Hospitality That Risks Everything

Gospel

THE HOLY GOSPEL OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST

ACCORDING TO LUKE

On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the sabbath, they were watching him closely. When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honour, he told them a parable. "When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honour, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, 'Give this person your place,' and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, 'Friend, move up higher'; then you will be honoured in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted." He said also to the one who had invited him, "When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbours, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous."

LUKE 14:1, 7-14

Sermon: The Rev. Dr. Maryann Amor

When you hear the word hospitality, what comes to mind? Maybe you picture a dinner party — polished silverware, delicious food, laughter, and conversation. Or maybe it’s the image of being a good host — welcoming, kind, attentive, making sure everyone feels at home.

In our Gospel today, a leader of the Pharisees is holding a dinner party, and Jesus is attending. We can imagine this man taking great care in preparing for the feast… he makes sure his home is clean, the table arranged, the food ready. The seating follows the well-known honour-and-shame system of the time: the most important guests sit near the host, the less important sit further away.

But then Jesus arrives, and instead of admiring everything or thanking the host, he disrupts it all: “Don’t sit in the place of honour. Don’t invite your friends or rich neighbours — invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind.” It’s as if Jesus is saying to his host, You’ve done this all wrong — think again, do it differently.

If this scene happened today…we might think of a guest list consisting of family, friends, people we admire, those who make us feel comfortable. And then Jesus walks in and says, “Move those people down the table. You are doing this dinner party thing all wrong! Go find the people you overlook. Invite the person whose political views you disagree with. Invite the person whose circumstances make you uncomfortable. Sit and chat with them, not with your besties.”

How did the host in Jesus’ time respond to him? How would we respond to him?

I’d like to think I would accept Jesus’ challenge, but I know I would likely not do that. I, probably along with many of you, like to feel at ease when I’m at the table. I want things to be smooth and comfortable. I don’t want to be challenged.

And it’s this realisation that touches on a truth we often miss: real hospitality is not just warm and polite — it’s risky and costly.

The word hospitality points to this. It comes from the Latin hospes, related to hostis — meaning “stranger” or even “enemy”, think hostility. And potis, “to have power.” Hospitality isn’t about offering tea to people we already like. It’s about using whatever power or resources we have to welcome the stranger, those we might see as hostile, as an enemy, those we fear, dislike, or misunderstand.

Real hospitality changes us, challenges us, and causes us to grow.

I’ve experienced this — not around a dinner table, but in my heart. As some of you know, I teach an online Introductory Bible course to people in prison. Before I began, I was really nervous. Everything I had seen in movies or read online and in books made me equate prisoners with life threatening danger. But as I got to know my students, they shared their stories — trauma, tragedy, mental illness, and circumstances way beyond their control. Many had lives shaped by the same forces that lead people to the streets, to addiction, to poverty.

Working with prisoners taught me that true hospitality isn’t easy. It’s the hard, uncomfortable work of letting go of what we think we know about others. It’s choosing to listen, to sit with, to welcome those who unsettle us… and to be open to the possibility that we will be changed in the process.

Scholar Arthur Sutherland writes, “Hospitality is the practice by which the church stands or falls.” He’s not talking about potlucks, greeters, or shaking hands with visitors. He’s talking about the real hospitality of Jesus — the kind that risks our comfort and calls us to listen and learn from those we’d rather avoid.

Theologian Miroslav Volf describes this as “the drama of embrace…the will to give ourselves to the other, to welcome them, and to readjust our identities to make space for them… prior to any judgment about them, except the recognition of their humanity.”

So here are some questions to ponder: Who would unsettle you if they walked through our church doors? Would it be someone whose behaviour draws attention? Someone whose identity or life story is unfamiliar to you? Someone whose choices you don’t understand or agree with?

Jesus says: that’s who we need to welcome.

And not only welcome them into the building — but into our hearts. Love and accept them for who they are…share the sacred meal with them. Because the Eucharist is the ultimate act of hospitality. None of us deserve to be there more than anyone else. But at the table, the honoured, the overlooked, the saint, the sinner, the friend, the stranger all of us receive the same bread, the same cup, the same love of God.

This is what the common cup represents…it’s one reason Anglicans aren’t keen to replace it with individual cups. The single cup reminds us that we are one body, sharing one meal.

At Communion, every label we place on each other is set aside, because we are all equally hungry people being fed by the same God. And if Christ makes room for all at his table, then the church must do the same.

So this fall, as new initiatives and events get underway, let’s live into this kind of hospitality — not as a warm and fuzzy part of our faith, but as a measure of whether we truly believe the Gospel we proclaim. Let’s risk our comfort, open our doors wide, and embrace those who unsettle us… trusting that God will change us along the way.

Because in the end, hospitality is not only about making space for someone in the building — it’s about making space for them in our hearts. Seeing their humanity, loving them, and in the process, loving Christ too. Because Christ often comes to us as the stranger, the outsider, the one we never thought to invite to our dinner party.

Amen.