Today, consider this scripture and response:
Matthew 2:1-12
In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage."
When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born.
They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: 'And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.'"
Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage."
When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy.
On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
Many of you will recognize in this text the three moves of hospitality: entering in, staying, and sending forth. These important people enter this humble place, find welcome. In response, they give the young king welcome into their world. They kneel so as to stay in his presence, if only for a while. Overwhelmed with the richness of relationship with royalty, they offer in return token gifts of the richest resources they could imagine. Finally, though this infant monarch has yet to speak, his messengers send these wise men forth with a gift of news that keeps them safe on their journey home. In return, the wise men respect the vulnerability of the child by keeping their silence until his parents can remove him to a place of safety.
The coming of God into our midst is an amazing act of hospitality. If we seek to imitate this hospitable God, we must be willing both to receive, as well as give, hospitality. If we wish to heed the words and the life of Jesus, then we must be willing to let even little children act as our hosts. After all, who would you rather have as your host: King Herod, living out his older years in great opulence; or the baby Jesus, living within the most humble of means?
Accepting the hospitality of children may force us to change the way that we see the world. Such hospitality may, on occasion, require us to drink imaginary tea out of impossibly small cups; it may necessitate being very still while little hands which have yet to acquire skill paint our toenails. Yet if we but humble ourselves, who knows what blessings will be ours?
Blessings,
Ron
Showing posts with label hospitality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hospitality. Show all posts
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Unlimited resources ...
Hear the word of the Lord:
1 Kings 17:8-16
Then the word of the LORD came to him, saying, "Go now to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and live there; for I have commanded a widow there to feed you."
So he set out and went to Zarephath. When he came to the gate of the town, a widow was there gathering sticks; he called to her and said, "Bring me a little water in a vessel, so that I may drink." As she was going to bring it, he called to her and said, "Bring me a morsel of bread in your hand."
But she said, "As the LORD your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die."
Elijah said to her, "Do not be afraid; go and do as you have said; but first make me a little cake of it and bring it to me, and afterwards make something for yourself and your son. For thus says the LORD the God of Israel: The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the LORD sends rain on the earth."
She went and did as Elijah said, so that she as well as he and her household ate for many days.
The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the LORD that he spoke by Elijah.
1 Kings 17:8-16
Then the word of the LORD came to him, saying, "Go now to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and live there; for I have commanded a widow there to feed you."
So he set out and went to Zarephath. When he came to the gate of the town, a widow was there gathering sticks; he called to her and said, "Bring me a little water in a vessel, so that I may drink." As she was going to bring it, he called to her and said, "Bring me a morsel of bread in your hand."
But she said, "As the LORD your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die."
Elijah said to her, "Do not be afraid; go and do as you have said; but first make me a little cake of it and bring it to me, and afterwards make something for yourself and your son. For thus says the LORD the God of Israel: The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the LORD sends rain on the earth."
She went and did as Elijah said, so that she as well as he and her household ate for many days.
The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the LORD that he spoke by Elijah.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Well-aged wines ...
From the lectionary texts for this week, Isaiah 25:6-9.
Hear the word of the Lord:
On this mountain the LORD of hosts will make
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.
And he will destroy on this mountain
the shroud that is cast over all peoples,
the sheet that is spread over all nations;
he will swallow up death forever.
Then the Lord GOD will wipe away
the tears from all faces,
and the disgrace of his people
he will take away from all the earth,
for the LORD has spoken.
It will be said on that day, Lo, this is our God;
we have waited for him, so that he might save us.
This is the LORD for whom we have waited;
let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.
The voice of Isaiah brings word of the remarkable hospitality of God. Does the miraculous work of Jesus (John 2), where he makes water into wine at the wedding feast, fulfill this promise? Partially, but not perfectly. Even that marvelous move for hospitality at Cana did not completely bring the promised hospitality of which Isaiah speaks so longingly. How could it while we are still in this broken world? When Jesus says, “Woman, my hour is not yet come,” Jesus seems to be saying that it is not yet time for him to host the great celebration meant for the end of all time. It still isn’t time for perfect hospitality.
So we stand in tension. On one hand, we believe that the kingdom of God will, in the fullness of all time, bring the perfect and amazing banquet in heaven itself, presided over by God himself. At this table there is no exclusion, no pain, no disgrace, no death. There will be providence, peace, and salvation.
On the other hand, we believe that our job as messengers of the kingdom is to offer hospitality to a broken world today. Just because we can’t do it perfectly doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t try to do it better. So while we ought to expect that we can and will be more perfectly hospitable, we need to guard our hearts from the false expectation that we are going to do this perfectly in this life. We will not.
We are in the middle. Before, hospitality did not seem so important. In eternity, it is God’s way of welcoming his people into perfection. Now we are challenged to offer the best that we have, and to forgive when what we receive inevitably falls short of flawless. We have to wait; Isaiah tells us so twice: “we have waited for him, so that he might save us”; and “This is the Lord for whom we have waited.”
We can afford to be patient because God will keep God’s promise. God will not allow that patience to go unrewarded; when the time is right, those who have waited will receive from his hands what only his ways can produce: well-aged wine.
Grace and peace,
Ron
Hear the word of the Lord:
On this mountain the LORD of hosts will make
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.
And he will destroy on this mountain
the shroud that is cast over all peoples,
the sheet that is spread over all nations;
he will swallow up death forever.
Then the Lord GOD will wipe away
the tears from all faces,
and the disgrace of his people
he will take away from all the earth,
for the LORD has spoken.
It will be said on that day, Lo, this is our God;
we have waited for him, so that he might save us.
This is the LORD for whom we have waited;
let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.
The voice of Isaiah brings word of the remarkable hospitality of God. Does the miraculous work of Jesus (John 2), where he makes water into wine at the wedding feast, fulfill this promise? Partially, but not perfectly. Even that marvelous move for hospitality at Cana did not completely bring the promised hospitality of which Isaiah speaks so longingly. How could it while we are still in this broken world? When Jesus says, “Woman, my hour is not yet come,” Jesus seems to be saying that it is not yet time for him to host the great celebration meant for the end of all time. It still isn’t time for perfect hospitality.
So we stand in tension. On one hand, we believe that the kingdom of God will, in the fullness of all time, bring the perfect and amazing banquet in heaven itself, presided over by God himself. At this table there is no exclusion, no pain, no disgrace, no death. There will be providence, peace, and salvation.
On the other hand, we believe that our job as messengers of the kingdom is to offer hospitality to a broken world today. Just because we can’t do it perfectly doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t try to do it better. So while we ought to expect that we can and will be more perfectly hospitable, we need to guard our hearts from the false expectation that we are going to do this perfectly in this life. We will not.
We are in the middle. Before, hospitality did not seem so important. In eternity, it is God’s way of welcoming his people into perfection. Now we are challenged to offer the best that we have, and to forgive when what we receive inevitably falls short of flawless. We have to wait; Isaiah tells us so twice: “we have waited for him, so that he might save us”; and “This is the Lord for whom we have waited.”
We can afford to be patient because God will keep God’s promise. God will not allow that patience to go unrewarded; when the time is right, those who have waited will receive from his hands what only his ways can produce: well-aged wine.
Grace and peace,
Ron
Friday, October 16, 2009
Unadorned hospitality ...
Meditate on God’s word with me:
Then they [Jesus and the apostles] arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. As he stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs.
Jesus enters a city with his people, but they do not even have the opportunity to enter into a house of hospitality before he is greeted by a unlikely host. This outcast citizen is overrun with demons dwelling in him. He himself no longer able to dwell in a house, but must live naked in this unholy place: the cemetery.
When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, "What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me" — for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.)
