Today’s devotional is a reading about a very memorable evening of hospitality:
Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him.
And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, "Lord, are you going to wash my feet?"
Jesus answered, "You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand."
Peter said to him, "You will never wash my feet."
Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no share with me."
Simon Peter said to him, "Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!"
Jesus said to him, "One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you." For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, "Not all of you are clean."
After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, "Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord — and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them. I am not speaking of all of you; I know whom I have chosen. But it is to fulfill the scripture, 'The one who ate my bread has lifted his heel against me.' I tell you this now, before it occurs, so that when it does occur, you may believe that I am he. Very truly, I tell you, whoever receives one whom I send receives me; and whoever receives me receives him who sent me."
John 13:1-20 – NRSV
Blessings,
Ron
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
You call us ...
Today’s devotional connects our past and present identities in a scripture and a prayer:
So then, remember that at one time you Gentiles by birth, called "the uncircumcision" by those who are called "the circumcision" — a physical circumcision made in the flesh by human hands — remember that you were at that time without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world.
But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it. So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father.
So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.
Ephesians 2:11-22 – NRSV
Our right names
Walter Brueggemann
You God toward whom we pray and
about whom we sing, and
from whom we claim our very life.
In your presence, in our seasons of ache and yearning and honesty,
we know our right names.
In your presence we know ourselves to be aliens and strangers.
We gasp in recognition, taken by surprise at this disclosure,
because we had nearly settled in
and taken up residence in the wrong place.
For all of that, we turn out to be
we strangers, unfamiliar with your covenant,
remote from your people,
at odds too much with sisters and brothers,
we aliens, with no hope
without promise
with very little sense of belonging or knowing
or risking or trusting,
It is in your presence that we come face to face with our beset
beleaguered existence in the world.
BUT
You are the one who by your odd power
calls us by new names that we can
receive only from you and
relish only in your company.
You call us now,
citizens … with all the rights and privileges and
responsibilities pertaining to life in your commonwealth.
You call us now saints, not because we are good or gentle,
or perfect,
but because you have spotted us and marked us
and claimed us for yourself and your purposes.
You call us members … and we dare imagine that we belong
and may finally come home.
So with daring and freedom,
we move from our old names known too well
to the new names you speak over us,
and in the very utterance we are transformed.
In the moment of utterance and transformation, we look past
ourselves and past our sisters and brothers here present. And
we notice so many other siblings broken, estranged, consumed
in rage and shame and loneliness, much born of wretched
economics. We bid powerfully that you name afresh all your
creatures this day, even as you name us afresh. We pray for
nothing more and nothing less than your name for us all,
utterly new, restored heaven and earth.
And we will take our new names with us when we leave this place,
treasuring them all day long,
citizen,
saint,
member,
even as we take with us the odd name of Jesus. Amen.
May God bless you with an awareness of your identity
and acceptance in him
and in his welcoming community.
Ron
So then, remember that at one time you Gentiles by birth, called "the uncircumcision" by those who are called "the circumcision" — a physical circumcision made in the flesh by human hands — remember that you were at that time without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world.
But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it. So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father.
So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.
Ephesians 2:11-22 – NRSV
Our right names
Walter Brueggemann
You God toward whom we pray and
about whom we sing, and
from whom we claim our very life.
In your presence, in our seasons of ache and yearning and honesty,
we know our right names.
In your presence we know ourselves to be aliens and strangers.
We gasp in recognition, taken by surprise at this disclosure,
because we had nearly settled in
and taken up residence in the wrong place.
For all of that, we turn out to be
we strangers, unfamiliar with your covenant,
remote from your people,
at odds too much with sisters and brothers,
we aliens, with no hope
without promise
with very little sense of belonging or knowing
or risking or trusting,
It is in your presence that we come face to face with our beset
beleaguered existence in the world.
BUT
You are the one who by your odd power
calls us by new names that we can
receive only from you and
relish only in your company.
You call us now,
citizens … with all the rights and privileges and
responsibilities pertaining to life in your commonwealth.
You call us now saints, not because we are good or gentle,
or perfect,
but because you have spotted us and marked us
and claimed us for yourself and your purposes.
You call us members … and we dare imagine that we belong
and may finally come home.
