wash your feet and refresh yourselves under the tree.

5 Let me offer you a little bread so you will feel stronger, and after that you may leave your servant and go on your way—since you have visited your servant.”

They responded, “Fine. Do just as you have said.”

6 So Abraham hurried to Sarah at his tent and said, “Hurry! Knead three seahs of the finest flour and make some baked goods!”

7 Abraham ran to the cattle, took a healthy young calf, and gave it to a young servant, who prepared it quickly.

8 Then Abraham took butter, milk, and the calf that had been prepared, put the food in front of them, and stood under the tree near them as they ate.

9 They said to him, “Where’s your wife Sarah?”

And he said, “Right here in the tent.”

10 Then one of the men said, “I will definitely return to you about this time next year. Then your wife Sarah will have a son!”

Sarah was listening at the tent door behind him.

11 Now Abraham and Sarah were both very old. Sarah was no longer menstruating.

12 So Sarah laughed to herself, thinking, I’m no longer able to have children and my husband’s old.

13 The Lord said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh and say, ‘Me give birth? At my age?’

14 Is anything too difficult for the Lord? When I return to you about this time next year, Sarah will have a son.”

15 Sarah lied and said, “I didn’t laugh,” because she was frightened.

But he said, “No, you laughed.”

Today we’ll explore three striking things about this story.

First thing is hospitality and gender.

There was some discussion about what we were going to call this teaching series. And when we went with the word “hospitality,” Ivy held back at first. And I asked her: why? And one of the reasons was Ivy’s memory of the hospitality ministry at her church as a kid, and how it was basically a bunch of women feeding everyone else, men included. 

And isn’t that the way things so often go. My mother was responsible for like 99% of our house’s hospitality, when it came to actually feeding our guests, whoever it was that invited them.

And look at Sarah here. Abraham is the one that welcomed these three guys into the house, and he says:

how about a little bit of bread?

And then he runs and tells his wife:

hey, go knead like five gallons of flour and make a whole bunch of baked goods.

No wonder Sarah’s kind of punchy by the time they start eating and talking. 

I don’t think this is the way. Any men in the room married to women, if the woman in your life does the lion’s share of cooking or chores or hosting and hospitality, if you think she likes that, you might want to ask and check. We have mostly caught up in our times with division of labor outside the household – lots of dual working couples in this church for instance. But in our straight marriages and partnerships, we haven’t all caught up to equitable division of labor and responsibilities in the home, and I think we should. 

While Sarah’s busy getting her team on all those baked goods, I’ll mention too that it’s important to us that in our in-person welcome team – the people who put out food and drinks for us on Sunday and clean up – we have plenty of men that serve. Same with our kids’ ministry. That’s important. Thank you all. Hospitality is for all of us. 

Second thing that jumps out to me is what a beautiful and complex story of hospitality this is – hospitality both human and divine.

First on the human side.

It starts with three strangers showing up at someone’s house unannounced. Like when does that ever happen in our world. And who of us would be like: come on it, and we’re going to rearrange our whole plan for our time and our labor and our household supplies, and we are going to throw a feast.

But for ancient Israel, this story was like a paradigm for them. It showed them the way. 

Ivy talked about this last week, how the commitment in the Torah – the ancient Hebrew law – to love the stranger – was this radical innovation. I’m reading a book called Judaism is Love by Rabbi Shai Held that I’m going to respond to at a conference this winter. And Rabbi Held says the same – he says the ancient biblical mandate to love the stranger, to love the vulnerable outside your own group enacted a moral revolution in the world. It was unheard of to this point.

But it’s practiced by the founding father and mother of our faith and of many faiths. And it is commanded by God in no uncertain terms. The stranger – like the one who is not from your country, not from your people, not speaking your language, the one others would try to legislate against, to say they do not belong here – these so-called strangers are part of our moral obligation. 

My folks taking in random employees from the pet store at the mall, they showed the way in this. Thank you, Mom and Dad.

This church has many beautiful stories in our legacy of this radical hospitality as well. A number of you have housed refugees, asylum seekers, undocumented travelers in your homes. You have moved me with your holy and faithful love. 

Full disclosure – one of the reasons we are doing this teaching is in light what some have called our migrant crisis in Massachusetts, and in light of the possible scapegoating of immigrants and trans people by the incoming presidential administration. Ivy and Lydia and I are praying that there might be a few households at Reservoir Church who will open up our homes to a stranger this year or next. 

If you feel the nudge that it might be you, please let one of us know. No commitment, just to explore. We believe that our church community could robustly support with money and resources and helping hands any of us who are willing to do this. 

Because it’s what love looks like. It’s what our faith teaches. And we’ve done it before, Reservoir, and we can do it again. 