When people are inhabited by many demons, to whom are we speaking when we talk with them? In this outlandish conversation, we might hear the voice of the man, the voice of an individual demon, and the voice of this community of demons. In this unholy place, the holy man Jesus stops his holy little tribe for a conversation with this dangerous and unholy person. This might seem foolishly dangerous to any observer, because even this man’s own people had chosen to chain him up, and to set guards to protect themselves from him. To have that talk, Jesus must create a safe space for that exchange, and make an opening for the voice of the man to speak, free of the oppression of this unholy community of demons. The true bondage of this man does not come from a chained body, but from a mind bound by the thoughts and control of others. To make that safe place, Jesus must set boundaries to godly hospitality; demons are not welcome among the holy.
Jesus then asked him, "What is your name?"
He said, "Legion"; for many demons had entered him. They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss.
Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.
We often wonder why Jesus sent the demons into the pigs, the livelihood and food of this community, only to watch them tumble over a cliff to destruction. But is that the right question?
Jesus hospitably allows the demons to enter the pigs because it frees the man. This keeps the freed demons from finding homes in other human beings. Luke, though, does not tell us that Jesus went so far as to send the pigs to their death. The demons inhabited the pigs, and now the unholy community of demons with its unholy leader, Satan, was in charge of them.
I do not want to encourage you to think like Satan, but can we not see that he would delight in turning an entire community of people against Jesus? Would not the fastest way to block the work of Jesus among this people be to deprive them of their wealth, of their source of income or food? If Satan can make them fear the truth of the holy power of Jesus instead of celebrating the hope that it brings, perhaps he will not lose them. So, Satan could direct the herd into the lake, knowing full well that it will prompt a farewell instead of a welcome for Jesus from this community. After all, it should not surprise us that Satan would swiftly and mercilessly sacrifice a whole tribe of his own servants to prevent Jesus from enacting his mission of God’s hospitality to a single community.
When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind.
The people find the strangest thing: this dangerous outcast, clothed and coherent, sitting in a place of hospitality with Jesus. Now that Jesus has passed through the moment of spiritual, physical, and social vulnerability to create this safe place for his people and this man, an open conversation is possible without the sacrifice of anyone’s holiness. It is still true that this man has been a demon-possessed outcast, but now there is a believable hope of restoration to relationship with his community and his God.
And they were afraid. Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned.
Satan cannot make humans fear. Satan cannot force humans to prefer wealth over other humans, and especially the outcast. He only has the power to highlight the choice. Human beings choose to fear. Every day, humans choose their own fiscal security over the health and physical safety of others. We’ve become so good at it that we can even feel pious when we do it.
“Those people chose that lifestyle . . . .”
“Those people should expect consequences . . . .”
“Those people . . . .”
But when we choose cash over community, power over people, we send Jesus for a hike. Away from us.
The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, "Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you." So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.
Even when we send Jesus away, he does not give up on us. He makes use of his remnant, his outcast, to continue to offer hope, even where hope and healing have been rejected. This man becomes a sign of the hospitality of God, and a living enactment of that same hospitality.
May God choose to do the same with us.
Grace, and peace,
Ron
Then they [Jesus and the apostles] arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. As he stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs.
Jesus enters a city with his people, but they do not even have the opportunity to enter into a house of hospitality before he is greeted by a unlikely host. This outcast citizen is overrun with demons dwelling in him. He himself no longer able to dwell in a house, but must live naked in this unholy place: the cemetery.
When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, "What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me" — for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.)
When people are inhabited by many demons, to whom are we speaking when we talk with them? In this outlandish conversation, we might hear the voice of the man, the voice of an individual demon, and the voice of this community of demons. In this unholy place, the holy man Jesus stops his holy little tribe for a conversation with this dangerous and unholy person. This might seem foolishly dangerous to any observer, because even this man’s own people had chosen to chain him up, and to set guards to protect themselves from him. To have that talk, Jesus must create a safe space for that exchange, and make an opening for the voice of the man to speak, free of the oppression of this unholy community of demons. The true bondage of this man does not come from a chained body, but from a mind bound by the thoughts and control of others. To make that safe place, Jesus must set boundaries to godly hospitality; demons are not welcome among the holy.
Jesus then asked him, "What is your name?"
He said, "Legion"; for many demons had entered him. They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss.
Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.
We often wonder why Jesus sent the demons into the pigs, the livelihood and food of this community, only to watch them tumble over a cliff to destruction. But is that the right question?
Jesus hospitably allows the demons to enter the pigs because it frees the man. This keeps the freed demons from finding homes in other human beings. Luke, though, does not tell us that Jesus went so far as to send the pigs to their death. The demons inhabited the pigs, and now the unholy community of demons with its unholy leader, Satan, was in charge of them.
I do not want to encourage you to think like Satan, but can we not see that he would delight in turning an entire community of people against Jesus? Would not the fastest way to block the work of Jesus among this people be to deprive them of their wealth, of their source of income or food? If Satan can make them fear the truth of the holy power of Jesus instead of celebrating the hope that it brings, perhaps he will not lose them. So, Satan could direct the herd into the lake, knowing full well that it will prompt a farewell instead of a welcome for Jesus from this community. After all, it should not surprise us that Satan would swiftly and mercilessly sacrifice a whole tribe of his own servants to prevent Jesus from enacting his mission of God’s hospitality to a single community.
When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind.
The people find the strangest thing: this dangerous outcast, clothed and coherent, sitting in a place of hospitality with Jesus. Now that Jesus has passed through the moment of spiritual, physical, and social vulnerability to create this safe place for his people and this man, an open conversation is possible without the sacrifice of anyone’s holiness. It is still true that this man has been a demon-possessed outcast, but now there is a believable hope of restoration to relationship with his community and his God.
And they were afraid. Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned.
Satan cannot make humans fear. Satan cannot force humans to prefer wealth over other humans, and especially the outcast. He only has the power to highlight the choice. Human beings choose to fear. Every day, humans choose their own fiscal security over the health and physical safety of others. We’ve become so good at it that we can even feel pious when we do it.
“Those people chose that lifestyle . . . .”
“Those people should expect consequences . . . .”
“Those people . . . .”
But when we choose cash over community, power over people, we send Jesus for a hike. Away from us.
The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, "Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you." So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.
Even when we send Jesus away, he does not give up on us. He makes use of his remnant, his outcast, to continue to offer hope, even where hope and healing have been rejected. This man becomes a sign of the hospitality of God, and a living enactment of that same hospitality.
May God choose to do the same with us.
Grace, and peace,
Ron
Friday, September 25, 2009
Whoever welcomes ...
Hear the word of the Lord:
They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, "The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again."
But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him. Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, "What were you arguing about on the way?"
But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest.
He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all."
Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them,
"Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me."
Mark 9:30-37
They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, "The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again."
But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him. Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, "What were you arguing about on the way?"
But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest.
He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all."
Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them,
"Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me."
Mark 9:30-37
Friday, September 18, 2009
Climbing sycamore trees ...
Hear and meditate on the word of the Lord:
He 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.
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 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."
Luke 19:1-10 – NRSV
He 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.
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 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."
Luke 19:1-10 – NRSV
Monday, August 31, 2009
In your tent ...
Hear the word of the Lord from Psalm 15:
O Lord, who may abide in your tent?
Who may dwell on your holy hill?
Those who walk blamelessly, and do what is right,
and speak the truth from their heart;
who do not slander with their tongue,
and do no evil to their friends,
nor take up a reproach against their neighbors;
in whose eyes the wicked are despised,
but who honor those who fear the Lord;
who stand by their oath even to their hurt;
who do not lend money at interest,
and do not take a bribe against the innocent.
Those who do these things shall never be moved.
What image do you see when you read about the tent of the Lord here? Do you think of the tabernacle, its careful construction, its sparse but beautiful furnishings, its unusual size for a tent meant for the desert?
Or perhaps the talk of the “holy hill” makes you picture Jerusalem, the stunning white stone of the temple, the carefully tended lamps within and fires without, the many faithful who gather in its courtyards to worship the one true and living God?
It may be that your picture is very precise, and that you imagine the days of Jerusalem, recently conquered by David, his new palace of cedar on one ridge near the tent that shelters the ark, awaiting the day that God will allow Solomon to build the temple.
