Proper 17/Pentecost 15/Ordinary Time 22
Preaching
Lectionary Preaching Workbook
Series VII, Cycle C
Object:
Theme For The Day
Our faith calls us to offer hospitality to others.
Old Testament Lesson
Jeremiah 2:4-13
Cracked Cisterns
This section of poetry is a litany of prophetic complaint against Israel. What fault, the Lord asks the people, did your ancestors find with me, that they "went after worthless things, and became worthless themselves?" (v. 5). The Lord led Israel out of Egypt, rescuing them from terrible perils, but after passing into the promised land the people swiftly forgot their God (vv. 6-8). "I accuse you, says the Lord, and I accuse your children's children" (v. 9). Has there ever been such a thing -- a nation that changed their gods (vv. 10-11)? The people have committed two great offenses, says the Lord: "They have forsaken me, the fountain of living water, and dug out cisterns for themselves, cracked cisterns that can hold no water" (v. 13). The image of cracked cisterns is a homiletically potent one. It is the very picture of futility, and can speak even to modern listeners who find their lives' energies dispersed and lacking spiritual focus.
New Testament Lesson
Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16
Closing Ethical Instructions
In these closing instructions, the author of Hebrews offers miscellaneous pieces of advice for faithful living, that could provide the basis for many sermons. "Let mutual love (philadelphia) continue" (v. 1) -- before the days of gender-inclusive language, this would have read "brotherly love," based on a compound of the two Greek words phileo (love) and adelphos (brother) -- a sermon on life together in community. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it" (v. 2). This is an allusion to the story of Abraham entertaining the angels by the oaks of Mamre (Genesis 18) -- a sermon on hospitality. "Let marriage be held in honor by all ..." (v. 4) -- a sermon on marriage. Keep your lives free from the love of money, and be content with what you have; for he has said, "I will never leave you or forsake you" (v. 5) -- a stewardship sermon, addressing pastoral issues of fear related to debt. "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever" (v. 8), so do not be distracted by false teachings -- a sermon on the essentials of the faith.
The Gospel
Luke 14:1, 7-14
Those Who Humble Themselves Will Be Exalted
The lectionary borrows verse 1 from another episode, to provide the context for verses 7-14, Jesus' teachings about humility. Jesus is eating a meal in the home of a Pharisee, when he is led to comment on the seating chart for the occasion. The guests are competing for "places of honor" (v. 7). Jesus advises his listeners to do just the opposite: to head straight for the least-regarded place in the room. If, then, the host should invite you to move up, that is all the better. "For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted" (v. 11). Speaking, then, to his distinguished host, Jesus encourages him to invite, to his next dinner party, not his family members and good friends, but "the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind" (v. 13). There is no self-interest in such an invitation, Jesus points out, because such people are unable to return the favor (v. 14). The ethics of God's reign are precisely the inverse of the ethics of the world. Humility and selfless hospitality are God's way.
Preaching Possibilities
"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers," the author of Hebrews advises, "for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it" (13:2). This verse is but one out of a long list of ethical instructions that close out the letter. To understand its full meaning, we need to know something about attitudes toward strangers in Bible times.
To many of us, strangers are the object of suspicion. What was the lesson our parents drummed into our heads, from early on? "Never talk to strangers!" That's a wise, practical lesson to teach children in this uncertain world, but it's also the kind of message that can reverberate inside our heads well into adulthood. It's like the radio jingle we'd love to forget, but can't.
We protect our homes with dogs and deadbolt locks, post our roads with "No Hitchhiking" signs, and bar the way into our offices with receptionists' desks. Passing someone on a city sidewalk, most of us avoid making eye contact (it's a basic survival tactic). And if the person coming toward us looks a little different -- someone who's from another race, or wears different clothes, or speaks another language -- a cold stab of fear may enter our heart.
That's not the way it was in the ancient near East. Strangers were considered sources of blessing, not fear. Far from avoiding strangers, these cultures accorded them special privileges: most notably, hospitality. To turn a stranger away from your door was considered the depth of villainy.
