But although it was scary
and challenging at times, it was a really good year. And one of the things I
remember most was going out with folk from the other local churches in an act
of joint witness to welcome in the Millennium.
We’d bought in hundreds of
wee candles and candle holders ,and made up a wee leaflet to go with it,
explaining the significance of the Millennium and inviting folk along to the
church. And we headed out in twos – a good Biblical principle – to go door
knocking over the space of a few evenings, and take these candles and greetings
around the parish.
It wasn’t easy. Lots of
closed doors, lots of scared people behind those doors. But I’ll always
remember one home where we heard someone come to the door, pause for a moment
to look through the eyehole, and then start undoing the latches to let us in.
She had so many locks and chains you’d have thought she was guarding Fort Knox
She went off into the flat
and came back with an enormous millennium candle, about that big! “There’s one
back for you!” she said with a smile.
We went out to spread a
little grace in the parish, and we got far more back than we bargained for. God
met many of us in unexpected ways and unexpected places over the course of
those two or three evenings.
In the course of today’s
reading, Abraham too, has an unexpected meeting with God; and it happens as he
shares the grace of hospitality with three strangers.
1 The Lord appeared to Abraham at the sacred trees
of Mamre. As Abraham was sitting at the entrance of his tent during the hottest
part of the day, he looked up and saw three men standing there.
Now we could easily pass
over those words and move on, but there’s something interesting there that we
might miss. A unique part of the Christian understanding of God is that God is
somehow three and yet one, all at the same time. Father, Son and Spirit – one
God in three persons. We call it the doctrine of the Trinity.
And although that doctrine
isn’t spelled out for us in the Bible, there are hints in that direction from
Genesis all the way through to Revelation.
And this is one of them.
God appears to Abraham. And how does he appear? As 3. Three men. Is this Father, Son and Spirit? Well we don’t
know – it’s not spelt out for us, but it’s not beyond the realms of
possibility.
But what’s more
interesting, I think, is that Abraham doesn’t seem to be overwhelmed by this
divine appearance. We know from the Christmas story that when angels appear
people tend to keel over and end up with their faces in the dirt.
But there doesn’t seem to
be any of that here. In fact, Abraham doesn’t seem to identify these men as
different in any way at least, not at first.
As far as we’re aware, he
just sees three strangers in need of some basic human comforts: water to drink
and wash with, somewhere to rest, and something to eat.
Were they finely dressed?
Did they look like ordinary travellers? We don’t know. But whatever the
circumstances, Abraham responds to their need with classic middle-eastern
hospitality:
As soon as he saw them, he ran out to meet them.
Bowing down with his face touching the ground, he said, “Sirs, please do not
pass by my home without stopping; I am here to serve you. Let me bring some
water for you to wash your feet; you can rest here beneath this tree. I will
also bring a bit of food; it will give you strength to continue your journey.
You have honoured me by coming to my home, so let me serve you.”
They replied, “Thank you; we accept.”
So there’s running and bowing
and fetching and serving which shows remarkable humility from a man of
Abraham’s standing; especially toward visitors whom he did not know. Middle
Eastern culture placed a high premium on showing courtesy to the stranger; and
many folk who’ve travelled in the Middle East
will testify that it’s still the same today.
And there are no half
measures here…
He says ‘do you want a
bite to eat’ and then he goes and has a feast prepared! I reckon Abraham must
have had some Northern Irish blood in him! That’s typical of the folk that I
grew up with - they’d have killed you with kindness. Even higher cholesterol levels
than the Scots, and that’s saying something!
But the thing to note is
that all this preparation and consumption must have taken time. To bake bread,
to have a calf slaughtered and a meal prepared. This wasn’t a fly cup. For the
duration of their visit, he was giving them his best – his full attention –
even to the point of serving them himself. Whatever else was on Abraham’s agenda for that day suddenly became less
important.
That’s a wee word to all
of us, myself included, who are prone to see the other, the stranger, or the
visitor as an interruption to our busy schedule. Sometimes our real work is in
the interruptions.
So, Abraham created a
leisurely space, an hospitable space, within which good things could happen.
And as they ate together, the strangers brought their own strange blessing to
bear on Abraham and his home.
9 They asked him, “Where is your wife Sarah?”
And I wonder if that’s the
point at which he began to realise who he was dealing with here, because in the
text at least, nobody’s mentioned Sarah by name so far. How did they know that
that’s what she was called?
“She is there in the tent,” he answered, probably more than a little puzzled
by now.
Now Sarah was behind him, at the door of the tent,
listening…..
Not like any woman you or
I might know, I’m sure!