This obviously takes some discernment. Probably many of us will be stretched in this series to greater hospitality. But our team got a really thoughtful note this past week from one of you who was like: actually, I think I’ve been too unguarded sometimes about who I let into my home and who I let into my life, and I’m wondering if I need to learn about boundaries or about better discerning how many people I can let in and how much. 

And how beautiful to see if that’s where the Spirit is leading you. We’re here for that too. 

This whole story, though, is a call to a little more radical hospitality with strangers. Abraham and Sarah are the father and mother of faith in part maybe because they go for it. Not everyone does. There are other stories in Genesis about rejection of the stranger, and of a serious fail in hospitality, and we sense that this coldness, even this disregard toward the outsider so disappoints and frustrates God. 

Because God loves the stranger, and God wants us to learn to love how God loves too.

Speaking of God, there’s the whole weird mystery of just who these guests are, making it a story not just about human hospitality but divine hospitality as well. 

  • Who in the world is visiting Abraham and Sarah?
  • Is it three people?
  • Is it three angels?
  • Or is it God? 

The text is deliberately ambiguous on this front. Maybe all at once. Maybe God is visiting this household in the form of three human strangers? Maybe there’s shape-shifting going on?

Deliberately ambiguous. Thus the New Testament has this tiny comment on this story when in the letter called Hebrews we get this bit:

Hebrews 13:2-3 Common English Bible

2 Don’t neglect to open up your homes to guests, because by doing this some have been hosts to angels without knowing it.

3 Remember prisoners as if you were in prison with them, and people who are mistreated as if you were in their place.

I love this little passage. Angels in Hebrew and Greek just means “messengers of God.” And so it’s like:

remember Abraham and Sarah – when they welcome the people into their home, it turned out they were messengers of God.

And then right next to that, it mentions

not to forget the incarcerated folk.

Because when as a free person, you visit someone who is incarcerated, sometimes you’re like God’s messenger, and sometimes you discover God’s message to you inside the prison.

All the ways that God comes to us. 

Maybe God came to teach me hospitality, or to teach me to stop being a jerk, through my mom’s friend. Maybe God came in the form of an unexpected guest to start a food fight and teach my dad and my whole family some joy. I don’t know. 

I do know that the tradition around this passage teaches that as unique and special as this particular visit to Abraham and Sarah may have been, it is also an archetype – not only for human hospitality. But for divine hospitality as well. How God is always eager to come to us, and to open up God’s self to us. 

There’s a very famous 15th century Russian icon by Andre Rublev based on this scene. In it, the three guests are sitting around a table, maybe waiting for Abraham’s help to cook that calf, maybe waiting on Sarah and all those baked goods.

But they sit there in an open circle – three persons yet beautifully and mysteriously linked and connected as if they represent at some deeper level one essence, one purpose, one being. And when you look at the painting, their circle is open to you, as if you, the viewer, can take the fourth seat, can join this fellowship and be part of it too. 

Rublev’s icon is called Trinity, because it imagines these three visitors as many Christians have done over the centuries, as three persons who also are together one God – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. 

And the icon invites us to respect and love and wonder about this divine being, who comes to us in many forms with hope and promises, as God did to Abraham and Sarah. But it also invites us to imagine, to experience that God is eager to have us join the circle, to bring to the table not just our food or our gifts, but our experience. Our old disappointments and yearnings, our whole self, welcome to God’s table. 

The first time I remember praying in a room where this icon was on the wall, I stared at it for minutes, without any words or spoken prayers. But eventually I teared up and then just wept and it sunk into my consciousness that God had room for all of me. God has time for me, God has interest in all the parts of me. God is so glad to be in the home of my life and to welcome all of who I am into the life of God as God’s child.

This divine hospitality isn’t always easy to talk about, but I’m going to try to do more at length next week and probably again in February. 

Because divine hospitality for us and for all creation really is the foundation of anything like faith in God or love for God, that God loves us first. And you can’t love who you don’t know and you can’t know who you don’t pay attention to with a hospitable spirit. 

Last thing that sticks out to me, though, is the laughter. It’s the full-throated joy, the full-throttled laughter this story ends on. 

Sarah probably hadn’t laughed in years. She and Abraham have had a kind of hard, miserable life for a decade or so. And that hurt has spun out and impacted others as well, since we know that hurt people hurt people, and they are no exception. To this point, only Abraham has had visions of God promising them a child, a future, a nation, a faith born from their marriage. This is the first time that Abraham and Sarah have had this word from God as a couple. And as many times as Abraham has thought this could be so, they hear it together now and Sarah laughs to herself – doubtful, sure, but maybe a little hopeful too. Something in her smiles or chuckles a little bit. She can’t help herself. 

And it sounds like the guests don’t like her laughter, like maybe God doesn’t like her laughter, since it gets called out, challenged, maybe, as a sign of doubt, of disbelief in the impossibly wonderful goodness of God.

