Perfect Strangers
Sermon
WRESTLINGS, WONDERS AND WANDERERS!
Sermons For Pentecost (First Third)
Today we leave the book of Genesis to begin the saga of Exodus. First we examine two stories: one about the plight of the Hebrew people following the death of Joseph and the other concerning the birth of Moses. Both are about strangers. One story entails slavery and suffering, the other compassion and adoption. One is about "imperfect strangers" who remain such. The other is about complete strangers who become very close as adopted child and mother.
Story number one sets the scene with one short verse: "Now there arose a new king over Egypt who did not know Joseph (Exodus 1:8)." Once the rulers of Egypt lost their memory of Joseph and the great things he had done for Egypt, they had little affection for the Hebrews. Indeed, they began to fear them. Ironically, they feared them because of their great numbers, which was part of God's promise to Abraham of numerous descendants.
Driven by fear, the Egyptians enslaved the Hebrews and made them work long and hard. But the Hebrews increased in number all the more. Finally, the Pharaoh took drastic steps to curtail these outsiders: He decreed that all of the male children of the Hebrews be thrown into the Nile. With such violence, our first story of suffering ends and the backdrop for our next story is lowered into place.
Our second story has a more joyous ending -- that of providence and mercy. But it begins as the other story ended -- with suffering and danger. In this story the babe Moses is placed in a basket, and set adrift on the Nile River in hopes of sparing his life. So it is that two strangers meet, the Pharaoh's daughter and a tiny Hebrew infant who wins her heart and engages her compassion. Though the daughter of Pharaoh knows this is a male Hebrew child, she arranges for his care. Moses is saved by the bell -- a b-e-l-l-e, that is. Moses' mother gains the unlikely position of being paid to nurse her own child.
In this second story, compassion and mercy have defeated self-interest and fear. The hard heart of the father is supplanted by the compassion of the daughter. Complete strangers become "perfect" strangers as mother and daughter. Instead of the tiny stranger being sentenced to suffering or death, he will be given a life of privilege in the Pharaoh's house.
These two stories have great relevance to us today. We can identify with many of the various aspects of the story. No matter how many friends we now have, no matter how socially secure we feel, we still have not forgotten what it feels like to be the stranger. Am I right?
Do you remember how you felt in a new school, a new neighborhood, a strange city, a foreign country? Do you remember how it feels to be a stranger before discovering that first friend or receiving that first act of human warmth or kindness?
I can tell you that the feeling of being included is a much better feeling than that of being a stranger! Surely you agree!
We all know the pain of being the stranger. But we also know how it feels to be the people of Egypt and to be threatened by the presence of strangers, especially when their numbers are great.
There are those in Texas who have fear that strangers from the south, the illegal aliens from Mexico, will create real problems for Texas: problems of education, taxes, crime, job markets and medical care. These are not imagined fears. They have grounding in situations we now are facing in our schools, hospitals, marketplace and neighborhood communities.
Like the Egyptians and their rulers, we may have concern for the impact of strangers in our midst. We do not have to be heartless to believe that their presence may prove costly to us. But sometimes these strangers have real faces. It is then that our hearts and our minds do not always agree. It is then that our prejudices and self-interests may be challenged.
Not long ago we used the services of a young Hispanic housekeeper named Patricia. She came to our home for several hours each Thursday. Not long after she began working for us she told me her story. Her recent life history becomes even more dramatic when one parallels it with the story of Moses.
Patricia came from Mexico. There her family was forced into hard labor. They were not slaves of a ruler; they simply were captive to a feeble economy and a very low standard of living. To escape the plight of their environment and to provide for the safety of their family, Patricia and her husband decided to hide in the "bulrushes" of the Rio Grande. They decided to seek safe harbor in the land of the United States. But in their first attempt, they failed. They were caught and sent back.
On their second attempt, Patricia was pregnant with their first child. She could not swim so she had to be pulled across the river on an inner tube. This time she and her husband made it to safety, or at least relative safety. For the next several years she and her family lived in constant fear of being discovered. Finally, they were granted amnesty and citizenship. Recently, Patricia received another level of new freedom and privilege -- a Texas driver's license!