To these societies, a stranger is more than merely someone we haven't met. A stranger just may be a messenger from God, an angel. That's what the Greek word, aggelos, or "angel," literally means: messenger. A stranger on the doorstep brings a blessing, for out of the sojourner's mouth may come divine words. An old Polish proverb puts it succinctly: "A guest in the house is God in the house."
It's possible that the author of Hebrews has in mind a familiar Old Testament story: Abraham's encounter with three uncommon "strangers" by the oaks of Mamre....
Abraham looks out from his tent and sees three strangers standing off at a distance. He rushes out to greet them, begging for the privilege of washing their feet and serving them food. The strangers don't object, so Abraham serves them -- and more than that, he orders his finest calf killed, and lays on a feast.
It is only after the feast that the strangers deliver remarkable news that Abraham's wife, Sarah, advanced in age though she is, will bear a son. That son, Isaac, is the means by which God will maintain covenant with Israel. So Abraham's encounter with the three "strangers" is incredibly important, for the entire nation. It is no accident that right at the center of this pivotal event is a gracious act of hospitality.
There is a strong connection, in these ancient cultures, between strangers and God. When strangers walk into your life, they bring surprises: intriguing possibilities of an encounter with the divine. You never know what lessons strangers may teach about matters weighty and eternal. So it is wise to honor them, to greet visitors with the utmost respect and with all the hospitality of your home.
To the ancient Greeks, it was rude even to ask a stranger's name until after the meal had been completed. That way, the hospitality remained pure, honest, and from the heart: free of any selfish desire to impress.
Our modern ideal of hospitality is poverty-stricken, compared to these ancient cultures. Today we have a "hospitality industry" -- hotel/motel chains, rental car agencies, fast-food restaurants -- all calculated to provide the greatest efficiency and comfort to the business traveler. But we have little real hospitality.
At the end of each journey, for a hospitality-industry consumer, is an air-conditioned room, tasteful but unassuming in decorations, looking for all the world like any other motel room from San Diego to Boston. Behind its double-locked door (complete with peep-hole, for security), this room offers splendid isolation from any stranger who might interrupt your privacy. Yes, hospitality has become an industry -- yet, in becoming such, it has long since ceased to reflect the biblical ideal. (Can you imagine the Apostle Paul checking into the Holiday Inn/Philippi, American Express card in hand?)
At the very center of an act of hospitality is an encounter between people. It is precisely this sort of one-of-a-kind human interaction that the hospitality industry seeks to minimize. A turned-down bed and a mint on the pillow are wonderful things, but they are no substitute for a heart-to-heart with a friend, over a cup of coffee.
We do well to cultivate more of these hospitable encounters in life. So much of our culture conspires to prevent us from truly meeting our neighbors, from knowing each other's souls. Maybe life was simpler back in biblical days; or maybe the people of that era simply had a stronger sense of how faith pervades all of life.
Let us not neglect to show hospitality to strangers.
Prayer For The Day
Loving God, your Son, Jesus, said
your coming reign is like a banquet:
a festive gathering for all people
of every race and color,
of every origin and condition.
It is a table at which the lonely find company,
the hungry savor rich food
and strangers receive a welcome.
Teach us, Lord, the gentle art of hospitality.
Give us a spirit of joyful welcome
and the sensitivity to let others know they belong.
May we learn to welcome others
as you have welcomed us.
Amen.
To Illustrate
Pastoral theologian, Henri Nouwen, has some wonderful things to say about hospitality, but one of the most profound is a simple observation based on his native language. The Dutch word for hospitality, he explains, literally means "freedom for the guest." It is as though hosts are about the business of creating space, space for their guests to be themselves in their own unique ways. Hospitality, Nouwen goes on to say, "means primarily the creation of a free space where the stranger can enter and become a friend instead of an enemy. Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place ... It is not an educated intimidation with good books, good stories and good works, but the liberation of fearful hearts so that words can find roots and bear ample fruit ... The paradox of hospitality is that it wants to create emptiness, not a fearful emptiness, but a friendly emptiness where strangers can enter and discover themselves as created free; free to sing their own songs, speak their own languages, dance their own dances; free also to leave and follow their own vocations."