Any of these are possible, but I have another image, too. The tent is a caravan tent, perched on the leeward side of a large sand dune. It is large, well-traveled tent, the kind that belongs to a prince. Inside there is this amazing collection of people reclined at the table with that prince, surprisingly diverse. They are not only Arab and Jewish, or even Syrian or Ethiopian, but but also others who appear to come from around the globe. Unlike the tents of so many sultans, both men and women, young and old lean into the low table, abundantly supplied with a simple, yet beautiful, meal. I do not yet know all of their stories, yet I already sense that these are people whose amazing lives are intimately connected with the life of the host.
I know that I have been invited into this tent, but then I remember how those who dwell there are described: “Those who walk blamelessly, and do what is right.” As much as I celebrate the invitation, I cannot say that my walk is blameless, nor that what I do is always right. The first words out of my mouth are a prayer, instinctively a plea to the host: “Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
I want to be at this table.
I want to walk blamelessly, and do what is right,
I want to be known as one who speaks the truth from my heart;
And who will not slander with my tongue,
I want it to be unbelievable that I would do any evil to my friends,
or take up a reproach against my neighbors;
I want it to be known that in my eyes wickedness is despised,
but that I honor those who fear the Lord;
that I respect those who stand by their oath even to their hurt;
that my friends do not lend money at interest,
or take bribes against the innocent.
Perhaps some of these things are true because of my virtue; perhaps others are true because I have not perceived the opportunity to violate them. Yet can I say that all of them are true?
In all of these things, it is the power of my host, my elder brother, Jesus Christ, that makes it possible for me to be in this tent, to recline at this table as if I belong here. The God who makes that which is not as if it were makes the righteousness that I have not as if it were real. So I do the best I can. I say my twelve-worded prayer more times a day that you might imagine. I depend upon my host to make my place at the table, because I understand, after so many decades, that it is his declaration, and not my deserving, that brings me to share dessert with the amazing people circled in this desert tent.
Come, abide in his tent.
Ron
Psalm 15 – NRSV
O Lord, who may abide in your tent?
Who may dwell on your holy hill?
Those who walk blamelessly, and do what is right,
and speak the truth from their heart;
who do not slander with their tongue,
and do no evil to their friends,
nor take up a reproach against their neighbors;
in whose eyes the wicked are despised,
but who honor those who fear the Lord;
who stand by their oath even to their hurt;
who do not lend money at interest,
and do not take a bribe against the innocent.
Those who do these things shall never be moved.
What image do you see when you read about the tent of the Lord here? Do you think of the tabernacle, its careful construction, its sparse but beautiful furnishings, its unusual size for a tent meant for the desert?
Or perhaps the talk of the “holy hill” makes you picture Jerusalem, the stunning white stone of the temple, the carefully tended lamps within and fires without, the many faithful who gather in its courtyards to worship the one true and living God?
It may be that your picture is very precise, and that you imagine the days of Jerusalem, recently conquered by David, his new palace of cedar on one ridge near the tent that shelters the ark, awaiting the day that God will allow Solomon to build the temple.
Any of these are possible, but I have another image, too. The tent is a caravan tent, perched on the leeward side of a large sand dune. It is large, well-traveled tent, the kind that belongs to a prince. Inside there is this amazing collection of people reclined at the table with that prince, surprisingly diverse. They are not only Arab and Jewish, or even Syrian or Ethiopian, but but also others who appear to come from around the globe. Unlike the tents of so many sultans, both men and women, young and old lean into the low table, abundantly supplied with a simple, yet beautiful, meal. I do not yet know all of their stories, yet I already sense that these are people whose amazing lives are intimately connected with the life of the host.
I know that I have been invited into this tent, but then I remember how those who dwell there are described: “Those who walk blamelessly, and do what is right.” As much as I celebrate the invitation, I cannot say that my walk is blameless, nor that what I do is always right. The first words out of my mouth are a prayer, instinctively a plea to the host: “Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
I want to be at this table.
I want to walk blamelessly, and do what is right,
I want to be known as one who speaks the truth from my heart;
And who will not slander with my tongue,
I want it to be unbelievable that I would do any evil to my friends,
or take up a reproach against my neighbors;
I want it to be known that in my eyes wickedness is despised,
but that I honor those who fear the Lord;
that I respect those who stand by their oath even to their hurt;
that my friends do not lend money at interest,
or take bribes against the innocent.
Perhaps some of these things are true because of my virtue; perhaps others are true because I have not perceived the opportunity to violate them. Yet can I say that all of them are true?
In all of these things, it is the power of my host, my elder brother, Jesus Christ, that makes it possible for me to be in this tent, to recline at this table as if I belong here. The God who makes that which is not as if it were makes the righteousness that I have not as if it were real. So I do the best I can. I say my twelve-worded prayer more times a day that you might imagine. I depend upon my host to make my place at the table, because I understand, after so many decades, that it is his declaration, and not my deserving, that brings me to share dessert with the amazing people circled in this desert tent.
Come, abide in his tent.
Ron
Psalm 15 – NRSV
Thursday, July 23, 2009
I shall dwell ...
God is our divine host; he makes room for us
and provides for us, even in the midst of difficulty.
Read and meditate on this old, familiar psalm, but
see it this time from the perspective of God’s hospitality.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;
he restores my soul.
He leads me in right paths
for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff —
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
my whole life long.
Blessings,
Ron
Psalm 23 – NRSV
and provides for us, even in the midst of difficulty.
Read and meditate on this old, familiar psalm, but
see it this time from the perspective of God’s hospitality.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;
he restores my soul.
He leads me in right paths
for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff —
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
my whole life long.
Blessings,
Ron
Psalm 23 – NRSV
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Kindness for Jonathan's sake ...
Hear the word of God:
David asked, "Is there still anyone left of the house of Saul to whom I may show kindness for Jonathan's sake?" Now there was a servant of the house of Saul whose name was Ziba, and he was summoned to David. The king said to him, "Are you Ziba?"
And he said, "At your service!"
The king said, "Is there anyone remaining of the house of Saul to whom I may show the kindness of God?"
Ziba said to the king, "There remains a son of Jonathan; he is crippled in his feet."
The king said to him, "Where is he?"
Ziba said to the king, "He is in the house of Machir son of Ammiel, at Lo-debar."
A promise is a promise. Jonathan is dead, and David is king, but David has not forgotten his friendship with Jonathan. Nor has he forgotten his exchange of promises with this, his greatest friend. Jonathan said: “If I am still alive, show me the faithful love of the Lord; but if I die, never cut off your faithful love from my house, even if the Lord were to cut off every one of the enemies of David from the face of the earth." Thus Jonathan made a covenant with the house of David, saying, "May the Lord seek out the enemies of David." Jonathan made David swear again by his love for him; for he loved him as he loved his own life. (1 Samuel 20:14-17 – NRSV). David is determined to prove his steadfast love for Jonathan.
Then King David sent and brought him from the house of Machir son of Ammiel, at Lo-debar. Mephibosheth son of Jonathan son of Saul came to David, and fell on his face and did obeisance. David said, "Mephibosheth!"
He answered, "I am your servant."
David said to him, "Do not be afraid, for I will show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan; I will restore to you all the land of your grandfather Saul, and you yourself shall eat at my table always."
He did obeisance and said, "What is your servant, that you should look upon a dead dog such as I?"
That Mephibosheth is humble seems apparent from his words. At the same time, these words have a familiar sound to David because he knows them all too well. In the desert, fleeing from Saul, Mephibosheth’s grandfather, David speaks of himself as he calls out to Saul: “Against whom has the king of Israel come out? Whom do you pursue? A dead dog? A single flea?” (1 Samuel 24:14-15 – NRSV). David remembers all too well the feelings of fear, the overwhelming sense of vulnerability, the loss of feeling safe. So now he offers the son of Jonathan a way out of danger, poverty, and dependence.