So with daring and freedom,
we move from our old names known too well
to the new names you speak over us,
and in the very utterance we are transformed.
In the moment of utterance and transformation, we look past
ourselves and past our sisters and brothers here present. And
we notice so many other siblings broken, estranged, consumed
in rage and shame and loneliness, much born of wretched
economics. We bid powerfully that you name afresh all your
creatures this day, even as you name us afresh. We pray for
nothing more and nothing less than your name for us all,
utterly new, restored heaven and earth.
And we will take our new names with us when we leave this place,
treasuring them all day long,
citizen,
saint,
member,
even as we take with us the odd name of Jesus. Amen.
May God bless you with an awareness of your identity
and acceptance in him
and in his welcoming community.
Ron
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Welcoming gifts ...
Today’s devotional thought is wrapped up in a story. Be patient until the end; this story is not about parsing Hebrew, but about an important practice for all of us.
By 2003, I had finished one graduate degree at OC, and had what I needed to maintain my position at the Home, and at most other ministries. I was still hungry to learn, though, and sought to keep growing as a person, even as a soul that was nearly twice as old as most of my peers. So I decided to do work on an MDiv.
Abilene has a larger campus than OC, and its Graduate School of Theology is much larger as well. In my first class on campus, on the very first day, there are thirty to forty graduate students present. Dr. Douglas Foster is the professor, and the class is titled “Advanced Restoration History.” For an introvert being around forty people, none of whom you know, is a stressful experience. Being at a new university is stressful. Starting a new enterprise is stressful. Being nearly fifty years old doesn’t help as much as you might think. That’s because you’re much closer to the age of the professor than any of the other students, than even the “non-traditional” students. Probably 80% of these other students have done bachelors or masters work together. I am an outsider, and, because of the knowledge of these realities, and the emotions percolating inside of me, I feel it. I don't yet feel that this is a safe place for me.
The first day is not unusual in many ways. Dr. Foster takes the class members through a series of brief self-introductions. He walks us through the syllabus. He talks about his expectations for our conduct and our work. He gives an overview of the content of the class. And he instructs us to have a proposal for our research paper ready for him by the next class meeting. A full day one.
Because of my long-term interest in children and youth, I already have an idea for my paper. At the end of class, I approach Dr. Foster to discuss my proposal. He greets me and then listens intently, ignoring the chaos of the other departing students. He then responds, “I’d like to talk with you about this further; can you walk with me? I need to put something in my office before graduate chapel.”
Surprised at his warmth, I answer, “Sure,” and we walk and talk all the way up to his office. As we work our way through the Hall of Servants, we discuss the possibilities of my idea, and, without my having to ask, he gives two or three leads on sources that might be useful for my work. Then he accompanies me through the door where we enter into the “inner sanctum” of the graduate professors to finish our talk.
“Come to graduate chapel with me,” Dr. Foster invites. And I go, because he asked.
As we enter the chapel, he introduces me to a few people, and we sit down to worship God together. Not as professor and student, but as brothers in Christ. In this beautiful space, there is a strong call to worship. One feels drawn into the singing by its beauty and power. Jack Reese then issues a wise call to the students and faculty to glorify God and serve the church through their scholarship, instead of glorifying or serving anyone or anything else, including their own egos. From that day forward, I will never miss the opportunity to be a part of that worshipping community if at all possible, even on the days when it might be good to read one more chapter, or to memorize one more conjugation.
This is the way that hospitality works.
Making people feel welcome is more than a cup of coffee, more even than a meal. It is a collection of small moments, apparently insignificant in logical terms at the time, but huge emotionally nonetheless. These moments are pivotal because the feelings of safety or danger, of warmth or coolness, or of closeness or distance, start to frame the emotional aspects of the relationship from the very first moment two people, or a person and a community meet. People immediately sense through the hospitality of a person whether the door is open or closed. The momentum of attraction to, or repulsion from, that relationship accumulates instantaneously.
What are the verbs that describe the nature of hospitality in this ten-minute window one Wednesday morning? Greeting, listening, walking, conversing, giving, accompanying, entering, inviting, introducing, worshipping.
What are the gifts enacted by those verbs of hospitality? Welcome, voice, time, dialogue, knowledge, companionship, entrée, acceptance, relationship, community. The bonus gift, perhaps the sum of them, is the feeling of safety found in this environment.
