When a person who is not valued by society is received by a socially respected person or group as a human being with dignity and worth, small transformations occur. The person’s self-assessment, so often tied to societal standing, is enhanced… making the act of hospitality a genuinely countercultural witness to the larger community and a challenge to reassess its standards.
In a word, hospitality is all about compassion, dignity and recognition. No wonder the generosity of Jesus seemed anything but quaint: he chafed against the limits of social propriety by welcoming prostitutes and adulterers, crooks, outcasts and children into his gracious presence and open table.
+ He exposed the controversial and upsetting core of radical hospitality in his day – and celebrated the totally subversive side of God’s grace at his feasts – because for him true religion is always about sharing with others the same grace and welcome God always shares with us.
+ “Go and learn what this means,” he told people over and over. “I desire mercy, not sacrifice for I have come to call not the outwardly holy into God’s presence but the wounded and broken.”
Now let’s be clear that when Jesus speaks of mercy he’s talking about compassion not charity; and when he speaks of sacrifice it has to do with the letter of the law and looking good on the outside rather than the spirit of the law and a clean and loving heart. Are you with me here? This is important: Charity – while always relevant – is a top down action, right? The haves sharing gifts with the have-nots; it is kind but doesn’t change the status quo. Charity is NOT subversive, helpful and kind but not subversive. Compassion, however, from the Latin root word cum patior meaning shared pain is different. Compassion has to do with standing with another, sharing the fullness of blessings and trials, bearing the cross of another in solidarity for a time; or as one of my favorite hymns says: “I will hold the Christ light for you in the shadow of your fear; I will hold my hand out to you, speak the peace you long to hear. I will weep when you are weeping, when you laugh I’ll laugh with you; I will share your joys and sorrows ‘til we’ve seen this journey through.”
Do you see the difference? Charity comes and goes. Cesar Chavez used to tell us back in my organizing days with the farm workers union that charity ends when rich people get bored – so you can’t count on it. That may sound harsh but that’s what it looks like from the perspective of those on the bottom; the voice of the forgotten and invisible is often ugly to our refined ears, but no less true: people get worn out, bored and tired of helping others whose woes never seem to end. Dr. King, whom we honor this weekend, put it more poetically but no less clearly: “Philanthropy is commendable, but it must not cause the philanthropist to overlook the circumstances of economic injustice which make philanthropy necessary. Remember: the ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.”
So Jesus speaks to us of compassion not charity in his radical and subversive hospitality. He invites us to understand that we’re all a part of the same body and whatever wounds you also hurts me. St. Paul amplified this in I Corinthians:
"You can easily see how this thing works by looking no further than your own body. Your body has many parts – limbs, organs, cells – but no matter how many parts you can name, you’re still one body. It’s exactly the same with Christ… we used to live independently, calling our own shots, but now we’ve seen the bigger picture with a large and integrated life… so that the old labels no longer work – labels like Jew or Greek, salve or free, male or female, gay or straight – they are no longer useful because we are part of something larger and more comprehensive: the body of Christ.
And of course old Jesse Jackson was spot on when he summarized Paul by telling us that: “We once may have come to America in different kinds of ships, but we’re all in the same boat now.” That’s the first insight I want to share with you today: authentic Christian hospitality moves from the quaint to the subversive by deepening compassion rather than charity. From the ministry of Jesus to the early church fathers and mothers, from the Protestant Reformers like Calvin and Wesley to the contemporary advocates of compassion like Henri Nouwen, Dorothy Day and Kathleen Norris the testimony is unanimous: when we share compassion we are making the image of God flesh in our generation.
How did Isaiah put it: “I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? It will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert… I will bring water to the wilderness and give drink to my people whom I formed for myself.” Compassion is the refreshing and tender side of justice – it restores dignity to the soul like water brings healing in the wilderness – so we need to talk about dignity as the second subversive insight into radical hospitality. And what is truly fascinating to me is how Jesus both practices his radical and subversive hospitality – and teaches his disciples then and now – about it in the most unexpected way: the feast.
Most of us don’t consider our table to be a place of radical protest or social transformation, but in Christ’s day – and in Christ’s way – the table became the place where beggars were respected as kings, social misfits were given the same honor as clergy and women and children – who began at the bottom of the social hierarchy – were elevated and celebrated as great and wise teachers. Remember these words: “Enter the kingdom of God as a child or you will miss it all for the last shall be first?” Jesus practiced what he preached first at the table.
There is an upside down logic in this kingdom which warrants further con-sideration and this morning’s gospel reading is illustrative. So let’s review the highlights which begin with a simple invitation. Jesus was walking past a tax collector – a collaborator with the hated occupation troops of Rome – and he invited him to come and see what was going on in the Jesus Movement. This was an invitation to simply check things out – test whether any of this stuff rang true – by just coming to see.
