Housesitting for God: Sermon for 28 August 2022
Sermon for
Sunday 28 August 2022
University
Lutheran Church, Harvard Square
The Rev.
Carrie Ballenger
(art credit to Dan Erlander, 1938 - 28 August 2022)
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(note...due to a tech mishap, the audio begins halfway into the first paragraph of the sermon)
Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight O Lord, my
rock and my redeemer. Amen.
One Tuesday afternoon, I was
at my home in the suburbs of Chicago eating a late lunch when my
faithful church office manager Kelly called to say: “Pastor, there’s a young man here
from England who’s looking for a place to stay. Any ideas?”
Aside
from the fact that this visitor was from England, the
request wasn’t unusual. People often came to the church looking for help, and we
would do what we could. But in this case, I knew the community overnight shelter
was closed until October, the day shelter wasn’t open on Tuesdays, and the
folks in the congregation I would normally ask to open their homes had just
hosted a large group of Palestinian Lutheran teenagers the week before! So I said to Kelly, “Tell
him to go to the fire station” and hung up the phone.
An
hour later, sitting at my desk back at the church, the same man
walked into the office. I went out to greet him and heard more
of his story. Matthew was 20 years old and was attempting to
travel from
Seattle to New York—by bicycle—on just $10 per day. He had biked 60 miles that
morning and just needed a place to sleep before going to his next stop in Chicago.
I
hemmed and hawed. I flipped aimlessly through the church directory, trying to
think of who I could call. I looked nervously at the church member sitting in
the office waiting for a meeting with me. What should I do? The last thing I
wanted was a guest in my home that night, much less a complete stranger. But
I said finally: “You can stay at my place.”
Now we could have an entire conversation about the
wisdom of this decision, but my kids thought it was great. They had
invited friends over to meet our exotic guest, and they all gushed, “He sounds
just like Harry Potter!”
Over dinner Matthew told me more. Biking cross
country on a budget of ten dollars per day means relying on the kindness of
strangers for shelter and food. He told of the varied reception he received at churches. At
one large inner- city church he stopped to ask for help, but before he even
got the sentence out, and without a hint of eye contact, the answer was “no.”
He saw another person sitting in a neighboring office and asked to talk to her,
but was told “She’ll tell you no, too.”
Another pastor happily took him home but then spent the entire dinner quizzing him. “Are you going to heaven?” When Matthew answered “Yes”, the pastor followed up with, “But are you SURE?!” Fire stations were usually more welcoming places than churches, sadly.
Another
host showed off his very large arsenal of weapons. Matthew commented to me, “We
just don’t have guns like that in the UK. What possible use do Americans have
for an assault rifle at home, anyway?” A very good question, indeed.
But
my favorite story was of Matthew’s experience staying at a Catholic monastery in North Dakota.
Matt was a chatty, outgoing guy (which certainly helped him survive an adventure
that required asking for help multiple times a day) but this was a
contemplative monastery. In other words, there was no talking. Matt struggled
with the concept of eating dinner in silence after biking
all day alone.
But
the dinner, though silent was delicious—plates and plates of
food. And then, one of the monks brought out the largest barrel of
Rocky Road ice cream he had ever seen. The men didn’t take dainty little
tastes, either. Matthew described them heaping scoop after scoop into their
bowls, always filling his bowl in equal amounts. Although
they couldn’t share conversation, the brothers saw Matthew’s visit as an
occasion to celebrate. They didn’t hesitate to welcome a stranger into their
midst, because hospitality was an essential part of their lives together.
The morning after Matthew’s stay in my home, I woke
early to find all the dishes washed, and a $10 bill with a note: “Thank you for
sharing your home with me.”
“Do
not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained
angels without knowing it.” (Hebrews 13)
Was Matthew an angel? I think so, but not because he
was particularly saintly. In fact, one may rightly criticize the great
privilege this young man having an adventure exhibited, often taking beds that could
have been shared with those who were truly experiencing homelessness.
But Matthew was an angel in the sense that he brought into
my home a message I needed to hear. His unexpected visit—and the stories of
receiving hospitality he shared with me—challenged me to reconsider the place
of hospitality in our lives of faith.
Hear once again these words from our second reading
today:
“Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show
hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels
without knowing it.”
The letter to the Hebrews was written sometime in the
1st century, probably before the destruction of the temple in 70 AD.