A very brief slice of time. Powerful hospitality. Reshaping a small part of a person’s view of the world, forming an enduring relationship between two people, and connecting an outsider to a community. Not a thing to do with food or drink. Yet not all refreshment enters one’s stomach. When hospitality is done well, it refreshes both the body and spirit of the host and guest (John 4).
Today, move through your world aware of your roles as guest and host; be a blessing to outsiders and community however that is possible for you.
Blessings,
Ron
By 2003, I had finished one graduate degree at OC, and had what I needed to maintain my position at the Home, and at most other ministries. I was still hungry to learn, though, and sought to keep growing as a person, even as a soul that was nearly twice as old as most of my peers. So I decided to do work on an MDiv.
Abilene has a larger campus than OC, and its Graduate School of Theology is much larger as well. In my first class on campus, on the very first day, there are thirty to forty graduate students present. Dr. Douglas Foster is the professor, and the class is titled “Advanced Restoration History.” For an introvert being around forty people, none of whom you know, is a stressful experience. Being at a new university is stressful. Starting a new enterprise is stressful. Being nearly fifty years old doesn’t help as much as you might think. That’s because you’re much closer to the age of the professor than any of the other students, than even the “non-traditional” students. Probably 80% of these other students have done bachelors or masters work together. I am an outsider, and, because of the knowledge of these realities, and the emotions percolating inside of me, I feel it. I don't yet feel that this is a safe place for me.
The first day is not unusual in many ways. Dr. Foster takes the class members through a series of brief self-introductions. He walks us through the syllabus. He talks about his expectations for our conduct and our work. He gives an overview of the content of the class. And he instructs us to have a proposal for our research paper ready for him by the next class meeting. A full day one.
Because of my long-term interest in children and youth, I already have an idea for my paper. At the end of class, I approach Dr. Foster to discuss my proposal. He greets me and then listens intently, ignoring the chaos of the other departing students. He then responds, “I’d like to talk with you about this further; can you walk with me? I need to put something in my office before graduate chapel.”
Surprised at his warmth, I answer, “Sure,” and we walk and talk all the way up to his office. As we work our way through the Hall of Servants, we discuss the possibilities of my idea, and, without my having to ask, he gives two or three leads on sources that might be useful for my work. Then he accompanies me through the door where we enter into the “inner sanctum” of the graduate professors to finish our talk.
“Come to graduate chapel with me,” Dr. Foster invites. And I go, because he asked.
As we enter the chapel, he introduces me to a few people, and we sit down to worship God together. Not as professor and student, but as brothers in Christ. In this beautiful space, there is a strong call to worship. One feels drawn into the singing by its beauty and power. Jack Reese then issues a wise call to the students and faculty to glorify God and serve the church through their scholarship, instead of glorifying or serving anyone or anything else, including their own egos. From that day forward, I will never miss the opportunity to be a part of that worshipping community if at all possible, even on the days when it might be good to read one more chapter, or to memorize one more conjugation.
This is the way that hospitality works.
Making people feel welcome is more than a cup of coffee, more even than a meal. It is a collection of small moments, apparently insignificant in logical terms at the time, but huge emotionally nonetheless. These moments are pivotal because the feelings of safety or danger, of warmth or coolness, or of closeness or distance, start to frame the emotional aspects of the relationship from the very first moment two people, or a person and a community meet. People immediately sense through the hospitality of a person whether the door is open or closed. The momentum of attraction to, or repulsion from, that relationship accumulates instantaneously.
What are the verbs that describe the nature of hospitality in this ten-minute window one Wednesday morning? Greeting, listening, walking, conversing, giving, accompanying, entering, inviting, introducing, worshipping.
What are the gifts enacted by those verbs of hospitality? Welcome, voice, time, dialogue, knowledge, companionship, entrée, acceptance, relationship, community. The bonus gift, perhaps the sum of them, is the feeling of safety found in this environment.
A very brief slice of time. Powerful hospitality. Reshaping a small part of a person’s view of the world, forming an enduring relationship between two people, and connecting an outsider to a community. Not a thing to do with food or drink. Yet not all refreshment enters one’s stomach. When hospitality is done well, it refreshes both the body and spirit of the host and guest (John 4).
