After dinner I took a walk in the neighborhood. Anticipating the heat of the early evening, I took a bottle of chilled water for the evening stroll. Crossing in front of the church I found an elderly man sitting on the steps. He had taken his shirt off and was sweating profusely. I stopped to ask him if he was all right and all he said was, “No.” So began an interesting conversation, and so ended my evening walk.
Boarding on dehydration, Billy consumed the bottle of water I offered him. Looking up at me, he said: “I’m sorry I didn’t save any water for you.” Sitting down next to him, we talked for an hour about how many people had passed by the church and never said a word to him. He was not angry, but just sad about the lack of engagement. He was not asking for money, but he was lost and was not sure how to get home.
Fortunately, he had the phone number of his daughter, and I called her on my cell phone. Clearly worried about her dad and his memory loss, she would come and pick him up. Helping him into his daughter’s car, he shook my hand and said to his daughter: “Mary Catherine, this man gave me his last drop of water. Wasn’t that a wonderful thing to do? If we ever need any water, this is the place to come.” Taking her father’s hand, Marry Catherine said: “Dad, sometimes God puts strangers in our lives to help us find our way home.”
The readings for the Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time define hospitality as welcoming the stranger. In the book of Genesis (18:1-10), Abraham greets three strangers in the desert and welcomes them into his tent. Understanding the requirements of hospitality, he commands his servants and wife:
“Make ready quickly three measures of choice flour, knead it and make cakes. Take a calf, tender and good and prepare it. Serve it with curds and milk and set all before the strangers and let them eat.”
I am reminded of the old song, “If I knew you were coming, I would have baked a cake.” However, the presence of the stranger comes at unexpected times, and we have to do with what we have available. In this story, there is an unexpected blessing attached. One of the strangers told Abraham that because of his hospitality, “I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah will have a son.” Sarah, at age ninety, overhearing the prediction, laughs in disbelief. Sarah’s laughter would foreshadow the birth of her son Isaac whose name in Hebrew means, “He who laughs.”
Indeed, nothing is impossible for God.
The gospel reading from Luke (10:38-42) offers some interesting perspectives on the meaning of hospitality. Jesus and his disciples dropped by the house of Mary and Martha unannounced but were received with the traditional hospitality of the times. Jesus, a friend of Mary and Martha and their brother Lazarus (John 11:1-44), felt comfortable in their presence and was no stranger in their home. Jesus seemed to manage their “sibling rivalry” with a sense of detachment and found a way to normalize their different perspectives of hospitality with ease. Martha, distracted by her many tasks in preparing the meal for Jesus and his disciples, complained to Jesus:
“Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”
Much to Martha’s chagrin, Jesus refuses her request and initiates an insight into discipleship:
“Martha, Martha you are worried and distracted by many things, there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken from her.”
Jesus is not taking sides but illustrates that the call to discipleship is first found in sitting at the feet of Jesus. Guarding against the distractions of “excessive preparations” for hospitality, Jesus instructs Martha that listening and preparing are both a part of discipleship. While agreeing that “Mary has chosen the better part,” Jesus does not dismiss Martha’s demanding work as an essential component of discipleship. Jesus offers both Mary and Martha the gift of his presence, receiving their hospitality with thanks and offering them both a blessing.
The danger in ministry occurs when one is too busy to be thankful for the gift of silence. However, getting lost in thought and contemplation should not be taken as an excuse for being inhospitable. Mary might have chosen the better part in the discipleship equation, but without Martha everyone would go away hungry.
Entering a Dairy Queen (DQ) to escape the blistering heat and, of course, to get a small cone I was welcomed by an employee who seemed genuinely interested in my needs. Not only did I get a cone, but an unsolicited large glass of ice-water was brought to my table. An elderly woman sitting near me said: “Boy, this is great. The waitress brought me a glass of water, too.” Looking at my clerical outfit she said, Father, wouldn’t it be nice if the Church was like a DQ? You could get something sweet to eat, cool off and enjoy unexpected hospitality.”
In the course of our ordinary time on earth we are given the extraordinary opportunities to discover persons who help us to better understand ourselves and our relationship with God. Whether it is the three strangers who approached Abraham’s tent, a man sitting on church steps, a lady in a Dairy Queen or Jesus visiting his friends, the invitation of God to be manifested in “the stranger” is at the heart of hospitality. Welcoming the stranger, our neighbor, and offering hospitality is the very essence of faith. We need the combined wisdom and work ethic of both Martha and Mary.
Every day I am thankful for the gift of life and the strangers God has put in my life to help me better understand myself. One of the encounters I cherish was meeting Mother (Saint) Teresa in Calcutta, India, who welcomed me as a stranger. After sharing tea and conversation, she commented to me: “I am delighted that God sent you to me. Remember, wherever you go, promise me that you will find your own Calcutta.”
Indeed, there are no strangers in the providential plan of God.
Peace, Fr. Joe Gillespie, O.P.