And this is also important for us to notice because Christ’s invitation is not a demand or even a commandment – that’s part of what restores dignity – Jesus honors each individual he meets by giving them permission to use their own unique story and experience as a guide into how they participate at the feast. Do you grasp what that means? It means there isn’t a one size fits all way of being spiritual. It recognizes that some of us are so wounded that it takes a long time to trust. It means that some of us are so used to getting our own way that we won’t comprehend what’s going on at Christ’s table for a while – maybe never. It means that everyone is equal – no one is better or more deserving of a place at the table than other regardless of our external status – and that we will never grasp what’s really going on in the kingdom until we go to the feast ourselves.
So Jesus says: come and see. Now also notice that he invites Levi – an outsider – because if you are going to subvert the status quo you have to be intentional, right? Dr. King said it so clearly: “there is nothing inevitable about the movement for peace and justice; when bad people plot, good folks must plan; and when bad people lash out, good people must respond with compassion and patience.” He could have invited anyone but Jesus makes a point of inviting the outsider, Levi, to check things out.
Which is instructive to you and me as we think about rebuilding and renewing this congregation: we, too, have to be just as intentional about welcoming and inviting and celebrating new guests – especially folk who have historically been shut out or dis-invited – to church as Jesus. I know that as I have learned how to be intentional about looking for those who are forgotten and inviting them to the feast, it isn’t always easy – but it is more often than not a blessing. One day, when I was doing inner city ministry in Cleveland, Ohio I had a feeling I needed to go see Caryl.
It was at the start of summer in Cleveland and I was trying to practice being prayerful in all my activities so for one month I tried walking to all my pastoral visits. That’s something you can do in a city sometimes and I found it very helpful to think and pray about the person I was going to see as I walked to our visit. Anyway, I hadn’t seen Caryl for about a month: I had buried her mother right after Easter and during that time it was clear that Caryl was an alcoholic going downhill fast. I hadn’t done much ministry with addicts yet so I didn’t know what to do; and if the truth be told, I really didn’t want to see her that day but it was clear that the Spirit was pushing me so… I went.
And when I got to her house she was a total wreck; she hadn’t eaten much in months and was drinking herself into oblivion. She was in so much agony I wanted to cry – I think I did. And then from beyond myself I heard myself saying: “Caryl, there is nothing I can do for you – it looks like you are killing yourself with booze – so let me go get my car and take you to the hospital right now where maybe… just maybe you can get clean. Ok?” There was a long hesitation – alcoholism is a bitch and it was doing a mean job on her head and body – but for a moment she found some clarity and said, “Alright, let’s do it.” So I flew home and took her to rehab that afternoon – and after 28 days of sobering up and working her program she began a new life – and thanks be to God has been clean and sober and reasonably healthy for 20 years. And every now and again I get a note from Caryl simply thanking God for leading me to her house and sharing with her that invitation.
Intentionality makes a difference – noticing who is missing makes a difference – so Jesus invites Levi. What I find really wonderful – and this isn’t just true in the Bible but also real life – is that after Levi responds to the compassion and dignity of Christ, Levi throws a party for Jesus.
I don’t know why this is true, but so often the generosity of the poor and discarded is so much richer than that of those who are used to living in abundance, right? It is humbling – but oh, so true. So Levi throws Jesus a part… but guess who he
invites? Folks just like him – broken, wounded, forgotten, addicted, confused, hurting souls who are grateful. And what do the leaders of the church – or synagogue or social club or madrasa – say? What is he doing eating with losers like those crooks and addicts and sinners?
In Luke’s version of the story, Jesus replies: Look, who needs a doctor… I am here inviting outsiders, not insiders to the feast so we can all experience new life from the inside out. Then, Matthew’s text adds: So do me a favor, all you insiders, go and learn what this means: I desire mercy – compassion – not sacrifice.
Not much has changed in 2,000 years and we are still trying to embrace compassion rather than charity – dignity instead of club membership – and justice rather than sacrifice. If you are anything like me, you get this radical hospitality thing wrong at least as much as you get it right. But when it comes together – when we find the strength, courage and grace to welcome the wounded and embrace the outcast – then there is really something to see – something the world can never offer. Because when that happens there is a little bit of the kingdom of God present and that, dear friends, is something blessed.
I am certain that the Lord is calling us to quit making distinctions about insiders and outsiders – members and non-members – winners and losers. I am equally convinced that God is inviting us to both practice and experience the subversive hospitality of Jesus because Pittsfield doesn’t need one more traditional church – it needs a clear parable of hope and radical welcome – a vision of the kingdom. And for some crazy reason, it seems that God has chosen us. So let those who have ears to hear, hear.
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