***
Parenting is a kind of hospitality. For years our children live under our roof, but in the end they are guests in our houses -- strangers who will depart one day, to make their own way in the world. To be a parent is to create a fertile, empty space where children can mature, and discover who they really are. If we treat our children, instead, as some kind of extension of ourselves -- rather than as divine guests, sent by God -- they may never discover that freedom.
***
Garrison Keillor has a marvelous radio monologue, reflecting back on his school days in Minnesota, recalling how the school principal assigned each farm child a "storm home" in town for the winter months. In case a blizzard came up while school was in session, the children would be sent to their storm homes to stay the night.
The day he received the slip of the paper with the name of his "storm home" family -- a family he'd never met -- Keillor walked over to the house to have a look at it.
It looked like the home of the kindly old couple that the children lost in the forest suddenly come upon in the clearing and know they are lucky to be in a story with a happy ending. That was how I felt about the Kloeckls ... though my family might have wondered about my assignment to a Catholic home, had they known. We were suspicious of Catholics, enough to wonder if the Pope had ordered them to take in little Protestant children during blizzards and make them say the rosary for their suppers. But I imagined the Kloeckls had personally chosen me as their storm child because they liked me. "Him!" they had told Mr. Detman [the principal]. "In the event of a blizzard, we want that boy! The skinny one with the thick glasses!"
No blizzard came during school hours that year, all the snowstorms were convenient evening or weekend ones, and I never got to stay with the Kloeckls, but they were always in my thoughts and they grew large in my imagination. My Storm Home. Blizzards aren't the only storms and not the worst by any means. I could imagine worse things. If the worst should come, I could go to the Kloeckls and knock on their door. "Hello," I'd say. "I'm your storm child."
"Oh, I know," she'd say. "I was wondering when you'd come. Oh, it's good to see you. How would you like a hot chocolate and an oatmeal cookie?"
We'd sit at the table. "Looks like this storm is going to last a while."
"Yes."
"Terrible storm. They say it's going to get worse before it stops. I just pray for anyone who's out in this."
"Yes."
"But we're so glad to have you. I can't tell you. Carl! Come down and see who's here!"
"Is it the storm child?"
"Yes! Himself, in the flesh!"
A story like this speaks to our souls -- because there's a little part of us that wishes we had a storm home, a place where hospitality is gracefully offered, and gratefully received.
***
Fred Craddock tells a little parable about his first church, in eastern Tennessee. When the federal government's research facility at nearby Oak Ridge entered into a period of growth, Craddock urged the people of this little 112-year-old church to call on the newcomers, to invite them to church. "They wouldn't fit in here," was the reply.
Eventually, the conflict came to a head. Someone moved at a meeting that no one be admitted to membership in that church unless they owned property in the county. The motion passed overwhelmingly.
Years later, the Craddocks moved back to that area, and drove by the old church. They were surprised to see that the parking lot was filled to overflowing. Then they saw a large sign out front: "BARBECUE -- ALL YOU CAN EAT!"
The church was no longer a church. It had become a restaurant.
The Craddocks went inside. Several of the old pews were over against a wall. Electric lights had been installed. The old organ had been pushed into a corner. And sitting around all the plastic and aluminum restaurant tables were all kinds of people. In Craddock's words, they were "Parthians and Medes and Edomites and residents of Mesopotamia, all kinds of people. I said to Nettie, 'It's a good thing this place is not still a church, otherwise all these people couldn't be in here.' "
***
Jim Wallis tells of Washington, D.C.'s Sojourners Community tells of Mary Glover, who helps them run a soup kitchen for the needy. Each day, before the doors open, the workers gather round for a prayer led by Mary. "She prays as if she knows the person with whom she's talking," says Wallis, and this is what she prays: "Lord, we know you'll be coming through this line today. So help us to treat you well."