Joking aside, Sarah’s
listening reminded me of something from years ago. In 1988 I lived in digs with
two female student friends in my third year at University, and we were in a
semi-detached house next to a kind and devout Muslim family.
I was playing guitar and
singing a lot in those days, and at the end of the summer term after I’d gone
back home to Northern Ireland, my two flatmates got to know the Muslim girls
next door.
They would have liked to
have come in and got to know us, but they couldn’t because I was there and they
weren’t allowed to be around a Western man without a chaperone. But they confessed
to my friends that throughout the year they used to sit in their bedroom and
listen to me practicing through the wall!
Sometimes women have to listen or speak in secret,
because the culture they live in doesn’t give them any other option.
So, behind her tent flap
Sarah was listening. And laughing. Because the news they brought was so
far-fetched, In the past God had promised her a son, and she’d been waiting for
decades for him to arrive, but nothing had happened. And now she was old! Her
body was so far past fertility it seemed ridiculous to even entertain the idea
of a pregnancy.
I like Eugene Peterson’s modern translation of what Sarah has to say here:
“An old woman like me? Get pregnant?
With this old man of a husband?”
Small wonder she laughed.
I guess after years of
trying and failing, all of us do tend to grow weary and lose hope. It can be
hard not to let cynicism take over, and end up greeting any suggestion of
newness or change with disbelieving laughter.
But God’s reply gave Sarah
pause for thought.
Why did you laugh? He
asks. Is anything too hard for the LORD?
And this part of their
story ends with those words hanging in the air; words that re-kindled hope for
Abraham and Sarah and reminded them just who they were dealing with. Words that
they would never have heard if they hadn’t chosen to be hospitable.
One of the things I notice
when I speak to older folk in the congregation and parish is how strong the
bonds used to be between friends and neighbours in this parish.
People talk to me of
first-footing on Hogmanay nights, trudging across snow-covered fields to go and
greet their neighbours; of epic dances at the Victoria Hall where they met life
partners; of groups of friends in their 80’s and 90’s who’ve been part of the
same crowd for almost all their lifetime.
And two things strike me
when I hear those stories.
That those kinds of bonds only grow up between folk
through years and years of hospitality.
And how hard it is, in our modern world, to make
that kind of time for people any more.
The spirit might be
willing, but the flesh is knackered!
And we may, or may not, be
able to do anything about that.
But what I want to
suggest, in closing, is that even if our time is pressured, it’s still possible
to cultivate an attitude of hospitality towards the other. Because at the end
of the day, hospitality isn’t about cups of tea and fattened calves, though it
can be. At it’s most basic, hospitality is just about openness. About a
willingness to see the person who’s in front of you and engage with them as a
fellow human being.
Hospitality isn’t just
about having people into your home. You can take your hospitality with you in
the attitude you bring to your relationships.
And growing up in that
environment has shaped him. He talks to the folk giving out fliers as you make
your way into a building, he takes the time to speak to the waiter or waitress
and have some banter with them. He registers the check-out girl and makes a
point of calling her by name. Just small things, but they’re signs that he’s
taking his hospitality with him. This openness to the other.
And the beautiful thing
is, he does it not because the other person’s especially important, or because
he’s going to get something from them if he treats them well. He does it
because he believes in the core of his being that this person before him
matters to God. And that means they’re a person of significance, whoever they
are.
And here’s the thing –
when we cultivate that openness, that attitude of hospitality, not only are we
blessing the other, we’re opening ourselves up to more of what God has for us.
Because God and God’s truth often come to us in the guise of the stranger.
At the end of Matthew’s
gospel, Jesus talks about how some will be commended some and other reprimanded
at the end of days. Why? Because he came to them in the guise of the poor, the
hungry, the needy, the stranger. And some were hospitable towards him, while
others weren’t.
As I was preparing for
today I had a memory of an old Celtic prayer of hospitality, and I managed to
track it down for you. It says:
I met a stranger
yest're'een;
I put food in the eating place, Drink in the drinking place,
Music in the listening place;
And, in the sacred name of the Triune,
He blessed myself and my house.
My cattle and my dear ones,
And the lark said in her
song,
Often, often, often,
Goes the Christ in the stranger's guise;
Often, often, often,
Goes the Christ in the stranger's guise.
As he sat in the door of
his tent, with the heat haze shimmering over the baked soil, Abraham glanced up
and saw three strangers needing his help; help he was ready to give.
He knew what he could do
for them. He had no idea what they could do for him.
And it’s no different with
us. It’s as we choose to be open toward the other – whoever that might be -
that God does some of his best work: in us, for us and through us.
Thanks be to God.
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