Rector's Sermon - Sunday, June 26, 2005

First Reading	Psalm	Epistle	Gospel
Jeremiah 28:5-9	Psalm 89:1–4	Romans 6:12-33,	Matthew 10:4-0-42

     I've always wondered why Joseph was a carpenter. It seems to me that it would have been much more appropriate if he had run a catering service, and Mary was the proprietor of a small village bakeshop, for Jesus seemed to have spent a great deal of time at a table eating, or providing a picnic of bread and fishes to crowds who came to hear him. or using stories about the virtue of hospitality. Of course, Jesus was tapping into a deep well of the biblical tradition. One of the best-known psalms is the 23rd psalm. Even if people know nothing else about the Bible or can't tell what part of the sheep wool comes from, they know the passage about a good shepherd and the cup thing that is bubbling over. In point of fact, the psalm is about providing generous hospitality. The psalm gives us the image of a lone traveler in the desert, separated from his caravan. He is very vulnerable to thieves and could easily be robbed, beaten and left for dead, and no one would ever know his fate. Perhaps he is running away from such a band of robbers, when he comes upon a caravan that is preparing to stop and bed down for the night. Yes, they could have shooed him away or worse. In turn they could have regarded him as a potential threat, too, bent on robbing them or providing a distraction for a band of his fellow brigands hiding in the darkness behind a sand dune. Yet, this caravan takes a chance and invites the lone traveler to come and sit at table with them. In this gesture they are saying that they will offer protection against his enemies, and he will be able to join them as they travel the next day through the wilderness. "Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies" is a timeless metaphor for the great gift of hospitality that God provides. The metaphor of the cup running over is really about providing a completely full cup and ample food; nothing was held back. One couldn't possibly imagine any host doing anything more because the hospitality was so complete and generous.

     For the past three weeks, the gospel writer Matthew has directed Jesus' comments to those who are already disciples, and members of the church. Matthew wants the church to know that even under persecution, the ministry of hospitality is fundamental. While today's Gospel passage is about hospitality, Jesus' expectation is quite modest. Jesus knew that the steady practice of little things could be as important as a singular grand gesture. Even if one doesn't prepare and offer a full course feast, if a person provides a cup of cold water, one is still offering a ministry of hospitality that will not go unnoticed by God. Moreover, this was not some brave risk-taking gesture to complete strangers. The term "little ones" appears to be a colloquialism similar to the word "saints." Jesus was talking about showing kindness to fellow disciples, not necessarily prominent leaders, but ordinary, unheralded followers who over and over again are often taken for granted and overlooked.

     If a famous celebrity walked into our midst, most of us would likely look around and take notice, but every Sunday there are usually guests and fellow seekers to be noticed and greeted, or regular but unpretentious parishioners that we do not know either. That weekly opportunity to say hello is also a mutual gift for both giver and receiver. I can attest to the significance of the little acts of hospitality that we offer to each other and support and enhance our ministry, such as all who helped John at the welcome party, or those who contribute to the receptions after funerals, or at coffee hour. These little single acts add up to an important ministry that we all are capable of doing, week after week.

     Genuine hospitality, therefore, becomes a way of perceiving the signs of Spirit, signs of God's Commonwealth present among us, even in stressful times. The orthodox bishop and monk Anthony Bloom has written, in effect, that if we can't find God where we are, we won't find God anywhere because the kingdom of God begins within us. If we don't find the living Christ here in the little ordinary things in Ithaca, it is unlikely we will find the living Christ at an esoteric retreat center which promotes whatever spiritual fad is popular or promises us an important connection to a grand mission far beyond the petty annoyances of everyday life. That is why, when we reconstruct the stained glass windows in this church, in one of them, at least, will not be a representation of a famous saint conquering a fire-breathing dragon. Instead it will just have a mirror at eye level, and somewhere a picnic table and meat cooking on the grill, or a standard-issue parish hall table with various dishes that people have brought to share, and off in a far corner, there will be a small tin cup hanging by a nail above a cold spring.

    And I offer this to you in the name of the Living God, Amen.