Our faith calls us to offer hospitality to others.
Old Testament Lesson
Jeremiah 2:4-13
Cracked Cisterns
This section of poetry is a litany of prophetic complaint against Israel. What fault, the Lord asks the people, did your ancestors find with me, that they "went after worthless things, and became worthless themselves?" (v. 5). The Lord led Israel out of Egypt, rescuing them from terrible perils, but after passing into the promised land the people swiftly forgot their God (vv. 6-8). "I accuse you, says the Lord, and I accuse your children's children" (v. 9). Has there ever been such a thing -- a nation that changed their gods (vv. 10-11)? The people have committed two great offenses, says the Lord: "They have forsaken me, the fountain of living water, and dug out cisterns for themselves, cracked cisterns that can hold no water" (v. 13). The image of cracked cisterns is a homiletically potent one. It is the very picture of futility, and can speak even to modern listeners who find their lives' energies dispersed and lacking spiritual focus.
New Testament Lesson
Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16
Closing Ethical Instructions
In these closing instructions, the author of Hebrews offers miscellaneous pieces of advice for faithful living, that could provide the basis for many sermons. "Let mutual love (philadelphia) continue" (v. 1) -- before the days of gender-inclusive language, this would have read "brotherly love," based on a compound of the two Greek words phileo (love) and adelphos (brother) -- a sermon on life together in community. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it" (v. 2). This is an allusion to the story of Abraham entertaining the angels by the oaks of Mamre (Genesis 18) -- a sermon on hospitality. "Let marriage be held in honor by all ..." (v. 4) -- a sermon on marriage. Keep your lives free from the love of money, and be content with what you have; for he has said, "I will never leave you or forsake you" (v. 5) -- a stewardship sermon, addressing pastoral issues of fear related to debt. "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever" (v. 8), so do not be distracted by false teachings -- a sermon on the essentials of the faith.
The Gospel
Luke 14:1, 7-14
Those Who Humble Themselves Will Be Exalted
The lectionary borrows verse 1 from another episode, to provide the context for verses 7-14, Jesus' teachings about humility. Jesus is eating a meal in the home of a Pharisee, when he is led to comment on the seating chart for the occasion. The guests are competing for "places of honor" (v. 7). Jesus advises his listeners to do just the opposite: to head straight for the least-regarded place in the room. If, then, the host should invite you to move up, that is all the better. "For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted" (v. 11). Speaking, then, to his distinguished host, Jesus encourages him to invite, to his next dinner party, not his family members and good friends, but "the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind" (v. 13). There is no self-interest in such an invitation, Jesus points out, because such people are unable to return the favor (v. 14). The ethics of God's reign are precisely the inverse of the ethics of the world. Humility and selfless hospitality are God's way.
Preaching Possibilities
"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers," the author of Hebrews advises, "for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it" (13:2). This verse is but one out of a long list of ethical instructions that close out the letter. To understand its full meaning, we need to know something about attitudes toward strangers in Bible times.
To many of us, strangers are the object of suspicion. What was the lesson our parents drummed into our heads, from early on? "Never talk to strangers!" That's a wise, practical lesson to teach children in this uncertain world, but it's also the kind of message that can reverberate inside our heads well into adulthood. It's like the radio jingle we'd love to forget, but can't.
We protect our homes with dogs and deadbolt locks, post our roads with "No Hitchhiking" signs, and bar the way into our offices with receptionists' desks. Passing someone on a city sidewalk, most of us avoid making eye contact (it's a basic survival tactic). And if the person coming toward us looks a little different -- someone who's from another race, or wears different clothes, or speaks another language -- a cold stab of fear may enter our heart.
That's not the way it was in the ancient near East. Strangers were considered sources of blessing, not fear. Far from avoiding strangers, these cultures accorded them special privileges: most notably, hospitality. To turn a stranger away from your door was considered the depth of villainy.