One who once was stranger to us now is officially a part of us. Patricia may not be a native Texan but she is at least a native living in Texas. Unlike Moses she was not saved by an individual act of compassion. You might say it was Pharaoh himself who saved her -- "Uncle Sam" as we call him. It was our government who offered her an extended hand. She was formally adopted by our nation and our state. Now she has a chance for more than basic survival. Patricia did not fare as well as baby Moses. She was not taken to a palace but only given a greater chance to improve the living conditions of her family.
Like the Egyptians and their rulers in the biblical story, there are Americans and Texans who have fears and concerns about these "strangers" who cross our borders. And I concede that these fears have some substance to them. But for today I celebrate for this one who once was a stranger. I am glad for her. I am glad that the bulrushes were high enough and that my "Uncle Sam" was gracious enough. l am glad that Patricia and her family have found a new life across the border.
I realize that the issues concerning illegal aliens are very complex. I realize that strangers can and do pose an economic threat to people of a country or state. But I also know this personally: Patricia cannot be a stranger to me any longer. For her I want a good life. For her and her family I want a chance for survival. I observe her hard work. I sense her good character. I welcome her now as a friend.
The motives of the Pharaoh are understandable but they are not commendable. The concern of the Egyptians for their own well-being was legitimate but not at the expense of the Hebrews. The fear of the stranger, you see, may be based on real data, but the welcoming of the stranger is based on the true gospel.
As a Christian I am called to reject the action of the Pharaoh who acted out of self-interest and fear and to follow the example of Pharaoh's daughter who acted out of compassion for the stranger. I am not permitted to be an imperfect stranger. To the outsider I am asked to be a perfect stranger!
When I was in high school, a young student came from Germany to be a foreign exchange student in our high school. I did not know him or feel very comfortable around him at first. I invited him to a basketball game and to my house for a visit and we soon became friends. Why did I invite him? I think my parents suggested it -- but so did my religion and so did my conscience. I did not think it was fair for him to be a stranger among us and have no one to welcome him.
What a delight when, two summers ago, our whole family went as strangers to Germany. But we did not have to tour as complete strangers. A family outside of Nuremberg welcomed us warmly. They welcomed us into their own home, they fed us and entertained us. The stranger that I had welcomed 28 years before became the friend who welcomed me and my family to a foreign land!
Being the stranger is no fun at all! Becoming the friend of a stranger is often a delight! As Christians we are called to be "perfect strangers," people who welcome those who would stand alone without our support. And could it be that we are called to welcome even the stranger who lowers our economy or our standard of living -- even strangers who come in great numbers, even those who heighten our anxiety or fears?
Today we live among many strangers. And if you are like me, you are less in the habit of welcoming the stranger now than you once were. There was a time when I would not pass a moving van on my street without stopping. But now movers come and go and I not only fail to greet the new family moving in; at times I have failed to be acquainted with the family who is moving out.
How about you? Do you welcome the stranger? Do you watch along the shores of your River Nile for signs of endangered strangers, strangers with special needs? Do you welcome the visitor, invite into your home the neighbor, speak to the new resident on your block, ask the new associate at work to join you for church?
We are more than our neighbor's keeper. We are the welcoming committee for the stranger. We are the ones who are to help someone find a sense of belonging.
Maybe our problem is that we have gotten too busy or have become satisfied with the friends we have. Or maybe we think we don't need to be a friend; we already have friends.
But we of the church are called to be ‘‘perfect strangers," to welcome those we don't know and to continue to nurture those we do know. Why be perfect strangers? Because no one wants to stay a stranger forever. Everyone wants to belong. We can help make that experience possible.
Some of the words to the theme song of "Cheers" make more sense as a description of a church than of a neighborhood bar: "… where everybody knows your name, where everyone's glad you came" -- in other words, where no one is a stranger!
In our church and in our city strangers come every week. Some have crossed the border, some have crossed the Mason Dixon line, some have come from another country, another culture. Some will seem a threat to us, some will be delightful to us. Some will be different. Some will share our background and ideals. But if we follow our Christian calling and welcome them all, then we have the possibility of becoming one people and being strangers no more. Never again will we be nobodies. Never again will we be imperfect strangers. Never again will we be totally alone. We now share a common identity, a common citizenship, a high privilege together. 1 Peter can then be our motto and our song:
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God's own people, that you may declare the wonderful deeds of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were no people but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy but now you have received mercy (1 Peter 2:9-1O).
Now we are not strangers to God or to one another. We are God's people and sisters and brothers together. But strangers come to our door. Strangers still come to our church. Strangers still come to our neighborhood and city.
