Epiphany 4: Hospitality as a way of Life

This is the last in our sermon and worship series based on the book Living in Community by Christine Pohl.

If You Give a Mouse a Cookie . . . Hospitality and Transfiguration
Rev. Christine Ng

Many of you have probably read the book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie by Laura Numeroff. "If you give a mouse a cookie – he’s probably going to ask for a glass of milk – and if you give him the milk, he’ll probably ask for a straw – and a napkin – then he’ll want to look in the mirror to see if he has a milk mustache" . . . and so and so on . . . . And gradually, taking care of this mouse takes up the boy’s whole life. Making him a little bed, reading him a story, getting him crayons to draw a picture.

But you know, the mouse isn’t really pushy. He just asks, and the little boy gives. And the mouse gives too. He cleans up after himself, sweeping the floor – and ends up mopping the floors of the whole house. And he changes things too – after he draws a picture, he hangs it up on the boy’s refrigerator. And the book ends where it began, with the mouse asking for another cookie – and you just know the boy will give it to him.
Hospitality as a spiritual practice is kind of like this. It starts small – perhaps with cookies offered at coffee hour after worship, or a smile at the door, or a hug during the Ritual of Friendship. We become good at hospitality only by practicing it in small acts of steady, daily, faithful work. But each little thing we do, each cookie, is a small but significant acts of hospitality is part of God’s work in the world.
      And little by little, cookie by cookie, smile by smile, this practice takes over every aspect of our lives, and the ones we’ve been welcoming have moved in and become part of the family. We’ve connected with them, developed a relationship. And we learn that we have more to give than we ever knew we had.
       Henri Nouwen noted that “we will never believe that we have anything to give unless there is someone who is able to receive. Indeed, we discover our gifts in the eyes of the receiver.” The practice of hospitality allows people to give of themselves and in so doing find their own gifts. It’s a way of working on yourself while working with other people.
We’ve talked about hospitality before. About how hospitality is at the heart of the gospel. About how we welcome others to model the extravagant welcome of God seen in Jesus Christ. This is what it means to be an “open and affirming” congregation.
And I’ve said it before, but it’s worth saying again:  If welcome is at the heart of the gospel, and what we as Christians are called to do, then there is no more important job in the church than to greet people – at the door, in the Fellowship Hall, in the parking lot. And realizing that every time we welcome someone, we welcome Christ, there is no more important element of our worship than the Ritual of Friendship. This is not just something we need to get through so we can get on with the real worship. This is how we welcome God by welcoming each other. In some ways, hospitality is as simple and as difficult as “loving those whom God has set beside us today.”
But there is a whole other level of hospitality, that doesn’t stop at the doors to the church, or end with worship. While each small act of hospitality is important, hospitality as a spiritual practice is about more than tasks, it’s about a way of living and sharing ourselves. Hospitality is about connection, and about transformation of ourselves and our community.
       When Jesus said in the Gospel of Matthew, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me,” he wasn’t just talking about welcoming someone at the door. He was talking about welcoming into a relationship. “I was a stranger and you received me into your group; you let me be part of you.”
That’s what we do when we receive new members – but it goes beyond that. Having welcomed them in, we need to make space for them. Helping people find their place in the community, ways to contribute and share their own gifts, letting them hang their pictures on our refrigerator -- that’s a matter of hospitality too.
Hospitality requires more of us than a smile and a handshake – even if that is where it often begins. True hospitality is revelatory – when we invite people into our lives and our homes they see us, see what we’re really like – with all our gifts and all our imperfections. Hospitality is not about putting on a show, but about inviting people into our lives as we live them.
        That’s why it can be so difficult – and so scary. Because we’re not perfect. We’re human. We’ll make mistakes, we’ll struggle, we’ll fail, and sometimes we’ll get hurt. But it won’t be the first time -- the disciples failed when they tried to heal the boy with convulsions. Read through the book of Acts and Paul’s letters and you’ll see that failures and struggles have been part of this process from the beginning. But then, Jesus, the master of hospitality, who welcomed all – paid a price as well. But we know that, like the boy in the story, he does it again and again. And the story of the Transfiguration coming in the Gospel of Luke after Jesus tells his disciples to pick up their crosses and follow him, this story suggests that to get to the mountaintop we must be willing to pick up our own crosses – daily.
But the more we offer hospitality, the more things will change, like what happens after the mouse gets a cookie. As new people become part of a community, the community itself changes, grows in different ways – and there can be growing pains. But that’s why Jean Vanier said that “Welcome is one of the signs that a community is alive. To invite others to live with us is a sign that we aren’t afraid, that we have a treasure” that we are willing to share, and are willing to accept the cost of that sharing. We are willing to accept the responsibility that comes with relationship, with connection; we are willing to let the practice of hospitality transform us.
        Heidi Neumark uses the story of the transfiguration of Jesus as she tells the story of the transformation of a church she served in the South Bronx – which was aptly named Transfiguration Lutheran Church. The community outside the church had changed – becoming a place of myriad problems like crime, drug abuse, lack of opportunity, education, or hope. And the church’s response had been to shut its doors tight to protect itself from the demons all around it. There’s was the response of Peter on the mountain top – “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make dwellings for those who are here. We’ll just stay up here, in the light, and be safe.”