Today, move through your world aware of your roles as guest and host; be a blessing to outsiders and community however that is possible for you.
Blessings,
Ron
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Give them something ...
Sometimes the demands that we face in taking care of children seem overpowering. How do we get enough time? Where do we get enough resources? Hospitality for these children can be overwhelming when either the need of the individual, or the number of individuals is too great. Care at its extremes is neither cheap nor easy. This is a reality that the apostles soon discovered in their ministry:
On their return the apostles told Jesus all they had done. He took them with him and withdrew privately to a city called Bethsaida. When the crowds found out about it, they followed him; and he welcomed them, and spoke to them about the kingdom of God, and healed those who needed to be cured.
The day was drawing to a close, and the twelve came to him and said, "Send the crowd away, so that they may go into the surrounding villages and countryside, to lodge and get provisions; for we are here in a deserted place."
The number of hungry, needy people is overwhelming. The apostles know full-well how much food that they have; they’re hungry, too. So they choose to punt; we can’t handle this much neediness, so send these people away. Let them get their meals from the professional hospitality industry. Which is problematic. There really is no professional hospitality industry to speak of in the first century. However much there is, it’s certainly not large enough to accommodate this many needy people.
But he said to them, "You give them something to eat."
Notice what Jesus doesn’t do: he doesn’t say, “Who put you in charge?” Neither does he assert his own power in a way demeaning to the apostles. He acknowledges that they see the need (which is something that many people would have missed), and he redirects them toward a more appropriate response. Jesus assumes neither the position of power nor that of the host. He guides his apostles toward a risky hospitality - there may not be enough for a feast, but give them something …
They said, "We have no more than five loaves and two fish — unless we are to go and buy food for all these people." For there were about five thousand men.
And he said to his disciples, "Make them sit down in groups of about fifty each." They did so and made them all sit down. And taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke them, and gave them to the disciples to set before the crowd. And all ate and were filled. What was left over was gathered up, twelve baskets of broken pieces.
Jesus knows that hospitality, in this case a meal, is not just about sharing resources; it is about sharing relationships as well. He divides the people into smaller groups, and maintains the apostles as hosts of these groups. Can we see the power of godly hospitality here? If we will sit down to share a meal together, somehow there will be enough for everyone. Not just food, but relationship, and status, and power as well. May we have the courage, not only to be a community of hospitality, but to help our children discover how they can be empowered to serve through hospitality themselves.
Grace, and peace,
Ron
Luke 9:10-17 – NRSV
On their return the apostles told Jesus all they had done. He took them with him and withdrew privately to a city called Bethsaida. When the crowds found out about it, they followed him; and he welcomed them, and spoke to them about the kingdom of God, and healed those who needed to be cured.
The day was drawing to a close, and the twelve came to him and said, "Send the crowd away, so that they may go into the surrounding villages and countryside, to lodge and get provisions; for we are here in a deserted place."
The number of hungry, needy people is overwhelming. The apostles know full-well how much food that they have; they’re hungry, too. So they choose to punt; we can’t handle this much neediness, so send these people away. Let them get their meals from the professional hospitality industry. Which is problematic. There really is no professional hospitality industry to speak of in the first century. However much there is, it’s certainly not large enough to accommodate this many needy people.
But he said to them, "You give them something to eat."
Notice what Jesus doesn’t do: he doesn’t say, “Who put you in charge?” Neither does he assert his own power in a way demeaning to the apostles. He acknowledges that they see the need (which is something that many people would have missed), and he redirects them toward a more appropriate response. Jesus assumes neither the position of power nor that of the host. He guides his apostles toward a risky hospitality - there may not be enough for a feast, but give them something …
They said, "We have no more than five loaves and two fish — unless we are to go and buy food for all these people." For there were about five thousand men.
And he said to his disciples, "Make them sit down in groups of about fifty each." They did so and made them all sit down. And taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke them, and gave them to the disciples to set before the crowd. And all ate and were filled. What was left over was gathered up, twelve baskets of broken pieces.