Then the king summoned Saul's servant Ziba, and said to him, "All that belonged to Saul and to all his house I have given to your master's grandson. You and your sons and your servants shall till the land for him, and shall bring in the produce, so that your master's grandson may have food to eat; but your master's grandson Mephibosheth shall always eat at my table." Now Ziba had fifteen sons and twenty servants.
Then Ziba said to the king, "According to all that my lord the king commands his servant, so your servant will do." Mephibosheth ate at David's table, like one of the king's sons. Mephibosheth had a young son whose name was Mica. And all who lived in Ziba's house became Mephibosheth's servants. Mephibosheth lived in Jerusalem, for he always ate at the king's table. Now he was lame in both his feet. (2 Samuel 9 – NRSV).
First David restores Mephibosheth’s fortune. Everything that had belonged to Saul’s family was now Mephibosheth’s, and placed under the care of a professional steward. This would have been more than enough to have generously provided for his needs for several lifetimes. Then David goes one step further; he offers him a seat at his family table, alongside his own sons. At first this seems like unnecessary duplication, but think about it. Saul’s fortune becomes the supply of resources that make up Mephibosheth’s wealth. By itself that would have been a great gift, but would not have restored the relationship between the house of David and Jonathan. So David offers a place at his royal table. Without the fortune of Saul, the table of David would be mere benevolence; with the fortune of Saul, a seat at that table becomes hospitality. Do we see the difference?
I think the gap between benevolence and hospitality is huge. How the two work is different, and the relationship involved is different. To me, benevolence is good, but it has the tendency to trap us into power plays with the very people we would help. And the power situation changes how they feel about us as well.
So the question I ask is: “Is our ministry a benevolent work, or a work of hospitality?” How would that difference work out in our ministry today?
Think about it.
Ron
David asked, "Is there still anyone left of the house of Saul to whom I may show kindness for Jonathan's sake?" Now there was a servant of the house of Saul whose name was Ziba, and he was summoned to David. The king said to him, "Are you Ziba?"
And he said, "At your service!"
The king said, "Is there anyone remaining of the house of Saul to whom I may show the kindness of God?"
Ziba said to the king, "There remains a son of Jonathan; he is crippled in his feet."
The king said to him, "Where is he?"
Ziba said to the king, "He is in the house of Machir son of Ammiel, at Lo-debar."
A promise is a promise. Jonathan is dead, and David is king, but David has not forgotten his friendship with Jonathan. Nor has he forgotten his exchange of promises with this, his greatest friend. Jonathan said: “If I am still alive, show me the faithful love of the Lord; but if I die, never cut off your faithful love from my house, even if the Lord were to cut off every one of the enemies of David from the face of the earth." Thus Jonathan made a covenant with the house of David, saying, "May the Lord seek out the enemies of David." Jonathan made David swear again by his love for him; for he loved him as he loved his own life. (1 Samuel 20:14-17 – NRSV). David is determined to prove his steadfast love for Jonathan.
Then King David sent and brought him from the house of Machir son of Ammiel, at Lo-debar. Mephibosheth son of Jonathan son of Saul came to David, and fell on his face and did obeisance. David said, "Mephibosheth!"
He answered, "I am your servant."
David said to him, "Do not be afraid, for I will show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan; I will restore to you all the land of your grandfather Saul, and you yourself shall eat at my table always."
He did obeisance and said, "What is your servant, that you should look upon a dead dog such as I?"
That Mephibosheth is humble seems apparent from his words. At the same time, these words have a familiar sound to David because he knows them all too well. In the desert, fleeing from Saul, Mephibosheth’s grandfather, David speaks of himself as he calls out to Saul: “Against whom has the king of Israel come out? Whom do you pursue? A dead dog? A single flea?” (1 Samuel 24:14-15 – NRSV). David remembers all too well the feelings of fear, the overwhelming sense of vulnerability, the loss of feeling safe. So now he offers the son of Jonathan a way out of danger, poverty, and dependence.
Then the king summoned Saul's servant Ziba, and said to him, "All that belonged to Saul and to all his house I have given to your master's grandson. You and your sons and your servants shall till the land for him, and shall bring in the produce, so that your master's grandson may have food to eat; but your master's grandson Mephibosheth shall always eat at my table." Now Ziba had fifteen sons and twenty servants.
Then Ziba said to the king, "According to all that my lord the king commands his servant, so your servant will do." Mephibosheth ate at David's table, like one of the king's sons. Mephibosheth had a young son whose name was Mica. And all who lived in Ziba's house became Mephibosheth's servants. Mephibosheth lived in Jerusalem, for he always ate at the king's table. Now he was lame in both his feet. (2 Samuel 9 – NRSV).
First David restores Mephibosheth’s fortune. Everything that had belonged to Saul’s family was now Mephibosheth’s, and placed under the care of a professional steward. This would have been more than enough to have generously provided for his needs for several lifetimes. Then David goes one step further; he offers him a seat at his family table, alongside his own sons. At first this seems like unnecessary duplication, but think about it. Saul’s fortune becomes the supply of resources that make up Mephibosheth’s wealth. By itself that would have been a great gift, but would not have restored the relationship between the house of David and Jonathan. So David offers a place at his royal table. Without the fortune of Saul, the table of David would be mere benevolence; with the fortune of Saul, a seat at that table becomes hospitality. Do we see the difference?
I think the gap between benevolence and hospitality is huge. How the two work is different, and the relationship involved is different. To me, benevolence is good, but it has the tendency to trap us into power plays with the very people we would help. And the power situation changes how they feel about us as well.
So the question I ask is: “Is our ministry a benevolent work, or a work of hospitality?” How would that difference work out in our ministry today?
Think about it.
Ron
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Rhythm of life ...
Why do we spend so much time in prayer, in devotion, in times of renewal? Consider these words from Christine Pohl:
Because hospitality is so demanding, we must find a renewing rhythm of work, rest, and worship. Without periods of rest and solitude, and without access to spiritual nourishment, we wear out quickly. It is easy to overlook prayer, study, and rest when the demands of hospitality are urgent and overwhelming. It is impossible, however, to sustain hospitality without attention to both the spiritual and physical needs of the practitioners.
Out of his years of experience in offering hospitality, Jean Vanier concludes, “It is easy to be generous for a few months or even years. But to be continually present to others, and not only present but nourishing, to keep going in a fidelity which is reborn each morning, demands a discipline of body and spirit.” Quoting a Franciscan prior who works among the urban poor, Vanier offers an important warning:
“If we do not care for our bodies, and if we do not find a rhythm of life we can sustain in the years to come,” he said, “it is not worth us being here. Our job is to stay. It is too easy to come and live among the poor for the experience, to exploit them for our own spiritual ends and then to leave. What we have to do is stay.”
A distinctive of Benedictine life is their vow of stability – a permanent commitment to a particular monastic community in a particular place. In accepting certain spatial and communal boundaries on their lives, they are able to establish a strong sense of place, which can welcome, anchor, and nourish both monks and guests. Settled boundaries and commitments can provide an environment of rest and freedom that enhances a capacity to offer hospitality.
Most communities and individual practitioners of hospitality have learned the hard way about the necessity of finding time and space for renewal. Communities of hospitality close down periodically to allow workers time to be refreshed. Every person needs some time during the week to get away from his or her regular activities. Persons and families need at least small amounts of personal space. These needs become intensified when people are offering hospitality to a steady flow of strangers who require significant attention and investment.
We nourish our lives with personal prayer and community worship. We are fed through reading and studying Scripture, and we are renewed through serious observance of Sabbaths. Meals, worship, and the [Lord’s Supper] combine together to nourish those who offer hospitality.
May God bless our day with time for these kinds of refreshing,
Ron
Because hospitality is so demanding, we must find a renewing rhythm of work, rest, and worship. Without periods of rest and solitude, and without access to spiritual nourishment, we wear out quickly. It is easy to overlook prayer, study, and rest when the demands of hospitality are urgent and overwhelming. It is impossible, however, to sustain hospitality without attention to both the spiritual and physical needs of the practitioners.