Though often attributed to the apostle Paul and even to Luke, some scholars now
propose that it was written by a woman, possibly the missionary Priscilla, who lived,
worked, and traveled with Paul.
Whoever the author, it seems clear the letter served
as encouragement for a young Christian community struggling to keep the faith.
Internal debates were happening over contentious issues such as whether
non-Jews needed to convert to Judaism before becoming Christian, as well as
whether Jews should completely disavow their religious practices when choosing
to follow Jesus. Facing such divisions within the community—as well as
persecution from outside—caused some to reconsider the whole project. After
all, although he was resurrected from the dead, Jesus still left them when he
ascended into heaven. This doesn’t seem very Messiah-like, especially when one
had been expecting a king wearing a crown rather than hanging on a cross.
For this reason, the letter to the Hebrews can sound a
bit like a practical list of things to do and things to avoid when facing
conflict: Do this. Don’t do that. Be like this. Don’t be like that.
But it makes sense, in a way. Haven’t we all wished,
at one time or another, for a clear guide to life together? Guides I would to read
include:
How to survive the pandemic. How not to lose your cool
when your friends and family are supporting a narcissistic dictator. How to
navigate an increasingly divided country and not lose your soul.
And Priscilla (or Paul) might say to us:
Keep on loving. Love by showing hospitality. Love by
keeping your promises. Love those who are suffering. Love the one life you were
given. Love God.
And remember: Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and
today and forever.
In other words, in a world that is rapidly changing
and often scary, and even in the midst of internal confusion and strife, hold
on to what is sure and certain. Hold on to love, and to hold on to Jesus. Amen?
Notice that showing hospitality is at the top of this
list of essential practices. It’s not merely a nice thing to do, it is foundational
for followers of Jesus. Showing hospitality is part of the fabric that knits us
together. It strengthens faith and creates community. Furthermore, the author
of Hebrews tells us that when we cast the net wide and expand our circle, we make
space for messengers of God—otherwise known as angels (or as you may have
learned it first: “angels unawares”)
In May of this year (just before I visited UniLu for
the first time) I was in Rome for an annual conference for pastors of
international churches. One of the highlights of the trip was visiting the Vatican.
Since 2019 there has been a life-size bronze statue in Vatican Square called
“Angels Unawares.” It’s a boat full of people of various ages, ethnicities, and
cultures—refugees and migrants seeking a home. Springing from the midst of the
people are wings, a symbol of the presence of the sacred among them.
The sculpture was inaugurated in the square on the 105th
World Day of Migrants & Refugees Section. However, at the installation, Pope
Francis said that it was not just about refugees and migrants. He hoped this
artwork would remind Christians everywhere of the “evangelical challenge of
hospitality.”
The truth is, showing hospitality is a challenge at
times. As much as we would like to open our homes and ourselves to strangers
every day, there are obstacles. Fear is one. Safe boundaries are another. In
the case of refugees or the unhoused, are we called only to provide beds or to
change the unjust systems that cause the situation—or both? What should Christian
hospitality look like?
Here at University Lutheran, I’ve come to know that hospitality
is truly an essential part of this community’s identity. From the very
beginning, this congregation has welcomed strangers into its midst—students and
professors from around the country and from around the world. People come
bringing their own ideas and backgrounds, gifts and talents—and they go out,
sharing the with other communities. Can it be a challenge at times, to stick
together in such a diverse and transitional place? For sure it is. But it's
also part of the fabric that has made this place strong and faithful through
many pastors, several renovations, and a changing world outside the walls of
the church.
The evangelical call to hospitality is a challenge and
a joy. And going back to the letter to the Hebrews, I would suggest that
showing hospitality is also a form of resistance. By casting wide the doors and
breaking down walls, by making the circle ever larger, we make the separation
between ourselves and the other ever smaller. And this is how we resist the
empire of fear and division. This is how we resist greed and the acceptance of inequality.
This is how we resist a culture of indifference. This is how we resist hatred
and death and choose love and life.
The Persian poet Hafiz wrote: “There are always a few
men like me who are housesitting for God. We share his royal duties.”
Housesitting for God. Sounds like
an excellent mission statement as we begin this new season, don’t you think? In
our homes, within this church community, in our workplaces, and especially in
the beautiful creation we have been given: to remember that we are housesitters
for God, called to share the radical love and hospitality that God herself
showed us first.
May the peace of God which passes all understanding
keep our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
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