Jesus knows that hospitality, in this case a meal, is not just about sharing resources; it is about sharing relationships as well. He divides the people into smaller groups, and maintains the apostles as hosts of these groups. Can we see the power of godly hospitality here? If we will sit down to share a meal together, somehow there will be enough for everyone. Not just food, but relationship, and status, and power as well. May we have the courage, not only to be a community of hospitality, but to help our children discover how they can be empowered to serve through hospitality themselves.
Grace, and peace,
Ron
Luke 9:10-17 – NRSV
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Power to the little people ...
We all know the story of Zacchaeus. His encounter with Jesus is more than a silly children’s song; it is a narrative full of penitence, hope and grace. Remember?
[Jesus] entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way.
Being rich doesn’t mean that one necessarily belongs, that one is an insider. The fact that Zacchaeus had accumulated his wealth as a tax collector kept the wealthy insiders at a remote distance, and pushed the poor away as a consequence of his oppressive work. His extreme slightness of stature reduced him to a comic figure whom both the rich and poor could easily ridicule. Zacchaeus was the worst kind of outcast – a self-made outcast. So what are we to do with outcasts? Doesn’t the Bible call us to bring them within the bounds of our hospitality, under our protection as host? What does Jesus do?
When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today." So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him.
All who saw it began to grumble and said, "He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner."
Zacchaeus would do whatever Jesus asks; he would have followed him to a table that Jesus hosted, or he would have joined him as a guest at a table to which Jesus had been invited. Yet Jesus yields the place of “status”, he gives up the position of power. Jesus elevates Zacchaeus to the role of host. At the same time, Jesus humbles himself to be the guest of one of low stature – a “sinner”.
Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, "Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much."
Then Jesus said to him, "Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost."
You have to say this about Zacchaeus; when he grasps the situation, he does his best to make it right. He may not have worldly status, nor may it be possible for him to ever gain it. So instead Zacchaeus does what it takes to move toward righteous kingdom behavior, and thus be a more fitting host to a guest, this extraordinary teacher, Jesus. And once again, the guest will not be out-given. “Salvation has come to this house!”
So what shape does this take in our world? Do we always force children into the role of guest, while we stand entrenched in the more powerful place as host? How tempting is it to tell a child, “This is my house, these are my rules …” Which is ironic when the child may have lived in this house as long as we have. Is there not a time to yield the position of power in hospitality so as to empower those with a lesser place? Think about it. May God help us to deal with hospitality in a godly way.
Blessings,
Ron
Luke 19:1-10 – NRSV
[Jesus] entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way.
Being rich doesn’t mean that one necessarily belongs, that one is an insider. The fact that Zacchaeus had accumulated his wealth as a tax collector kept the wealthy insiders at a remote distance, and pushed the poor away as a consequence of his oppressive work. His extreme slightness of stature reduced him to a comic figure whom both the rich and poor could easily ridicule. Zacchaeus was the worst kind of outcast – a self-made outcast. So what are we to do with outcasts? Doesn’t the Bible call us to bring them within the bounds of our hospitality, under our protection as host? What does Jesus do?
When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today." So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him.
All who saw it began to grumble and said, "He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner."
Zacchaeus would do whatever Jesus asks; he would have followed him to a table that Jesus hosted, or he would have joined him as a guest at a table to which Jesus had been invited. Yet Jesus yields the place of “status”, he gives up the position of power. Jesus elevates Zacchaeus to the role of host. At the same time, Jesus humbles himself to be the guest of one of low stature – a “sinner”.
Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, "Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much."
Then Jesus said to him, "Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost."
You have to say this about Zacchaeus; when he grasps the situation, he does his best to make it right. He may not have worldly status, nor may it be possible for him to ever gain it. So instead Zacchaeus does what it takes to move toward righteous kingdom behavior, and thus be a more fitting host to a guest, this extraordinary teacher, Jesus. And once again, the guest will not be out-given. “Salvation has come to this house!”
So what shape does this take in our world? Do we always force children into the role of guest, while we stand entrenched in the more powerful place as host? How tempting is it to tell a child, “This is my house, these are my rules …” Which is ironic when the child may have lived in this house as long as we have. Is there not a time to yield the position of power in hospitality so as to empower those with a lesser place? Think about it. May God help us to deal with hospitality in a godly way.
Blessings,
Ron
Luke 19:1-10 – NRSV
Monday, December 1, 2008
Mighty fine wine ...