Out of his years of experience in offering hospitality, Jean Vanier concludes, “It is easy to be generous for a few months or even years. But to be continually present to others, and not only present but nourishing, to keep going in a fidelity which is reborn each morning, demands a discipline of body and spirit.” Quoting a Franciscan prior who works among the urban poor, Vanier offers an important warning:
“If we do not care for our bodies, and if we do not find a rhythm of life we can sustain in the years to come,” he said, “it is not worth us being here. Our job is to stay. It is too easy to come and live among the poor for the experience, to exploit them for our own spiritual ends and then to leave. What we have to do is stay.”
A distinctive of Benedictine life is their vow of stability – a permanent commitment to a particular monastic community in a particular place. In accepting certain spatial and communal boundaries on their lives, they are able to establish a strong sense of place, which can welcome, anchor, and nourish both monks and guests. Settled boundaries and commitments can provide an environment of rest and freedom that enhances a capacity to offer hospitality.
Most communities and individual practitioners of hospitality have learned the hard way about the necessity of finding time and space for renewal. Communities of hospitality close down periodically to allow workers time to be refreshed. Every person needs some time during the week to get away from his or her regular activities. Persons and families need at least small amounts of personal space. These needs become intensified when people are offering hospitality to a steady flow of strangers who require significant attention and investment.
We nourish our lives with personal prayer and community worship. We are fed through reading and studying Scripture, and we are renewed through serious observance of Sabbaths. Meals, worship, and the [Lord’s Supper] combine together to nourish those who offer hospitality.
May God bless our day with time for these kinds of refreshing,
Ron
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
God is with us ...
We have asked for God to be with us,
And he has answered our prayers in a way
very different than that which we expected.
"Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,
and they shall name him Emmanuel,"
which means, "God is with us."
God does not arrive as a mighty king,
riding a snorting, raring charger.
He is delivered as the precious, helpless child
of a teenage mother whose own people
do not believe her incredible story.
This child is an outcast, not the patron,
not the host, but one needing
hospitality on even his first night
In our world.
A Prayer for Emmanuel
Ruth Duck
Come, Christ Jesus, be our guest,
And may our lives by you be blest.
Come, God-is-with-us,
And free us from the false claims
Of the empires of the world.
We are lonely for you and your peace.
Come, Emmanuel, and dwell with us.
Make us your people indeed,
The people through whom you bring
Love and justice to the world.
Come, Jesus, and reign;
Claim your rightful place within our hearts
And in the midst of our community.
Plant the seeds of hope amongst us.
Establish God’s reign on earth.
For we pray as you taught us
That God’s reign might come in fullness on earth.
Ruth’s prayer calls us to remember.
Remember, God has not come and then deserted us.
He said, “Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age."
Remember, this presence is not vague or distant;
he is with us, up close and within our community:
“For where two or three are gathered in my name,
I am there among them."
Remember, we are his body – some of us his hands,
some of us his feet – and he lives and works
in us and through us, not as individuals,
but as a people.
May God in his grace, help us receive
the grace of his presence,
and enact the power of that presence
in our lives today.
Ron
(Matthew 1:23-24; Matthew 28:20: Matthew 18:20 – NRSV)
And he has answered our prayers in a way
very different than that which we expected.
"Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,
and they shall name him Emmanuel,"
which means, "God is with us."
God does not arrive as a mighty king,
riding a snorting, raring charger.
He is delivered as the precious, helpless child
of a teenage mother whose own people
do not believe her incredible story.
This child is an outcast, not the patron,
not the host, but one needing
hospitality on even his first night
In our world.
A Prayer for Emmanuel
Ruth Duck
Come, Christ Jesus, be our guest,
And may our lives by you be blest.
Come, God-is-with-us,
And free us from the false claims
Of the empires of the world.
We are lonely for you and your peace.
Come, Emmanuel, and dwell with us.
Make us your people indeed,
The people through whom you bring
Love and justice to the world.
Come, Jesus, and reign;
Claim your rightful place within our hearts
And in the midst of our community.
Plant the seeds of hope amongst us.
Establish God’s reign on earth.
For we pray as you taught us
That God’s reign might come in fullness on earth.
Ruth’s prayer calls us to remember.
Remember, God has not come and then deserted us.
He said, “Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age."
Remember, this presence is not vague or distant;
he is with us, up close and within our community:
“For where two or three are gathered in my name,
I am there among them."
Remember, we are his body – some of us his hands,
some of us his feet – and he lives and works
in us and through us, not as individuals,
but as a people.
May God in his grace, help us receive
the grace of his presence,
and enact the power of that presence
in our lives today.
Ron
(Matthew 1:23-24; Matthew 28:20: Matthew 18:20 – NRSV)
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Away from home ...
Today’s text is full of great lessons, but we will only focus on a few. The kingdom of God is divided, and it is the time of the prophets and the kings. The prophet of the day is Elisha:
Naaman, commander of the army of the king of Aram, was a great man and in high favor with his master, because by him the Lord had given victory to Aram. The man, though a mighty warrior, suffered from leprosy. Now the Arameans on one of their raids had taken a young girl captive from the land of Israel, and she served Naaman's wife. She said to her mistress, "If only my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy."
Naaman is a powerful and successful general. The God of Israel has given a series of great victories to him, even victories over God’s people. Yet Naaman remains unaware of the true source of his power. Whether he believes his power to come from his king, or from his god Rimmon is not clear. What is clear to Yahweh is that Naaman does not know him.
Remember that Naaman is not oppressed, he is the oppressor. Naaman is not weak, but powerful, both in battle and politics. Naaman is not the stranger, but the hero of his king and his people. Yet there comes into his life a problem that makes him an outsider. An issue that marginalizes him socially. Leprosy. This is a leprosy that the physicians, the priests, and even the king of Aram cannot heal.
So Naaman went in and told his lord just what the girl from the land of Israel had said. And the king of Aram said, "Go then, and I will send along a letter to the king of Israel." He went, taking with him ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and ten sets of garments. He brought the letter to the king of Israel, which read, "When this letter reaches you, know that I have sent to you my servant Naaman, that you may cure him of his leprosy." When the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his clothes and said, "Am I God, to give death or life, that this man sends word to me to cure a man of his leprosy? Just look and see how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me."
We need to see right through the notion that this is a hospitable exchange. The kings of Israel and Aram are not playing by the same rules. There is a real power differential here. On the surface, the request appears to be a reasonable request for hospitality; “We have heard of the healing power within your nation; heal my servant.” Yet there is a thinly veiled threat behind the written message which can be found in the person of the messenger. It reads something like this: “Heal this great and terrible warrior or it will amuse me to turn him loose on you and your people.” Believe me, the king of Israel gets the message. And he is desperate in his search for a way out of his dilemma.
But when Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had torn his clothes, he sent a message to the king, "Why have you torn your clothes? Let him come to me, that he may learn that there is a prophet in Israel." So Naaman came with his horses and chariots, and halted at the entrance of Elisha's house. Elisha sent a messenger to him, saying, "Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean." But Naaman became angry and went away, saying, "I thought that for me he would surely come out, and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, and would wave his hand over the spot, and cure the leprosy! Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them, and be clean?" He turned and went away in a rage.
Elisha does the hospitable thing: he issues an invitation to Naaman. This invitation relieves the pressure from Israel’s king and promises healing for Naaman. Yet when the general arrives at his tent, the prophet does not follow the normal course of hospitality and invite him in. Since Naaman is a leper, he might have expected that. Yet Elisha does not even come out of his tent to greet Naaman; he sends a messenger. Naaman takes this apparent social faux pas as an insult.
Why does Elisha do this? Is he afraid of Naaman? This doesn’t seem likely in view of the fact that he issued the invitation, and in light of the way that Elisha deals with an entire army around his tent (2 Kings 6). Is Elisha an introvert? Perhaps; there are some indications that he is socially hypersensitive (2 Kings 2:23-25). What seems more likely is the idea that Elisha is setting boundaries here. Elisha is willing to meet with Naaman (it does happen later in this story). But first Elisha must get it out of Naaman’s head that Naaman is in control of this situation. Without seizing power himself, Elisha manages to disarm Naaman of his power so that he can encounter the power of God. Naaman is not the one in power here.
