The effusive Cindy and her abundantly bearded Austrian husband Adrian, run the Summerhill Guest House on a wee Island off the coast of Scotland, that, for the present, need not be named. The woman of the house soliloquizes, seemingly without the aid of oxygen, using interminable sentences, that, if recorded on paper, would require the use of a multitude of commas and maybe even some semicolons in an effort to keep all the dependent clauses in check. This verbal meandering, though, is not in the least tiresome. Springing forth from a mind that is nimble, if a tad indecisive – her monologue is nothing if it is not charming. Standing at the base of the stairs in a sky blue house shirt that struggles to contain her matronly benevolence, she manages, in a matter of a few short minutes, to give us the rules of the house and half of her life story into the bargain.
To use the colloquial, let us say that she is blessed aplenty with what they call “the gift of the gab.”
On at least two occasions, during our stay the inexhaustible Cindy admitted, with an indulgent smile (that was blessedly free of resentment), that the idea of launching the guest house business had been her beloved husband’s notion, but, quote “I do most of the work.” Adrian himself made a memorable cameo appearance at the outset of our stay, barreling down the stairs with an immense smile, delightful in its unbridled good humor. He was not a young man. His extremely impressive waist-length snow white beard conspired perfectly with his natural affability to create an impression of benign eccentricity that would have been enough to permanently etch him in our memories… but there was more! To top it all off, the old man was wearing a garish Judas Priest t-shirt! Now it is my sincere hope that good Churchgoer’s like yourselves have no idea what I am talking about when I refer to Judas Priest. Suffice it to say that they were, and I suppose still are, among the more successful headbanger Heavy Metal Rock bands, who distinguish themselves by gleefully abandoning all subtlety and diving headlong into a defiant brand of macho violence and apocalyptic mayhem. The t-shirt that Adrian wore was an apt expression of this dastardly world view. It featured a flesh eating zombie that skewered the unsuspecting passerby with its bulging bloodshot eyes. It crouched there, on Adrian’s chest as if its one ambition was to pounce forth from the t-shirt and tear your throat out.
This was the Austrian septuagenarian – this vision of incongruity – that met us at the base of the stairs, and, as his benevolent wife looked indulgently on, vigorously pumped our hands, hailed us like we were long lost friends, and promptly… and utterly… disappeared.
**
I am willing to bet that, here and there across the globe, there are a goodly number of churches, this morning, that have the same sermon title inscribed in their bulletins as we do. When the compilers of the Revised Common Lectionary, in all their wisdom, decide which Bible verses should be preached about, put this morning’s verses on the same Sunday, they surely meant for us to exercise our collective hearts and minds on the notion of hospitality. How could it be otherwise? The two stories that Liesie just read for us – one from the 18th chapter of the book of Genesis, and the other from the 10th chapter of the Gospel of Luke, are stories that involve guests arriving, and hosts offering hospitality.
Hospitality, it turns out, is a very religious idea.
Dante Alighieri, the 13th century Italian poet who wrote the Divine Comedy, reserved the deepest and harshest region of hell for the bad people who betray their guests. Here, in the third ring of the ninth circle of hell, a region made ice-cold by the wind created by the flapping of Satan’s wings, Dante encounters Fra Alberigo. What had this poor soul done to deserve such a fate? In life, it is said, Alberigo and his brother Manfred argued over which of them should assume the Lordship of the city of Faenza. In the course of the dispute, Manfred struck his brother Alberigo. Sometime later, faking reconciliation, Alberigo invited Manfred and his son to dine. When dinner was over, Alberigo said the words “Bring in the fruit” – and at this cue, a group of assassins leapt from the draperies and slew the guests in their seats.
To kill someone is bad. But Alberigo’s fate is not so much a result of the murder (there are plenty of murderers in Dante’s inferno) as much as how his crime violates the rules of hospitality.
So what’s the big deal about hospitality? Why do two Bible stories emphasize its importance? Why does Dante reserve the worst place in hell for the person who violates its conventions?
To answer this question, let’s begin by talking about home.
To offer hospitality to someone is to lead that person to believe that, for the duration of their visit, they can pretend that they are home.
Home, by definition at least, is a place that offers a temporary reprieve from human suffering. This is why we have romantic images of dogs curled up by the fireside and families gathered around an evening meal.
To be home is to be safe.
To cause another to feel unsafe in their own home (as victims of domestic violence are) is the kind of violation worthy of the worst rung of hell because the victim’s suffering is effectively doubled. Not only are they in pain – they are also burdened with the knowledge that they have no place where they can go to escape that pain. For the person who is unsafe at home, safety itself is unattainable.
So, when a host or hostess welcomes a guest by saying “make yourself at home” they make a divine offer. Their offer is the same offer that God makes – the offer of a reprieve from suffering. The host, in effect, says to the guest: “you are safe here”.
**
As delightful as Cindy and the astonishing Adrian were, to suggest that these two represented the full share of entertainment present to captivate the unwitting guest at the Summerhill Guest House, would do that institution a grave injustice. If you can believe it… there were two others under that roof who made an equally meaningful impression.