But Sarah isn’t directly criticized for her laughter at all. I like to imagine the guests noticing the laughter and just wanting it to not slip by. Like: Sarah, the woman of the household who could easily keep slipping into the background of this story in this patriarchal culture.

Sarah, tell us more, why are you laughing? 

Regardless, Sarah and Abraham don’t remember this moment with shame. The opposite – months later they give birth to a son and they name him Laughter, offering him the legacy of his mother’s surprise, delight, wonder, and joy. 

And my friends, I wonder if this word on laughter isn’t the perfect accompaniment to a call to hospitality. 

What will expand our horizons, deepen our faith, open us up to new surprises and joys like radical hospitality? Radical hospitality is one way God provides to give us more laughter. 

Twenty years ago, my wife Grace and I were looking for a church. We were looking for a church where our biracial family would feel at home. We were looking for a church that taught the Way of Jesus but wasn’t rigid and close-minded about it. We were looking for a more inclusive church too, and a place where people seemed real and we could make friends. 

And when we visited, one of the reasons we stuck was the hospitality we found here. After the service ended, we met someone new each week when we said hello, and people seemed down to earth and authentic – not stuffy or hyper-religious, pretty down to earth, and glad to talk to someone new. We thought: we could probably make friends here, and we were right. 

And twenty years later, I’ve had hundreds and hundreds of get to know you conversations in this building after church. And I’ve had dozens, maybe hundreds of opportunities to be in someone else’s home or to have people in my home and say:

tell me more of your story, or have them say that to me, and have that make me feel a little more known or at home in this world, and I think for other folks to feel that too. 

I learned after being here for a year or so that there were at least two practices, two habits of this church that helped make this so. And in this radical hospitality series, we’d like to reinstitute these two practices, if you’ll give it a shot.

They’re called the 3-minute rule and Praying for your 6.

The 3-minute rule is simple. It’s one for our Sunday worship services. And the idea is that the first three minutes after the service ends, instead of immediately leaving or grabbing your kid and leaving, or instead of only talking to a friend or family member you already know, you say hello to someone that you don’t know already. Introduce yourself, ask them their name if you don’t know them already, and talk – just for a minute or two or three, that’s all. As simple as:

  • What are you up to today?

  • Or how’s your week been?

  • Or how’d you like the service?

  • Or did you grow up around here – yes?

  • Whereabouts? Or no?

  • Where did you grow up?

  • What was it like there?

You get the idea. Just a small gesture of hospitality, of welcome. 

It’s not rigid or dogmatic – sometimes you’re in a bad mood, sometimes you’re in a rush, sometimes you have only introvert energy and you’re not ready to meet someone new. Fine. No big deal. But if it’s something enough of us do weekly, we’re a more hospitable community, a place where you can know and be known a little more and in time, make a new friend. 

The other one, praying for your 6,is what it sounds like – that more or less every day, you say a prayer for 6 other people. I’m going to put a little different twist on this than we used to have back in the day and just say that the spirit of the prayer is meant to be hospitable, not controlling. 

So you say a prayer for at least 6 people every day. And that at least some of them are people you don’t know super-well. And the prayers aren’t – God, can you change my doctor or my irritating neighbor or my boss to be a better person so they aren’t so annoying anymore. Nope, the prayers are hospitable, like in some way asking God to bless that person, to encourage them and help them find good things in life. 

I could go on with story after story about what it’s been like to do this over the years. Sometimes you pray that God will bless someone for years, and you have no idea if anything ever happened or it mattered at all. Sometimes you pray that God will bless someone and you don’t know if God’s doing anything or not, but you find that you have a kinder, more generous disposition to the person. Because we know that prayer changes us for the good, that’s a fact. And then sometimes you pray for someone and it seems like it’s somehow part of the picture of life turning for the better for them. 

So I’d encourage you to try that this week as well – short prayers for at least 6 people every day, making sure at least some of those prayers are for strangers you run into or people you don’t know very well. And we’ll keep reminding you in the weeks to come to try and see how this goes for you.

Both of these two practices – the 3-minute rule and the praying for 6 – long pre-date me even showing up at this church let alone me being the senior pastor here. But they are both gestures of hospitality and I’m convinced that they have been a big part of making us a relationally and spiritually hospitable and generous church.

So while I hope that some of us will have some big experiences of radical hospitality as a result of this series – folks we would never expect in our houses or at our tables, experiences of being known and loved by God that are more profound than what we’ve known so far. I know that even the little things – 3 minutes of new acquaintances and welcome, a minute or two a day of saying little prayers of blessing for others – will change us and change others for the good. These small acts of not very radical hospitality do a lot of radical good over time. I look forward to seeing what that looks like for us. 

Let’s pray. 

Just in Case

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?”