Yet Naaman comes with all sorts of expectations, doesn’t he? Naaman likes it back home, yet he leaves there to come to this strange place because he grudgingly admits that he is not finding healing back home. He has clearly imagined, though, what this healing experience is going to be like, and he is greatly disappointed. Samaria is not what he expected. His host is not what he expected. The rules are not what he expected. He is not being allowed to be in control and rule his life the way that he is used to ruling his life. The fact that his experience is not meeting his expectation inevitably brings on anger. Deep seated anger. Does this story sound familiar to a community that welcomes hurting and outcast young men who are separated from their homes?
How does the story go? Everything is better back home: the rivers; the king, who is like a father to him; you name it. Things are better back in Aram. Yet the reality remains in his face. Literally. Leprosy. However good things appear to be back home, he could not find healing there.
But his servants approached and said to him, "Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, 'Wash, and be clean'?" So he went down and immersed himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God; his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean.
Then he returned to the man of God, he and all his company; he came and stood before him and said, "Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel; please accept a present from your servant." But he said, "As the Lord lives, whom I serve, I will accept nothing!" He urged him to accept, but he refused. Then Naaman said, "If not, please let two mule-loads of earth be given to your servant; for your servant will no longer offer burnt offering or sacrifice to any god except the Lord. But may the Lord pardon your servant on one count: when my master goes into the house of Rimmon to worship there, leaning on my arm, and I bow down in the house of Rimmon, when I do bow down in the house of Rimmon, may the Lord pardon your servant on this one count." He said to him, "Go in peace."
The healing is not so much about the water as it is about obedience. The healing is not so much about physical location as it being in the right location with the God of Israel. Submissive.
Once Naaman is convicted of the power of God, he is converted into a believer in God. Once he steps into a right relationship with God, all of his other relationships start to fall into their proper places. He now respects the man of God enough to be able to stand in his presence and have a conversation free from power plays. Yet at the same time, he maintains a real respect for his master, the king of Aram, so as to be able to serve him faithfully without serving Aram’s false god and Yahweh’s rival, Rimmon. And because these relationships are right, Naaman, the great warrior, can leave in peace.
Is there is a lesson in this for those of us who work with people, both young and old? Yes. As long as people plow through life unaware of the power that makes their life possible, sharing time and space with them can be difficult. But as people come to understand who they are, and who God is, things change. Relationships change. The ability to have hospitable relationships change. So we can work on relationship skills between human beings, and so we ought. But the real breakthrough happens when a human being truly discovers their right relationship with God. This cannot be forced, but relies upon the faithful action of God in the face of the free will of his children. Not everyone is as quick of a student as is Naaman.
May God give us insight into the ways that we use power, boundaries, and hospitality in our relationships today.
Grace and peace,
Ron
Naaman, commander of the army of the king of Aram, was a great man and in high favor with his master, because by him the Lord had given victory to Aram. The man, though a mighty warrior, suffered from leprosy. Now the Arameans on one of their raids had taken a young girl captive from the land of Israel, and she served Naaman's wife. She said to her mistress, "If only my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy."
Naaman is a powerful and successful general. The God of Israel has given a series of great victories to him, even victories over God’s people. Yet Naaman remains unaware of the true source of his power. Whether he believes his power to come from his king, or from his god Rimmon is not clear. What is clear to Yahweh is that Naaman does not know him.
Remember that Naaman is not oppressed, he is the oppressor. Naaman is not weak, but powerful, both in battle and politics. Naaman is not the stranger, but the hero of his king and his people. Yet there comes into his life a problem that makes him an outsider. An issue that marginalizes him socially. Leprosy. This is a leprosy that the physicians, the priests, and even the king of Aram cannot heal.
So Naaman went in and told his lord just what the girl from the land of Israel had said. And the king of Aram said, "Go then, and I will send along a letter to the king of Israel." He went, taking with him ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and ten sets of garments. He brought the letter to the king of Israel, which read, "When this letter reaches you, know that I have sent to you my servant Naaman, that you may cure him of his leprosy." When the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his clothes and said, "Am I God, to give death or life, that this man sends word to me to cure a man of his leprosy? Just look and see how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me."
We need to see right through the notion that this is a hospitable exchange. The kings of Israel and Aram are not playing by the same rules. There is a real power differential here. On the surface, the request appears to be a reasonable request for hospitality; “We have heard of the healing power within your nation; heal my servant.” Yet there is a thinly veiled threat behind the written message which can be found in the person of the messenger. It reads something like this: “Heal this great and terrible warrior or it will amuse me to turn him loose on you and your people.” Believe me, the king of Israel gets the message. And he is desperate in his search for a way out of his dilemma.
But when Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had torn his clothes, he sent a message to the king, "Why have you torn your clothes? Let him come to me, that he may learn that there is a prophet in Israel." So Naaman came with his horses and chariots, and halted at the entrance of Elisha's house. Elisha sent a messenger to him, saying, "Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean." But Naaman became angry and went away, saying, "I thought that for me he would surely come out, and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, and would wave his hand over the spot, and cure the leprosy! Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them, and be clean?" He turned and went away in a rage.
Elisha does the hospitable thing: he issues an invitation to Naaman. This invitation relieves the pressure from Israel’s king and promises healing for Naaman. Yet when the general arrives at his tent, the prophet does not follow the normal course of hospitality and invite him in. Since Naaman is a leper, he might have expected that. Yet Elisha does not even come out of his tent to greet Naaman; he sends a messenger. Naaman takes this apparent social faux pas as an insult.
Why does Elisha do this? Is he afraid of Naaman? This doesn’t seem likely in view of the fact that he issued the invitation, and in light of the way that Elisha deals with an entire army around his tent (2 Kings 6). Is Elisha an introvert? Perhaps; there are some indications that he is socially hypersensitive (2 Kings 2:23-25). What seems more likely is the idea that Elisha is setting boundaries here. Elisha is willing to meet with Naaman (it does happen later in this story). But first Elisha must get it out of Naaman’s head that Naaman is in control of this situation. Without seizing power himself, Elisha manages to disarm Naaman of his power so that he can encounter the power of God. Naaman is not the one in power here.
Yet Naaman comes with all sorts of expectations, doesn’t he? Naaman likes it back home, yet he leaves there to come to this strange place because he grudgingly admits that he is not finding healing back home. He has clearly imagined, though, what this healing experience is going to be like, and he is greatly disappointed. Samaria is not what he expected. His host is not what he expected. The rules are not what he expected. He is not being allowed to be in control and rule his life the way that he is used to ruling his life. The fact that his experience is not meeting his expectation inevitably brings on anger. Deep seated anger. Does this story sound familiar to a community that welcomes hurting and outcast young men who are separated from their homes?
How does the story go? Everything is better back home: the rivers; the king, who is like a father to him; you name it. Things are better back in Aram. Yet the reality remains in his face. Literally. Leprosy. However good things appear to be back home, he could not find healing there.
But his servants approached and said to him, "Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, 'Wash, and be clean'?" So he went down and immersed himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God; his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean.
Then he returned to the man of God, he and all his company; he came and stood before him and said, "Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel; please accept a present from your servant." But he said, "As the Lord lives, whom I serve, I will accept nothing!" He urged him to accept, but he refused. Then Naaman said, "If not, please let two mule-loads of earth be given to your servant; for your servant will no longer offer burnt offering or sacrifice to any god except the Lord. But may the Lord pardon your servant on one count: when my master goes into the house of Rimmon to worship there, leaning on my arm, and I bow down in the house of Rimmon, when I do bow down in the house of Rimmon, may the Lord pardon your servant on this one count." He said to him, "Go in peace."
The healing is not so much about the water as it is about obedience. The healing is not so much about physical location as it being in the right location with the God of Israel. Submissive.
