Year C
Sept. 1, 2019
Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16Our readings each week come from the Revised Common Lectionary, released in 1994. The readings for today were planned since the Lectionary was released in 1994. I *may* sometimes adjust the beginning and ends of readings, but the readings are, for the most part, given. On the whole, I am thankful for the lectionary. As with any lectionary, there are pluses and minuses. Sometimes the readings may feel distant and maybe at times irrelevant in our current context. Sometimes something happens in our world, and I yearn for one of the readings to speak directly to it. Yet there are other times where the readings hit so close to what is going on in our world. There are these times when one or more of the readings force me (sometimes kicking and screaming) to take an honest look at myself and at the world as it is that I currently live in.
Our second reading from Hebrews this morning gives us a vision for what it looks like to live as people claimed by the gospel, as people who are living out citizenship in the Kingdom of God. It is about living the abundant life that we have already been given through Jesus Christ. It is an invitation to live the life we’ve been given. These few verses serve to create a vision for what it means to be the body of Christ. And, if I’m honest, it is a tough invitation this morning. This is how the author (whose identity is unfortunately lost to history) begins the conclusion to the letter to their community.
“Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it. Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though you yourselves were being tortured.” (Heb. 13:1-3)
These themes are themes found throughout the scriptures. There are fewer things that the Bible talks about more than these themes, summed up so succinctly in today’s second reading.
“Let mutual love continue.” Let philadelphia continue. Let brotherly/familial love continue. This is love within the particular community. The kind of love shown within these walls to one another. That kind of love that is there in the good times, in the bad times. That kind of love that sees each other as integral parts of the body of Christ and the mission we share - even in conflict. That can be hard. But because we have existing relationships, it is easier to see each other as beloved children of God. We can more easily see each other’s humanity. We live and grow as community together. And even in disagreements, we affirm each other’s humanity and place in this family. The author of Hebrews assumes that philadelphia is happening and is encouraging that to continue. It is that kind of love that strengthens the bonds of the community and pulls us together as the body of Christ. This love is what feeds and strengthens us for what comes next in the letter.
“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” The word for hospitality here is philoxenia - the love of strangers (it is the opposite of xenophobia). The love of foreigners. The love of immigrants. The love of the ones that don’t look like us or sound like us. The love of the ones that don’t worship like us. The love of those outside the boundaries of the community, outside the boundaries of citizenship, outside the boundaries of the law. The love of the enemy. The love of the one who stands as a threat to us and to everything we hold dear. The author of the letter to the Hebrews turns out - not to neighbor - but to the stranger, the migrant, the foreigner. It is a call to break down the boundaries built by xenophobia and move from xenophobia to philoxenia - to move from fear to love. To see those most foriegn to us as worthy of love and worthy of hospitality. To see those we too easily perceive as a threat as having a place at the table.
By showing hospitality to strangers, we do take a risk. We risk serving someone who *could* in theory be a threat to us. But by showing hospitality to strangers, we also risk entertaining angels. We risk serving messengers of God in our midst.
A video surfaced this week of a woman who went into labor while in jail at the end of July 2018. She repeatedly told guards that she was having contractions. She told them when her water broke. Medical care was not provided. She ended up laboring and giving birth alone in a cell. Only after the baby was delivered did someone finally enter the cell. It was terrifying. You could see the fear and the suffering on her face. Now, I *know* better, but I ventured into the comment section of the article. Most of the commenters were sympathetic to the woman. However, some (more than I’d like) said things like “well, if she hadn’t committed a crime, she wouldn’t have been in this situation. It is her own fault.” As if committing a crime strips the woman of her humanity. She did it to herself. That kind of reaction serves to give permission and space to look away from her suffering.
We hear similar arguments against so many people in chains, behind bars, in cages. If they didn’t cross the border, they wouldn’t be in cages (side note: seeking asylum is legal and one has to be on US soil to do it). If they didn’t commit a crime, they wouldn’t have encountered the police. If they worked hard, pulled themselves up by their bootstraps, they’d have enough food and enough to survive. Sometimes we do not see the suffering - we’re often a bit removed from it. But As people, we find all sorts of ways to blame people for their own suffering, while giving ourselves permission to look away from the depths of human suffering. They’re illegal. They’re in prison. They’ve committed a crime. They’re drug addicts. They didn’t “plan” enough. They deserve what comes to them. They did it to themselves. If they’re to blame, we’re off the hook. And we can look away.
Hebrews this morning invites us, for the sake of love - that love that we’ve received from Jesus, to not only look at the suffering, to see our fellow human being in chains, but to be in solidarity with them, feeling their suffering and their pain as if it were our own. Who is Jesus inviting us to see today? Whose suffering are we invited to see today? We’re invited to look into the cages. We’re invited into the prison cell. We’re invited into the disaster area, the areas hit by hurricanes, by flooding, by drought - maybe the farms of Nebraska or the Bahamas or Puerto Rico. We’re invited to look beyond the fences, the chains, the bars, the walls (and whatever else binds a person - literal and metaphoric) and see the real live human being - the beloved child of God beyond it. Running contrary to the individualism that has become such a part of American culture, Hebrews points us to the ways that we as humanity are deeply interconnected. The truth of today’s passage is: when one part of humanity suffers, we all suffer. When one part of the Body of Christ hurts, we all hurt. We cannot be whole until we all are whole. Don’t look away. Feel what they feel in your own body. Do something to free them from that which holds them captive.
In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus takes what we find in Hebrews a step farther. Not only by showing hospitality to strangers, to those imprisoned, to those being tortured do we risk entertaining a messenger of God, by showing this kind of hospitality we show hospitality to Jesus himself. Jesus says, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger/foreigner (xenos) and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me... Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” (Matthew 25:34-36, 40). He goes on to say that the converse is true: what you don’t do to one of the least of these, you do not do to him. Jesus places himself firmly with the members of his family that are suffering.
Why do we do this? We are empowered for this work because we have a God that does this. We have a God that risked everything to become human. The God that seemed so distant, far off, crosses the border between divinity and humanity (a border that seemed so permanent), making Godself known in Jesus. We have a God, in Jesus, that not only looked into suffering, but lived it, suffered it in his own body. We have a God in Jesus that was a refugee, fleeing violence as a child that threatened to end his life. We have a God in Jesus that lived by the hospitality shown to strangers. We have a God in Jesus who was imprisoned, who was tortured, who was crucified. We have a God that doesn’t look away - from our suffering, from the suffering of humanity. We have a God that sees and feels the suffering of God’s beloved children. We have a God in Jesus that stands in solidarity, and remains present with the suffering because God has been there too. We have a God in Jesus that risks suffering to free from suffering, to free us from that which holds us captive. This is Good News.
Today, in Hebrews we are invited to live out that Good News. We are invited to participate in the Kingdom of God that is breaking in - not for our own sake, but for the sake of our fellow human. Because Jesus has freed us, has suffered for us, has died and risen again for us, we are empowered to look at suffering, to feel the suffering of others, to work together as a body of Christ to relieve their suffering. We live out our freedom that we’ve found in Christ by freeing others.
Amen
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