To these societies, a stranger is more than merely someone we haven't met. A stranger just may be a messenger from God, an angel. That's what the Greek word, aggelos, or "angel," literally means: messenger. A stranger on the doorstep brings a blessing, for out of the sojourner's mouth may come divine words. An old Polish proverb puts it succinctly: "A guest in the house is God in the house."
It's possible that the author of Hebrews has in mind a familiar Old Testament story: Abraham's encounter with three uncommon "strangers" by the oaks of Mamre....
Abraham looks out from his tent and sees three strangers standing off at a distance. He rushes out to greet them, begging for the privilege of washing their feet and serving them food. The strangers don't object, so Abraham serves them -- and more than that, he orders his finest calf killed, and lays on a feast.
It is only after the feast that the strangers deliver remarkable news that Abraham's wife, Sarah, advanced in age though she is, will bear a son. That son, Isaac, is the means by which God will maintain covenant with Israel. So Abraham's encounter with the three "strangers" is incredibly important, for the entire nation. It is no accident that right at the center of this pivotal event is a gracious act of hospitality.
There is a strong connection, in these ancient cultures, between strangers and God. When strangers walk into your life, they bring surprises: intriguing possibilities of an encounter with the divine. You never know what lessons strangers may teach about matters weighty and eternal. So it is wise to honor them, to greet visitors with the utmost respect and with all the hospitality of your home.
To the ancient Greeks, it was rude even to ask a stranger's name until after the meal had been completed. That way, the hospitality remained pure, honest, and from the heart: free of any selfish desire to impress.
Our modern ideal of hospitality is poverty-stricken, compared to these ancient cultures. Today we have a "hospitality industry" -- hotel/motel chains, rental car agencies, fast-food restaurants -- all calculated to provide the greatest efficiency and comfort to the business traveler. But we have little real hospitality.
At the end of each journey, for a hospitality-industry consumer, is an air-conditioned room, tasteful but unassuming in decorations, looking for all the world like any other motel room from San Diego to Boston. Behind its double-locked door (complete with peep-hole, for security), this room offers splendid isolation from any stranger who might interrupt your privacy. Yes, hospitality has become an industry -- yet, in becoming such, it has long since ceased to reflect the biblical ideal. (Can you imagine the Apostle Paul checking into the Holiday Inn/Philippi, American Express card in hand?)
At the very center of an act of hospitality is an encounter between people. It is precisely this sort of one-of-a-kind human interaction that the hospitality industry seeks to minimize. A turned-down bed and a mint on the pillow are wonderful things, but they are no substitute for a heart-to-heart with a friend, over a cup of coffee.
We do well to cultivate more of these hospitable encounters in life. So much of our culture conspires to prevent us from truly meeting our neighbors, from knowing each other's souls. Maybe life was simpler back in biblical days; or maybe the people of that era simply had a stronger sense of how faith pervades all of life.
Let us not neglect to show hospitality to strangers.
Prayer For The Day
Loving God, your Son, Jesus, said
your coming reign is like a banquet:
a festive gathering for all people
of every race and color,
of every origin and condition.
It is a table at which the lonely find company,
the hungry savor rich food
and strangers receive a welcome.
Teach us, Lord, the gentle art of hospitality.
Give us a spirit of joyful welcome
and the sensitivity to let others know they belong.
May we learn to welcome others
as you have welcomed us.
Amen.
To Illustrate
Pastoral theologian, Henri Nouwen, has some wonderful things to say about hospitality, but one of the most profound is a simple observation based on his native language. The Dutch word for hospitality, he explains, literally means "freedom for the guest." It is as though hosts are about the business of creating space, space for their guests to be themselves in their own unique ways. Hospitality, Nouwen goes on to say, "means primarily the creation of a free space where the stranger can enter and become a friend instead of an enemy. Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place ... It is not an educated intimidation with good books, good stories and good works, but the liberation of fearful hearts so that words can find roots and bear ample fruit ... The paradox of hospitality is that it wants to create emptiness, not a fearful emptiness, but a friendly emptiness where strangers can enter and discover themselves as created free; free to sing their own songs, speak their own languages, dance their own dances; free also to leave and follow their own vocations."