Jesus easily proves that he is the kind of guest that any hospitable host would want:
On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, "They have no wine."
And Jesus said to her, "Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come."
His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you."
Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, "Fill the jars with water." And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, "Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward." So they took it.
When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom and said to him, "Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now."
Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.
John 2:1-11 – NRSV
All of us have been to a wedding where there was not enough to eat or to drink; it’s an uncomfortable moment, isn’t it? The lack of food or drink hovers over the party as an unspoken critique of the hospitality of the host. Yet the society in which Jesus lived put much more pressure on the host – the wedding meal was supposed to be a feast that indicated the unbridled joy of the groom and his new wife; there was no other meal for the guests that evening. Yet at the precise moment that the host is most likely to be embarrassed by a failure to provide properly for his guests, Jesus intervenes. He does not wave his hand over one more pint of punch. Jesus makes about 150 gallons of the very finest wine, a commodity in a quantity that could easily cost $15,000 in today’s economy. Evidently it was quite a wedding! How grand did this host and his bride appear to be!
As John tells us the story, the host remains oblivious to the blessing given by his guest. He may very well have been surrounded by the presents of so many other guests: promptly delivered in person, carefully listed by a servant, and lavishly thanked by the couple. Yet the grandest gift of them all, one of immense monetary value, one of immeasurable social value, was given with no “From: Jesus” card attached. Only the servants and the disciples of Jesus knew.
How many times is Jesus the silent guest at our table? How often does his power provide the embarrassment of riches that we serve? The blessings which prevent our embarrassment before our guests? I don’t suppose that we could count the ways that he enriches our hospitality, could we? Because in truth, all blessings come from God.
We might easily respond, “I’ve never had Jesus physically at my table.” Yet since Jesus challenged us to be hospitable to even “the least of these,” because in doing so we minister to Jesus, we ought to believe that in feeding, clothing, or sheltering an outcast soul, and thus comforting Jesus, that this outcast soul may very well be able to bless us as Jesus is able to bless us. Not as compensation or appreciation, but in some other category of blessing altogether.
Think about it. Pray about it. Try practicing it with these wonderful blessings of outcast children in our care today.
Blessings,
Ron
On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, "They have no wine."
And Jesus said to her, "Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come."
His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you."
Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, "Fill the jars with water." And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, "Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward." So they took it.
When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom and said to him, "Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now."
Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.
John 2:1-11 – NRSV
All of us have been to a wedding where there was not enough to eat or to drink; it’s an uncomfortable moment, isn’t it? The lack of food or drink hovers over the party as an unspoken critique of the hospitality of the host. Yet the society in which Jesus lived put much more pressure on the host – the wedding meal was supposed to be a feast that indicated the unbridled joy of the groom and his new wife; there was no other meal for the guests that evening. Yet at the precise moment that the host is most likely to be embarrassed by a failure to provide properly for his guests, Jesus intervenes. He does not wave his hand over one more pint of punch. Jesus makes about 150 gallons of the very finest wine, a commodity in a quantity that could easily cost $15,000 in today’s economy. Evidently it was quite a wedding! How grand did this host and his bride appear to be!
As John tells us the story, the host remains oblivious to the blessing given by his guest. He may very well have been surrounded by the presents of so many other guests: promptly delivered in person, carefully listed by a servant, and lavishly thanked by the couple. Yet the grandest gift of them all, one of immense monetary value, one of immeasurable social value, was given with no “From: Jesus” card attached. Only the servants and the disciples of Jesus knew.
How many times is Jesus the silent guest at our table? How often does his power provide the embarrassment of riches that we serve? The blessings which prevent our embarrassment before our guests? I don’t suppose that we could count the ways that he enriches our hospitality, could we? Because in truth, all blessings come from God.
We might easily respond, “I’ve never had Jesus physically at my table.” Yet since Jesus challenged us to be hospitable to even “the least of these,” because in doing so we minister to Jesus, we ought to believe that in feeding, clothing, or sheltering an outcast soul, and thus comforting Jesus, that this outcast soul may very well be able to bless us as Jesus is able to bless us. Not as compensation or appreciation, but in some other category of blessing altogether.
Think about it. Pray about it. Try practicing it with these wonderful blessings of outcast children in our care today.
Blessings,
Ron
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