        But instead of that safety and isolation, Jesus led them back down the mountain, where they were greeted by a great crowd, and a father with a child convulsed by demons, gasping for life. Jesus healed the boy and returned him to his father. And so the disciples saw not just the light of the transfiguration, they saw what that light meant – healing and connection, reconciliation. Jesus led them back down the mountain and into the world so that he, and we, could connect with his people.
        When the people of Transfiguration Lutheran unlocked the doors of their private shelter, they not only welcoming the community in, they went out and met and worked to help ease the distress of their community – and in the process they discovered transfiguration as a congregation as they connected with others. They were not the same congregation they were before they opened the doors, but they’d do it all again. That’s hospitality too.
        For many who have been injured by the church, by life, marginalized by our society, to extend our welcome we have to go to them – go where they are – to make connections. That’s what it meant for us to participate in the Dallas Pride Parade. And we need to look for more opportunities like that for other communities of God’s people. Places where we can show God’s love through solidarity, through service, through fellowship, through invitation. That’s hospitality too.
But perhaps the most difficult aspect of the practice of hospitality is also the most important, and most transformative. The true spiritual practice of hospitality, hospitality as a way of life, really begins when we open not just the doors of our church, but the doors of our hearts – being willing to reveal ourselves, as we are, to others – to forge true relationship, true, connection, true community.
Writer Natalie Goldberg tells of a time when she went to visit her 94-year-old grandmother, who was critically ill. It’s one of those tragicomic stories anyone who has had a relative who suffers from dementia can relate to.
       Natalie said, “I went into her room and said to her, ‘Granny, it’s me, it’s me. Granny, you know who I am.’ Granny looked at her and said, ‘Yes, you’re Helen.’ Natatie answered, ‘No Granny, I’m not Helen. Who is Helen?’ Granny answered, ‘Helen is my husband.’”
       Natalie was so upset by this that she threw back the covers, climbed into the bed with Granny, hugged her, held her close, and began to sing the songs that Granny had taught her as a little girl – songs like “Oh, My Darling Clementine” and “I Love You a Bushel and a Peck.” And after a few moments, Granny started singing too, and a few moments later, Granny looked at her and said, “I know you; you’re Natalie.
       Natalie searched her heart and found a way to connect again – through touch, through song. This is a story about hospitality. Natalie opened herself up, opened the doors of her heart wide. She risked failure, and more heartache, but she reached out, and shared the blessings of love and comfort – and connected with her grandmother. The bonds of relationship remembered and renewed.
We need to continue to practice hospitality even with those we have already met and those who have already become family. That’s why we have CareNet – it’s a ministry of connection – of continuing hospitality. Hospitality also means being willing to connect with the people we already met or know on a deeper level. To open the doors of our hearts to show them ourselves.
       We can do this in church by participating in projects or activities – helping prepare food in the kitchen, planting the garden, going on a mission trip, singing in choir, gathering for a meal together – where we get to know each other better in time and work and food shared. Or by attending spiritual or religious education programs which give us opportunities to discuss things more deeply than we usually do over coffee after worship.
      I remember in one such group, someone saying with wonder: “I’ve know so-and-so for more than 10 years here at church, but I never knew he came from my home town.” Connection.
        And we can start small – like by choosing at the next meal to sit with someone you don’t know or know well, or trying out choir for a few weeks, or knitting a rainbow scarf.
        As Christians, we are all asked to find ways to connect again and again. And this may take all our creativity, our imagination, and our courage. But this is another way Jesus leads us to connect with his people, to follow his example using whatever gifts we have.
       We can’t do it all. And that’s okay. It’s not a sin to be finite, limited, human. Each of us can only contribute according to our own gifts. Each Christian community like ours can only do the same. When hospitality isn’t practiced widely in the larger society, and it is not, our small acts of hospitality cannot respond to every need. But it can meet some needs, it can be a living demonstration of what is possible when people care, of how the kingdom of God can be.
       And with every small act of hospitality, every meal shared, every handshake, every smile, our community is strengthened and transformed. The practice changes us – transfigures us – making us more and more like Christ – more and more people and a community that shines with the light of God.
So that one day, in the midst of some everyday task, we look up, like Peter, and see the light of God shining through. Transfiguration happens, and we are transported to the mountaintop when we least expect it.
       The Benedictine spiritual communities have made hospitality their primary spiritual practice. Someone who studied their communities suggests that at the end of all we do we are faced with two questions:  “Did we see Christ in them? Did they see Christ in us?”
       I have one more question. Are we ready, with another cookie, for the next mouse who comes to our door? Amen.