Once Naaman is convicted of the power of God, he is converted into a believer in God. Once he steps into a right relationship with God, all of his other relationships start to fall into their proper places. He now respects the man of God enough to be able to stand in his presence and have a conversation free from power plays. Yet at the same time, he maintains a real respect for his master, the king of Aram, so as to be able to serve him faithfully without serving Aram’s false god and Yahweh’s rival, Rimmon. And because these relationships are right, Naaman, the great warrior, can leave in peace.
Is there is a lesson in this for those of us who work with people, both young and old? Yes. As long as people plow through life unaware of the power that makes their life possible, sharing time and space with them can be difficult. But as people come to understand who they are, and who God is, things change. Relationships change. The ability to have hospitable relationships change. So we can work on relationship skills between human beings, and so we ought. But the real breakthrough happens when a human being truly discovers their right relationship with God. This cannot be forced, but relies upon the faithful action of God in the face of the free will of his children. Not everyone is as quick of a student as is Naaman.
May God give us insight into the ways that we use power, boundaries, and hospitality in our relationships today.
Grace and peace,
Ron
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
A smooth threshold ...
Consider these two prayers.
One is a prayer of confession.
The other is a prayer of blessing.
They speak of value, acceptance, wealth,
welcome, and hospitality.
May we use them as our situation requires.
A Prayer of Confession
Father, in your creation you have made us rich,
And yet we have made ourselves poor
In our reluctance to credit others with value;
In our failure to look beyond the material and accepted
standards of our day;
In our deafness to hear only the sounds that are pleasant
to our ears;
In our noise and busyness, failing to listen to the unuttered
cries of hurt and pain;
In our lifestyle, putting pleasure of palate before the real
cost to individuals in another part of the world.
We live as though our well-being matters most
And because of that, the rest of creation suffers.
Father, forgive us.
Help us to visualize your values,
To appreciate your resources,
But above all to credit all humankind as members of the family,
Valuable and indispensable.
- Rosemary Wass
A Prayer of Blessing
O God, make the door of this house wide enough
to receive all who need human love and fellowship,
and a heavenly Father’s care;
and narrow enough to shut out all envy, pride, and hate.
Make its threshold smooth enough
to be no stumbling block to children or to straying feet,
but rugged enough to turn back the tempter’s power;
make it a gate to thine eternal kingdom.
- Thomas Ken, written at the door of a Christian hospital
Grace and peace,
Ron
One is a prayer of confession.
The other is a prayer of blessing.
They speak of value, acceptance, wealth,
welcome, and hospitality.
May we use them as our situation requires.
A Prayer of Confession
Father, in your creation you have made us rich,
And yet we have made ourselves poor
In our reluctance to credit others with value;
In our failure to look beyond the material and accepted
standards of our day;
In our deafness to hear only the sounds that are pleasant
to our ears;
In our noise and busyness, failing to listen to the unuttered
cries of hurt and pain;
In our lifestyle, putting pleasure of palate before the real
cost to individuals in another part of the world.
We live as though our well-being matters most
And because of that, the rest of creation suffers.
Father, forgive us.
Help us to visualize your values,
To appreciate your resources,
But above all to credit all humankind as members of the family,
Valuable and indispensable.
- Rosemary Wass
A Prayer of Blessing
O God, make the door of this house wide enough
to receive all who need human love and fellowship,
and a heavenly Father’s care;
and narrow enough to shut out all envy, pride, and hate.
Make its threshold smooth enough
to be no stumbling block to children or to straying feet,
but rugged enough to turn back the tempter’s power;
make it a gate to thine eternal kingdom.
- Thomas Ken, written at the door of a Christian hospital
Grace and peace,
Ron
Monday, December 8, 2008
A sign of contradiction ...
The words of Christine Pohl have been formative in my thinking about what it means to be a community. As we meditate on what it means to be God’s people in this world, in our ministry, hear her words of wisdom:
The contemporary church hungers for models of a more authentic Christian life in which glimpses of the Kingdom can be seen and the promise of the Kingdom is embodied. More than words and ideas, the world needs living pictures of what a life of hospitality could look like. Over sixty years ago, Peter Maurin wrote that “we need Houses of Hospitality to show what idealism looks like when it is practiced.” Communities of hospitality combine in daily experience the rigor and sacrifice, joy and empowerment, of faithful living. Many of those interviewed commented that living in a community of hospitality was the hardest and best thing they had ever done.
A community which embodies hospitality to strangers is “a sign of contradiction, a place where joy and pain, crises and peace are closely interwoven.” Friendships forged in hospitality contradict contemporary messages about who is valuable and “good to be with,” who can “give life to others.” Such communities are also sign of hope “that love is possible, that the world is not condemned to a struggle of oppressors and oppressed, that class and racial warfare is not inevitable.” The gift of hope embedded in these communities of hospitality nourishes, challenges, and transforms guests, hosts, and sometimes, the larger community.
Not every church member would choose the substantial life-style changes that community living requires. However, there is much to be learned about hospitality from these intentional and intense community settings that can be applied to more conventionally structured households and churches. These communities have found ways to cope with the awkwardness, risk, and high demands associated with hospitality to strangers. They have developed structures that allow an ancient practice to thrive in the postmodern world. None set out to be an exemplar of Christian hospitality, but because of their long-term viability and vitality, a number of them do offer a model to which others are drawn.
I believe that the faith community at Westview is one such exemplar of Christian hospitality. Like our ancestors in the first century church, and in congregations in the second and third centuries, together we are discovering what it means to live sacrificially and counterculturally so as to shelter the stranger and open our doors to the outcast.
May our hearts be lifted up today as we see the ways that we boldly embody the hospitality of the Kingdom. May we be challenged to be better and do better as we encounter the places where we still struggle.
Grace and peace,
Ron
*Christine Pohl, Making Room: Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition, pp. 10-11.
The contemporary church hungers for models of a more authentic Christian life in which glimpses of the Kingdom can be seen and the promise of the Kingdom is embodied. More than words and ideas, the world needs living pictures of what a life of hospitality could look like. Over sixty years ago, Peter Maurin wrote that “we need Houses of Hospitality to show what idealism looks like when it is practiced.” Communities of hospitality combine in daily experience the rigor and sacrifice, joy and empowerment, of faithful living. Many of those interviewed commented that living in a community of hospitality was the hardest and best thing they had ever done.
A community which embodies hospitality to strangers is “a sign of contradiction, a place where joy and pain, crises and peace are closely interwoven.” Friendships forged in hospitality contradict contemporary messages about who is valuable and “good to be with,” who can “give life to others.” Such communities are also sign of hope “that love is possible, that the world is not condemned to a struggle of oppressors and oppressed, that class and racial warfare is not inevitable.” The gift of hope embedded in these communities of hospitality nourishes, challenges, and transforms guests, hosts, and sometimes, the larger community.
Not every church member would choose the substantial life-style changes that community living requires. However, there is much to be learned about hospitality from these intentional and intense community settings that can be applied to more conventionally structured households and churches. These communities have found ways to cope with the awkwardness, risk, and high demands associated with hospitality to strangers. They have developed structures that allow an ancient practice to thrive in the postmodern world. None set out to be an exemplar of Christian hospitality, but because of their long-term viability and vitality, a number of them do offer a model to which others are drawn.
I believe that the faith community at Westview is one such exemplar of Christian hospitality. Like our ancestors in the first century church, and in congregations in the second and third centuries, together we are discovering what it means to live sacrificially and counterculturally so as to shelter the stranger and open our doors to the outcast.
May our hearts be lifted up today as we see the ways that we boldly embody the hospitality of the Kingdom. May we be challenged to be better and do better as we encounter the places where we still struggle.
Grace and peace,
Ron
*Christine Pohl, Making Room: Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition, pp. 10-11.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Blessed if you do them ...
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
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
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
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Make a small biscuit ...
Mark Hamilton thinks that God is an unusual travel agent.
