Radical Hospitality
Sermon by The Rev. Wallace Adams-Riley
Rector, St. Paul's Episcopal Church
September 12, 2010 - The 16th Sunday after Pentecost
Listen to the Sermon
Sermon Text
Dear God, take my lips and speak through them;
Take our minds, and think through them;
Take our hearts, and set them on fire. Amen.
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Yes, every Sunday is homecoming. Every Sunday we welcome; and we are
welcomed. Every Sunday, in the words of the Pharisees and the scribes,
every Sunday, we "[welcome] sinners and [eat] with them." That's what
we do. That's what Christians do. That's what we sinners do: We
welcome one and all.
And it's always a celebration. Every Sunday, we join in the Great
Thanksgiving, as we call it. We give thanks for the welcome we have
received; yes, from one another, but, even deeper than the welcome we
receive from one another, and prior to the welcome we receive from one
another, is the welcome we have found from and in God: Radical
hospitality.
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Jesus eats with "tax collectors and sinners," as the story goes. Which is to say, Jesus eats with those who are looked down upon, those who are excluded, those who are on the margins of the community. Meanwhile "the Pharisees and scribes," which is to say, those considered the most upstanding, the most upright, in the community, grumble nearby, muttering disapproval of Jesus' conduct: How could he? Who does he think he is?
And, never one to mince words, Jesus directly answers these grumblings with, as Luke records it, not one but three stories (three parables), back to back: We get the first two of those parables in this morning's reading: the lost sheep, and the lost coin, while the third, what's usually called "the Parable of the Prodigal Son," comes around in Lent.
In any case, in each of these parables, whether it's a stray sheep, a stray coin, or a stray son, the message is impossible to miss: each is indispensable; each is invaluable; each is precious; and, each has been found.
And celebration follows: Friends and neighbors are called together, "Rejoice with me!" There is joy in heaven, and on earth. It is the story, three times over, of grace; of lavish, prodigal love; and of cups running over, of glasses raised.
Each of the parables culminates with a joy-infused invitation to share in a celebration, a celebration of radical hospitality; in celebration of human community as human community is meant to be, where no one is left out. Not the tax collectors. Not the sinners. Not the poor. Not the Latinos. Not the Muslims. Not Gay and Lesbian people. No one.
But, instead, a place where everyone is accounted for and attended to; where each and every one of us is considered indispensable, invaluable, precious.
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Whenever we welcome one another, be it at the end of a summer, or whether it's after only a week's absence, or whether it's the first time we've ever met, whenever and wherever we-meet-and-welcome-one-another we manifest, in our very lives, the welcome that we first know in God: We welcome because God first welcomed us.
And it is that welcome that we celebrate, above all, every time we gather around the holy table for the Great Thanksgiving; and every time we gather around the font for the sacrament of Baptism.
We give thanks to God for the welcoming us in, again and again; and it is that welcome we share in, again and again.
Every Sunday at St. Paul's, whether they stand and are recognized as such, we have "newcomers," visitors, strangers, come among us. And we try to show them a genuine and warm welcome. And we do so, not for the sake of "building membership," or "filling the pews," or any such thing. We do so, we do so, because of what we have found in God, and, by extension, what of God we have found in one another, in this community.
We invite and welcome in others, just as we were-and-are invited-and-welcomed in, and we hope and pray that they will find us the same sense of belonging and-community that we have found.
And, likewise, this Sunday, we also have the joy of formally welcoming into our midst David Sinden, our new Minister of Music, and his wife Anne. And we pray (and trust) that they too will find that same divinely-rooted welcome, here among us; that they may, in turn, help extend that same welcome to all who come our way. And, indeed, they have already begun to do so.
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In just a moment, we will, once again, together say our Baptismal Covenant; and we will ask God's blessing on water in the baptismal font.
We do so, on this Homecoming Sunday, as a way of acknowledging and celebrating, once again, yes, the radical hospitality of God, as we are welcomed home again and again, and as we recommit ourselves to sharing that welcome with all those we meet: as we promise, with God's help, to "seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving [our] neighbor as [our]self," as we promise, with God's help, to "respect the dignity of every human being." As we promise, with God's help, to share the welcome we have received in God with any and all persons whom we encounter, throughout the week, and throughout our lives.
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As you make your way to or from the communion rail, you are invited to wet your fingers, touch them to your forehead, and make the sign of the Cross, as a reminder of your baptism, as a reminder of the welcome that we all receive in God, the welcome which we share with one another.
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Welcome, one and all. Welcome once again. In the name of God, we say welcome.
Welcome to you, a child of God, precious to God, and precious to us.