***
Parenting is a kind of hospitality. For years our children live under our roof, but in the end they are guests in our houses -- strangers who will depart one day, to make their own way in the world. To be a parent is to create a fertile, empty space where children can mature, and discover who they really are. If we treat our children, instead, as some kind of extension of ourselves -- rather than as divine guests, sent by God -- they may never discover that freedom.
***
Garrison Keillor has a marvelous radio monologue, reflecting back on his school days in Minnesota, recalling how the school principal assigned each farm child a "storm home" in town for the winter months. In case a blizzard came up while school was in session, the children would be sent to their storm homes to stay the night.
The day he received the slip of the paper with the name of his "storm home" family -- a family he'd never met -- Keillor walked over to the house to have a look at it.
It looked like the home of the kindly old couple that the children lost in the forest suddenly come upon in the clearing and know they are lucky to be in a story with a happy ending. That was how I felt about the Kloeckls ... though my family might have wondered about my assignment to a Catholic home, had they known. We were suspicious of Catholics, enough to wonder if the Pope had ordered them to take in little Protestant children during blizzards and make them say the rosary for their suppers. But I imagined the Kloeckls had personally chosen me as their storm child because they liked me. "Him!" they had told Mr. Detman [the principal]. "In the event of a blizzard, we want that boy! The skinny one with the thick glasses!"
No blizzard came during school hours that year, all the snowstorms were convenient evening or weekend ones, and I never got to stay with the Kloeckls, but they were always in my thoughts and they grew large in my imagination. My Storm Home. Blizzards aren't the only storms and not the worst by any means. I could imagine worse things. If the worst should come, I could go to the Kloeckls and knock on their door. "Hello," I'd say. "I'm your storm child."
"Oh, I know," she'd say. "I was wondering when you'd come. Oh, it's good to see you. How would you like a hot chocolate and an oatmeal cookie?"
We'd sit at the table. "Looks like this storm is going to last a while."
"Yes."
"Terrible storm. They say it's going to get worse before it stops. I just pray for anyone who's out in this."
"Yes."
"But we're so glad to have you. I can't tell you. Carl! Come down and see who's here!"
"Is it the storm child?"
"Yes! Himself, in the flesh!"
A story like this speaks to our souls -- because there's a little part of us that wishes we had a storm home, a place where hospitality is gracefully offered, and gratefully received.
***
Fred Craddock tells a little parable about his first church, in eastern Tennessee. When the federal government's research facility at nearby Oak Ridge entered into a period of growth, Craddock urged the people of this little 112-year-old church to call on the newcomers, to invite them to church. "They wouldn't fit in here," was the reply.
Eventually, the conflict came to a head. Someone moved at a meeting that no one be admitted to membership in that church unless they owned property in the county. The motion passed overwhelmingly.
Years later, the Craddocks moved back to that area, and drove by the old church. They were surprised to see that the parking lot was filled to overflowing. Then they saw a large sign out front: "BARBECUE -- ALL YOU CAN EAT!"
The church was no longer a church. It had become a restaurant.
The Craddocks went inside. Several of the old pews were over against a wall. Electric lights had been installed. The old organ had been pushed into a corner. And sitting around all the plastic and aluminum restaurant tables were all kinds of people. In Craddock's words, they were "Parthians and Medes and Edomites and residents of Mesopotamia, all kinds of people. I said to Nettie, 'It's a good thing this place is not still a church, otherwise all these people couldn't be in here.' "
***
Jim Wallis tells of Washington, D.C.'s Sojourners Community tells of Mary Glover, who helps them run a soup kitchen for the needy. Each day, before the doors open, the workers gather round for a prayer led by Mary. "She prays as if she knows the person with whom she's talking," says Wallis, and this is what she prays: "Lord, we know you'll be coming through this line today. So help us to treat you well."
