Gospel: Matthew 10:40-42
I can’t remember the moment in my life when I first heard someone say “Welcome!” to me. It most certainly took place, but at age 56 the memory of it has faded and I can’t remember it no matter how hard I try. Something in the back of my mind, though, makes me think such a welcome took place surrounded by my large family – a group that could never be accused of being closed off or unwelcoming.
My mother’s side of the family was (and is) quite large, at various points numbering dozens and dozens of aunts, uncles, cousins, grand aunts, grand uncles, grandparents, and family friends. Complete strangers to many of us (but friends to others) dropped in on gatherings and discovered they’d been unofficially adopted for a single day (or in some cases, for a lifetime). We gathered often at the old family homeplace just outside of Rustburg, dozens and dozens of Christmases and Easters, Thanksgivings and Sunday lunches, and other random but no less important times together. And while the older generations have passed into memory, the current ones still gather.
It’s a place we’ve always simply called the Farm, established more than 100 years ago by my great-grandparents. At these gatherings we sat around every table, grabbed every open step, and jammed into every available nook and cranny for meals and conversation. Often, it didn’t take many folks at all to show up to need an excuse to eat. Christ said that whenever two or three are gathered in his name he would be in their midst. In my family whenever two or three happened to drop by at the same time at the Farm there were at some point at the very least fixings for sandwiches in their midst.
At the Farm, there was no need to say “Welcome!” You were family, and you were always welcome – anytime, day or night. The closest you may get to explicitly hearing that word was one or of my grand aunts, the matriarchs who presided over these gatherings, giving you a wonderful “Howdy!” as you walked through the door – not a Minnie Pearl “How-DEE!”, but one that would certainly make you take notice and give you a warm feeling of inclusion. Most often the welcome was implicit: once you walked through the kitchen door, you were family. No spoken welcome was needed.
But what about those who aren’t in this type of situation, whether with family or their jobs or in the community on weekends? What about those who have no sense of inclusion or feeling of welcome? What about those who don’t have anyone to share with them that wonderful word – “Welcome” – to let them know they belong?
In today’s Gospel, Jesus again talks about the concept of welcome. But rather than the usual admonition to be the one welcoming others, he turns it on its ear; here, he is reminding them in some sense to be mindful of those moments when they’re instead the ones being welcomed.
Instead of inviting people in, we are the ones to be invited. Rather than asking others to come in and, by doing that, invite Jesus in, we are instead asked to be the ones who are the entry point of Christ into the lives of others. For many, this may be a difficult thing to do. We like the way it feels when we ask others in and extend our hands to help. It’s more challenging for many, though, to be at the receiving end. The preacher Fred Craddock once wrote that being on the receiving end of this may “make some of us feel a bit awkward, but,” as he continues, “so does being recipients of God’s grace. It is difficult to acknowledge dependence on God or on other persons. But the fact is, it is we who are sometimes the stranger at the door.”[1]
I think often about the many ways we perform outreach and even ingathering, the many ways we welcome. Those walking through the door to be with us – whether for a day or many seasons – are each important. Apart from being here for worship, fellowship, or even a visit rooted in some sort of need – physical, or spiritual, or communal – just as important is the greeting they receive when they do … that wonderful word, “Welcome!”
When we greet someone coming here, for whatever reason they’re coming here, we too are being welcomed – welcomed into their lives in those moments, welcomed into their presence and whatever they bring with them. We may very well be welcomed into the joys by which they’ve been blessed. But we may just as well find ourselves welcomed into the thin places of their existence, places of job concerns, health worries, relationship struggles, or any of several other deep fears or levels of uncertainty. Whether they realize it or not they’re inviting us to spend a moment looking at the world through their eyes, welcoming us to see Jesus at work in them.
Each time we come to this place and approach the altar, we bring the thin areas of our own lives with us. God welcomes us, and we are invited to lay down our worries for a time at the altar rail. We’re invited to set down the difficult things that we cling to so that our hearts and hands are free to accept the bread and wine being offered. We’re encouraged to accept God’s redemption and God’s grace and welcomed when we take that step to acceptance.
In the days and weeks ahead, I encourage you to think deeply about your encounters – and not just where they take place or, for that matter, who you encounter. Think instead about how you encounter them, how you welcome them into your circle, even for the briefest of moments. Think especially about those who may not have ever experienced the joy or embrace of welcome.
Then I want you to stop and think about how, at those times, you are being welcomed. Think of what time with you may mean to the other person. Think of the gift you are giving by allowing them to welcome you and allowing them to see the Christ who comes with you.
“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.”[2]
Amen.
[1] Fred B. Craddock, John H. Hayes, Carl R. Holladay, and Gene M. Tucker. Preaching Through the Christian Year: A, p. 346.
[2] Matthew 10:40 (NRSV).