Elijah needs a little time out of town because the stresses of being a prophet have become too much. God gives him directions, and tells him to hurry if he is going to make his connections. Once he has arrived at Kerith Canyon on the far side of the Jordan, he camps out there alongside the brook. The dining arrangements are unique, to say the least. At mealtime, birds bring Elijah’s breakfast, or supper, as he needs them and Elijah drinks from the brook. But, like some hotels that you and I have stayed at overseas, there are water problems so Elijah has to go.
God then gives Elijah the rest of his itinerary. Hear the story:
Then God spoke to him: "Get up and go to Zarephath in Sidon and live there. I've instructed a woman who lives there, a widow, to feed you."
So he got up and went to Zarephath. As he came to the entrance of the village he met a woman, a widow, gathering firewood. He asked her, "Please, would you bring me a little water in a jug? I need a drink." As she went to get it, he called out, "And while you're at it, would you bring me something to eat?"
She said, "I swear, as surely as your God lives, I don't have so much as a biscuit. I have a handful of flour in a jar and a little oil in a bottle; you found me scratching together just enough firewood to make a last meal for my son and me. After we eat it, we'll die."
Elijah said to her, "Don't worry about a thing. Go ahead and do what you've said. But first make a small biscuit for me and bring it back here. Then go ahead and make a meal from what's left for you and your son. This is the word of the God of Israel: 'The jar of flour will not run out and the bottle of oil will not become empty before God sends rain on the land and ends this drought.'"
And she went right off and did it, did just as Elijah asked. And it turned out as he said — daily food for her and her family. The jar of meal didn't run out and the bottle of oil didn't become empty: God's promise fulfilled to the letter, exactly as Elijah had delivered it!
Later on the woman's son became sick. The sickness took a turn for the worse — and then he stopped breathing.
The woman said to Elijah, "Why did you ever show up here in the first place — a holy man barging in, exposing my sins, and killing my son?"
Elijah said, "Hand me your son."
He then took him from her bosom, carried him up to the loft where he was staying, and laid him on his bed. Then he prayed, "O God, my God, why have you brought this terrible thing on this widow who has opened her home to me? Why have you killed her son?"
Three times he stretched himself out full-length on the boy, praying with all his might, "God, my God, put breath back into this boy's body!" God listened to Elijah's prayer and put breath back into his body — he was alive! Elijah picked the boy up, carried him downstairs from the loft, and gave him to his mother. "Here's your son," said Elijah, "alive!"
The woman said to Elijah, "I see it all now — you are a holy man. When you speak, God speaks — a true word!"
1 Kings 17:8-24 (from THE MESSAGE: The Bible in Contemporary Language © 2002 by Eugene H. Peterson. All rights reserved.)
What are the issues that mark hospitality in this story?
First, we shouldn’t be quick to judge who is able to offer hospitality. Elijah was hosted by a flock of birds! And later, he is cared for by a widow trying to support her son at a time when there was no Social Security or welfare system as we know it. Yet hospitality provided everything that Elijah needed.
That is because, second, hospitality involves simplicity. It is not that the gifts of the host are necessarily lavish; that may not be possible. But the love and the care involved in hospitality are lavish because they go well beyond self-interest.
Third, the real provider of sustenance in hospitality is God. God provided the food for the birds to bring to Elijah, and he kept the jar and bottle full of flour and oil as well. Because of the widow’s willingness to share in hospitality, God provided even more for the host than she would have had otherwise.
Finally, we see once again that in true hospitality, the guest blesses the host at least as much as the host blesses the guest. Yes, Elijah is fed, but the wherewithal to do that is a blessing that God gives through Elijah. And what would the widow have done to heal her son if not for her extraordinary guest? The healing is hardly repayment in kind (Luke 14:12-14), but a blessing from God of another kind altogether.
Today, as we are about the ministry of hospitality, providing a safe place for needy children or the other important tasks of our day, let’s think about these four markers of hospitality and how we can be better hosts and guests. Even more, let us be thankful to God, the true provider, for the ways that he shows hospitality to us in this, his world.
Blessings,
Ron
Elijah needs a little time out of town because the stresses of being a prophet have become too much. God gives him directions, and tells him to hurry if he is going to make his connections. Once he has arrived at Kerith Canyon on the far side of the Jordan, he camps out there alongside the brook. The dining arrangements are unique, to say the least. At mealtime, birds bring Elijah’s breakfast, or supper, as he needs them and Elijah drinks from the brook. But, like some hotels that you and I have stayed at overseas, there are water problems so Elijah has to go.
God then gives Elijah the rest of his itinerary. Hear the story:
Then God spoke to him: "Get up and go to Zarephath in Sidon and live there. I've instructed a woman who lives there, a widow, to feed you."
So he got up and went to Zarephath. As he came to the entrance of the village he met a woman, a widow, gathering firewood. He asked her, "Please, would you bring me a little water in a jug? I need a drink." As she went to get it, he called out, "And while you're at it, would you bring me something to eat?"
She said, "I swear, as surely as your God lives, I don't have so much as a biscuit. I have a handful of flour in a jar and a little oil in a bottle; you found me scratching together just enough firewood to make a last meal for my son and me. After we eat it, we'll die."
Elijah said to her, "Don't worry about a thing. Go ahead and do what you've said. But first make a small biscuit for me and bring it back here. Then go ahead and make a meal from what's left for you and your son. This is the word of the God of Israel: 'The jar of flour will not run out and the bottle of oil will not become empty before God sends rain on the land and ends this drought.'"
And she went right off and did it, did just as Elijah asked. And it turned out as he said — daily food for her and her family. The jar of meal didn't run out and the bottle of oil didn't become empty: God's promise fulfilled to the letter, exactly as Elijah had delivered it!
Later on the woman's son became sick. The sickness took a turn for the worse — and then he stopped breathing.
The woman said to Elijah, "Why did you ever show up here in the first place — a holy man barging in, exposing my sins, and killing my son?"
Elijah said, "Hand me your son."
He then took him from her bosom, carried him up to the loft where he was staying, and laid him on his bed. Then he prayed, "O God, my God, why have you brought this terrible thing on this widow who has opened her home to me? Why have you killed her son?"
Three times he stretched himself out full-length on the boy, praying with all his might, "God, my God, put breath back into this boy's body!" God listened to Elijah's prayer and put breath back into his body — he was alive! Elijah picked the boy up, carried him downstairs from the loft, and gave him to his mother. "Here's your son," said Elijah, "alive!"
The woman said to Elijah, "I see it all now — you are a holy man. When you speak, God speaks — a true word!"
1 Kings 17:8-24 (from THE MESSAGE: The Bible in Contemporary Language © 2002 by Eugene H. Peterson. All rights reserved.)
What are the issues that mark hospitality in this story?
First, we shouldn’t be quick to judge who is able to offer hospitality. Elijah was hosted by a flock of birds! And later, he is cared for by a widow trying to support her son at a time when there was no Social Security or welfare system as we know it. Yet hospitality provided everything that Elijah needed.
That is because, second, hospitality involves simplicity. It is not that the gifts of the host are necessarily lavish; that may not be possible. But the love and the care involved in hospitality are lavish because they go well beyond self-interest.
Third, the real provider of sustenance in hospitality is God. God provided the food for the birds to bring to Elijah, and he kept the jar and bottle full of flour and oil as well. Because of the widow’s willingness to share in hospitality, God provided even more for the host than she would have had otherwise.
Finally, we see once again that in true hospitality, the guest blesses the host at least as much as the host blesses the guest. Yes, Elijah is fed, but the wherewithal to do that is a blessing that God gives through Elijah. And what would the widow have done to heal her son if not for her extraordinary guest? The healing is hardly repayment in kind (Luke 14:12-14), but a blessing from God of another kind altogether.
Today, as we are about the ministry of hospitality, providing a safe place for needy children or the other important tasks of our day, let’s think about these four markers of hospitality and how we can be better hosts and guests. Even more, let us be thankful to God, the true provider, for the ways that he shows hospitality to us in this, his world.
Blessings,
Ron
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