Tiny was in Cindy’s arms when she first opened the door. The fact that I have already narrated this scene without introducing this creature’s inestimable contributions, was an act of restraint, let me tell you. No sooner did Cindy open the door, than the tiny creature leapt from its perch atop its matron’s benevolence, and commenced the unrestrained aerial performance of leaping at Cary’s shins.
“Oh, Tiny!” cried the Matron, feigning a huff.
“Oh Tiny!” said Cary, scooping it up with an unfeigned paroxysm of delight.
“Oh Tiny!” says I, unable to resist the general theme.
Tiny, we soon learned, was so named by a grandchild who, frustrated with adults who were trying to brainstorm a name for the new Yorkshire Terrier pup that meant “tiny” suggested “Lets call her Tiny.” We also learned that Tiny was the runt of the litter and was tiny, even by Yorkshire Terrier standards (which made her little more than a handful); that she came from somewhere in the English midlands; that they’d had one before and sworn off them, but had been unable to resist…
Neither could we.
As Cindy expatiated, Tiny was busy giving Cary’s face a bath.
Tiny was Tiny!
She was also, objectively speaking (and I say this without fear of contradiction from any zoologist, psychologist, or theologian)… she was, objectively speaking, I say, the cutest thing that has ever lived on this planet. I finally got her in my clutches, and for a moment or two enjoyed the little creatures’ miniature kisses, when, out of the adjacent living room, another dog walked slowly in.
**
As I have already said, the two Bible stories that Leisie read for us earlier, both involve guests coming to stay, and hosts responding by offering hospitality.
This is something that all have us have done.
We have all been guests.
We have all been hosts.
So, in this sense, we understand the stories. We can place ourselves within the frame of these stories, and we can say – I would do the same if I were Abraham in the first story… or, I would be like Mary, or, I might end up being like Martha in the second story.
There is one thing though — one thing about both of these stories that is a little different from anything you or I have experienced.
In both of these stories, it appears that the guest is divine. The guest is God.
How would you act if God came and knocked on your door? That is the question that is being answered by these stories.
Interestingly, unless I am mistaken, it seems to me that they give quite different answers.
In the story from the 18th Chapter of Genesis, we zoom in on Abraham, who is camped beside the Oaks of Mamre. The text does not give us any description of this place, except that there are trees there, and that we find Abraham sitting “at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day.”
Along come three men.
We don’t know anything about these three men. Does Abraham? It’s not clear. They may be strangers. Or he may know who they are… The text does not say. But the text does report how Abraham reacts to their appearance:
When he saw them, Abraham ran from the tent entrance to meet them and bowed down to the ground.
He said, “My lord, if I find favor with you, do not pass by your servant. Let a little water be brought, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree. Let me bring a little bread, that you may refresh yourselves, and after that you may pass on–since you have come to your servant.”
Abraham could have hid behind the tent door let the men walk by. That would have been an easier and less expensive course of action.
He could have called the Immigration and Customs Enforcement hotline and reported them.
He did not do that either.
Abraham did not act to protect himself from the men. He acted to protect the men from the world. He bowed before them. He placed himself at their service. He offered them shade to rest in, water to wash their feet, and good food to eat.
He gave them safety.
With his actions, he said “make yourself at home.”
With his actions, he said “you are safe here.”
With his actions, he did what God does – he gave them a reprieve from their suffering.
**
In walked Galya. If you could call it walking. It was more like she floated in.
If Tiny was the essence of tiny, Galya (which we later learned was short for “Galinka” – which means “serene, or calm” in Russian) Galya, I say, was the essence of long.
Galya was a Scottish Deerhound. Standing on her four legs, the top of her back was above my navel. She was narrow and stretched out, and her wise eyes looked out from a long, sorrowful face.
Tiny leapt from my arms and began her perpetual motion leaping routine at Galya’s shins, but the larger dog didn’t appear to notice. She sidled up, as if she owned everyone in the room, and leaned up against my hip.
“Oh my!” says I.
Galya was not cute, like Tiny. She was dignified. You could hang jewels instead of a collar around her neck, and they would not seem out of place. That said, she was not haughty in the least. She was calm. I had the powerful feeling that if I spent enough time in this creature’s presence, I might spontaneously achieve nirvana.
If it was possible to be more taken with a dog, than I was with Tiny, it might only be possible in the presence of Galya. She was like a sunset, or the quiet after a rainstorm. She was peacefulness on four legs.
O my!
**
In the passage from the 8th chapter of Luke hospitality teaches us something about God.
The story is a familiar one, but it is a little surprising too.
Jesus comes to stay.
Martha runs around doing all the work. She wants to make the place nice, the food good, the bed comfortable. She is like Abraham – the consummate host.
But she is miffed at Mary, who, though she is also, technically a playing the host, is not lifting a finger to help.
Jesus… says, Martha, could you ask Mary to give me a little help.
Martha, says Jesus. Don’t worry so much. Relax.
Jesus gives Martha a clue about hospitality.
The best way to be a host, is not to have the finest food and the most comfortable bed.
That’s all nice, but its not the most important thing.
What is most important thing that God wants from you, when God comes to stay?
Ask Cindy, and Adrian, and Tiny and Galya… maybe they can help to answer.
The most important thing that God wants from you, when God comes to your house… is for you to be yourself.
Welcome to my world, God says…
Make yourself at home.
Amen.