Pharaoh has his job and we have ours. What will we seek: protection from strangers or the strangers themselves? Do not even be surprised if the stranger you welcome has an accent that betrays him; I believe he's from Galilee.
Story number one sets the scene with one short verse: "Now there arose a new king over Egypt who did not know Joseph (Exodus 1:8)." Once the rulers of Egypt lost their memory of Joseph and the great things he had done for Egypt, they had little affection for the Hebrews. Indeed, they began to fear them. Ironically, they feared them because of their great numbers, which was part of God's promise to Abraham of numerous descendants.
Driven by fear, the Egyptians enslaved the Hebrews and made them work long and hard. But the Hebrews increased in number all the more. Finally, the Pharaoh took drastic steps to curtail these outsiders: He decreed that all of the male children of the Hebrews be thrown into the Nile. With such violence, our first story of suffering ends and the backdrop for our next story is lowered into place.
Our second story has a more joyous ending -- that of providence and mercy. But it begins as the other story ended -- with suffering and danger. In this story the babe Moses is placed in a basket, and set adrift on the Nile River in hopes of sparing his life. So it is that two strangers meet, the Pharaoh's daughter and a tiny Hebrew infant who wins her heart and engages her compassion. Though the daughter of Pharaoh knows this is a male Hebrew child, she arranges for his care. Moses is saved by the bell -- a b-e-l-l-e, that is. Moses' mother gains the unlikely position of being paid to nurse her own child.
In this second story, compassion and mercy have defeated self-interest and fear. The hard heart of the father is supplanted by the compassion of the daughter. Complete strangers become "perfect" strangers as mother and daughter. Instead of the tiny stranger being sentenced to suffering or death, he will be given a life of privilege in the Pharaoh's house.
These two stories have great relevance to us today. We can identify with many of the various aspects of the story. No matter how many friends we now have, no matter how socially secure we feel, we still have not forgotten what it feels like to be the stranger. Am I right?
Do you remember how you felt in a new school, a new neighborhood, a strange city, a foreign country? Do you remember how it feels to be a stranger before discovering that first friend or receiving that first act of human warmth or kindness?
I can tell you that the feeling of being included is a much better feeling than that of being a stranger! Surely you agree!
We all know the pain of being the stranger. But we also know how it feels to be the people of Egypt and to be threatened by the presence of strangers, especially when their numbers are great.
There are those in Texas who have fear that strangers from the south, the illegal aliens from Mexico, will create real problems for Texas: problems of education, taxes, crime, job markets and medical care. These are not imagined fears. They have grounding in situations we now are facing in our schools, hospitals, marketplace and neighborhood communities.
Like the Egyptians and their rulers, we may have concern for the impact of strangers in our midst. We do not have to be heartless to believe that their presence may prove costly to us. But sometimes these strangers have real faces. It is then that our hearts and our minds do not always agree. It is then that our prejudices and self-interests may be challenged.
Not long ago we used the services of a young Hispanic housekeeper named Patricia. She came to our home for several hours each Thursday. Not long after she began working for us she told me her story. Her recent life history becomes even more dramatic when one parallels it with the story of Moses.
Patricia came from Mexico. There her family was forced into hard labor. They were not slaves of a ruler; they simply were captive to a feeble economy and a very low standard of living. To escape the plight of their environment and to provide for the safety of their family, Patricia and her husband decided to hide in the "bulrushes" of the Rio Grande. They decided to seek safe harbor in the land of the United States. But in their first attempt, they failed. They were caught and sent back.
On their second attempt, Patricia was pregnant with their first child. She could not swim so she had to be pulled across the river on an inner tube. This time she and her husband made it to safety, or at least relative safety. For the next several years she and her family lived in constant fear of being discovered. Finally, they were granted amnesty and citizenship. Recently, Patricia received another level of new freedom and privilege -- a Texas driver's license!
One who once was stranger to us now is officially a part of us. Patricia may not be a native Texan but she is at least a native living in Texas. Unlike Moses she was not saved by an individual act of compassion. You might say it was Pharaoh himself who saved her -- "Uncle Sam" as we call him. It was our government who offered her an extended hand. She was formally adopted by our nation and our state. Now she has a chance for more than basic survival. Patricia did not fare as well as baby Moses. She was not taken to a palace but only given a greater chance to improve the living conditions of her family.
