The Art of Welcome

Genesis 18

There is an art to welcome. A first impression really does matter, and we welcome someone into our presence has all sort of consequences. It immediately gives them an idea of who we are and what we are about.

For instance, a warm embrace to a newcomer declares, “You are welcome! You are among friends.” Simply meeting a stranger with a look directly at them with a smile says, “I see you as a potential friend.” An open welcome communicates interest and care, even potential help. Inversely, though, if a stranger is ignored that raises walls right off the bat. There will be an assumption that apathy, coldness, and perhaps sheer unfriendliness reign within the group. If a stranger is shunned--a la at a middle school lunch table where the kids make sure the outsider knows they are an outsider--that also communicates loads both ways--to the shunned--you are unwelcome, you are unworthy; to the shunners--you are a bunch of egotistical so-and-sos, you are cruel. Sometimes it takes no words at all to make or break a welcome. 

Abraham entertained angels. His hospitality opened him to the presence and promise of God. There was a lot more going on than met the eye. Imagine if Abraham had run out of the tent wielding his hunting spear or knife--what then? Imagine if he hid behind the flap, hoping the newcomers would just slink off after being ignored--what then? But he did none of those things, he met the strangers with hospitality and great things followed.

As a community of Christ, we have to take such lessons seriously, for we follow the Lord who welcomed all. Recall that one of the persistent critiques of Christ by his opponents was that he showed no judgment whatsoever regarding whom he associated with. Yes, there was that one instance when he coldly met the woman begging at his feet, but it seems that was mostly for show, for he wound up blessing her beyond all reason. Otherwise, faithful servants, lepers, Samaritans, miscreants, rebels, government stooges, men, women, and children were all met with welcome. They were met as they were, where they were, for what they were. 

That is our call.

Sadly, the Church seems caught in an never-ending battle about whether or not its role is gatekeeper of the Kingdom. The Church battles over the inclusion of homosexuals, and, if welcome, how welcome. It battles over the role and place of women, even getting so intimate and personal as to rage over her right to her own body. It battles over inclusion as Sunday morning remains by and large the most segregated hour in our culture. The Church battles over the role and purpose of wealth. The Church battles over moralism versus compassionate care. We continually stumble over ourselves, and hospitality is the first victim. 

What is the issue?

As I see it, the problem seems to be first and last that we have placed being right over being driven by love. 

What do I mean by that?

We have grown fearful of the complexity of the world and all of its multitudinous people, each of whom wants to be taken seriously on their own terms. We fear the shifting cultural sands beneath our feet. We are afraid that if tolerance reigns, there will be no standards left. We fear the rise of those who are different. We fear the loss of status. In the Church, we see the flood of those leaving, and we decide that it is because we are not being careful enough about who we let in--we close ranks to stem the bleeding. So, with faith, we convert it from the mystical, mysterious Gospel that allows for 10000 interpretations with a call to make love our aim into a code, a set of rules, and a book of dictums that make deciding right and wrong, good and bad, and in and out a simple matter of checking the guidebook. We will confirm to ourselves that we are right. We will trick ourselves into thinking ourselves secure.

But hospitality dies.

Look at us within this congregation. Take stock in who we are. Each of us knows within our innermost heart that there are pieces of ourselves that are wrong, we wish weren’t there, and we hope beyond all hope no one will ever find out. Yet, despite all that, we found welcome here. We joined. There is no one exempt from this analysis. We are a collection of sinners. But look at our story. We have run through some dark valleys together, but emerged still together. We have had to forgive and be forgiven, and found ourselves even more deeply connected. We have had to gird ourselves up and face other people, but survived because of love. 

We have done so because hospitality ruled as we found our way here. We have done so because someone put Christ before being right. 

Look at the mighty fortress of rules and dictums we build for security. Do they really help? As I read The Times or The Washington Post, it seems that when being right builds the fortress, it really does nothing more than lock the people inside, ratcheting up their fear, trepidation, and paranoia. Strangers become “them,” not fellow children of God. And “them” is out to get us (or at least what we have). That’s no way to live. 

Love allows us to step out of the fortress. In fact, it makes the fortress irrelevant. Love allows us to see the child of God before us. Love allows us to celebrate their glory as a witness to God’s creative power. Love allows us to find our way together. It makes welcome a way of being. 

Abraham entertained angels.

He stepped out of the tent and met the strangers. The whole world changed.

What about ours?