Like the Egyptians and their rulers in the biblical story, there are Americans and Texans who have fears and concerns about these "strangers" who cross our borders. And I concede that these fears have some substance to them. But for today I celebrate for this one who once was a stranger. I am glad for her. I am glad that the bulrushes were high enough and that my "Uncle Sam" was gracious enough. l am glad that Patricia and her family have found a new life across the border.
I realize that the issues concerning illegal aliens are very complex. I realize that strangers can and do pose an economic threat to people of a country or state. But I also know this personally: Patricia cannot be a stranger to me any longer. For her I want a good life. For her and her family I want a chance for survival. I observe her hard work. I sense her good character. I welcome her now as a friend.
The motives of the Pharaoh are understandable but they are not commendable. The concern of the Egyptians for their own well-being was legitimate but not at the expense of the Hebrews. The fear of the stranger, you see, may be based on real data, but the welcoming of the stranger is based on the true gospel.
As a Christian I am called to reject the action of the Pharaoh who acted out of self-interest and fear and to follow the example of Pharaoh's daughter who acted out of compassion for the stranger. I am not permitted to be an imperfect stranger. To the outsider I am asked to be a perfect stranger!
When I was in high school, a young student came from Germany to be a foreign exchange student in our high school. I did not know him or feel very comfortable around him at first. I invited him to a basketball game and to my house for a visit and we soon became friends. Why did I invite him? I think my parents suggested it -- but so did my religion and so did my conscience. I did not think it was fair for him to be a stranger among us and have no one to welcome him.
What a delight when, two summers ago, our whole family went as strangers to Germany. But we did not have to tour as complete strangers. A family outside of Nuremberg welcomed us warmly. They welcomed us into their own home, they fed us and entertained us. The stranger that I had welcomed 28 years before became the friend who welcomed me and my family to a foreign land!
Being the stranger is no fun at all! Becoming the friend of a stranger is often a delight! As Christians we are called to be "perfect strangers," people who welcome those who would stand alone without our support. And could it be that we are called to welcome even the stranger who lowers our economy or our standard of living -- even strangers who come in great numbers, even those who heighten our anxiety or fears?
Today we live among many strangers. And if you are like me, you are less in the habit of welcoming the stranger now than you once were. There was a time when I would not pass a moving van on my street without stopping. But now movers come and go and I not only fail to greet the new family moving in; at times I have failed to be acquainted with the family who is moving out.
How about you? Do you welcome the stranger? Do you watch along the shores of your River Nile for signs of endangered strangers, strangers with special needs? Do you welcome the visitor, invite into your home the neighbor, speak to the new resident on your block, ask the new associate at work to join you for church?
We are more than our neighbor's keeper. We are the welcoming committee for the stranger. We are the ones who are to help someone find a sense of belonging.
Maybe our problem is that we have gotten too busy or have become satisfied with the friends we have. Or maybe we think we don't need to be a friend; we already have friends.
But we of the church are called to be ‘‘perfect strangers," to welcome those we don't know and to continue to nurture those we do know. Why be perfect strangers? Because no one wants to stay a stranger forever. Everyone wants to belong. We can help make that experience possible.
Some of the words to the theme song of "Cheers" make more sense as a description of a church than of a neighborhood bar: "… where everybody knows your name, where everyone's glad you came" -- in other words, where no one is a stranger!
In our church and in our city strangers come every week. Some have crossed the border, some have crossed the Mason Dixon line, some have come from another country, another culture. Some will seem a threat to us, some will be delightful to us. Some will be different. Some will share our background and ideals. But if we follow our Christian calling and welcome them all, then we have the possibility of becoming one people and being strangers no more. Never again will we be nobodies. Never again will we be imperfect strangers. Never again will we be totally alone. We now share a common identity, a common citizenship, a high privilege together. 1 Peter can then be our motto and our song:
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God's own people, that you may declare the wonderful deeds of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were no people but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy but now you have received mercy (1 Peter 2:9-1O).
Now we are not strangers to God or to one another. We are God's people and sisters and brothers together. But strangers come to our door. Strangers still come to our church. Strangers still come to our neighborhood and city.
Pharaoh has his job and we have ours. What will we seek: protection from strangers or the strangers themselves? Do not even be surprised if the stranger you welcome has an accent that betrays him; I believe he's from Galilee.
