A little four year old boy was out to lunch with his parents.  The waitress was one of these salty characters who had been waiting tables for years, and knew her job inside out.  Her unhurried pace and level gaze made it clear that she would show no contempt for any customer, but also that she feared no one, not even parents. She wrote on her pad while the parents gave their orders with all the substitutions and such.  Then she turned to the boy and he began his order with a desperate tone, "I want a hot dog."  His parents barked in unison, "No hotdog!"  The mother scowled at the boy who fell silent, and said, "Bring him the vegetable, grilled chicken and milk."  The waitress ignored the parents as she looked directly at the boy.  "What do you want on your hot dog?"  The amazed child said, "Lots of ketchup, and a pickle too. And could you bring some milk?"  "Coming up", she said and turned away from the table without even a glance at the stunned parents.  The boy watched her leave with obvious and astonished delight, and then said to his parents, "You know what?  She thinks I'm real!  She thinks I'm real!"

( From Radical Hospitality, Daniel Holman and Lonni Collins Pratt)

Treating people like they were real is what Jesus was all about, a very radical hospitality.  Hospitality goes both ways, it is welcoming and receiving, it is making space for the other.  Jesus made space in his life for the Pharisees, he went to dinner in the home of the Pharisee, Simon--and as you know, who one had dinner with was a pretty big deal in that time and place.  Well, it's still a pretty big deal isn't it?  We generally like to have a meal with people we know, friends, family, "people like us".  WE tend to want to stay in our comfort zone, with people who are going to be somewhat predictable, or sometimes, people we don't even like but whose association might do us some good!  

And eating with a SINNER, as the woman in the story is referred to, well, that was definitely out of bounds.  She poured out her love and thanks on Jesus' feet, and he welcomed her.  He was not embarrassed or ashamed to be touched by this woman, he was not trying to shove her out the door so that she would not offend anyone.  He told her she was forgiven, he treated her like she was real.

Churches go to great lengths to be hospitable.  We put ads in the paper, we put up banners with announcements about what is going on, we promote and invite, and proclaim "everyone is welcome".  But then what happens?  What happens when they actually show up, and they aren't quite like us?  Do we make space for them, or do we give the silent message that we would prefer you to be more like us when you come here?  And really, who is that giant US and THEM?  Is US the ones who have it all together?  The ones who are not too needy, not too sinful, not too dependent on God's grace?  Or is US, we, all of us, the children of God who are all completely dependent on God's love and mercy?  If we recognize our own need, it is not too tough to welcome others with their needs, imperfections, sins, hopes and fears.  Hospitality does not have increasing the membership as its goal;  it has discipleship as its goal, living out the commands and teachings of Jesus.  True hospitality is welcoming the other as OTHER, and honoring that.  We see each other as unique, flawed, forgiven people of God.  For many people church equals judgment, a place where you can never live up to the expectations for behavior and appearance.

Some of you were here last Maundy Thursday.  We had a visitor named John.  He joined us downstairs for the meal, and at one point he stood up and said, "This is just great, how did I get so lucky as to wander into this.  Thank you so much."  He dined with several members of the congregation who were gracious and warm in their welcome.  He was a little rough around the edges, a person who probably spends a great deal of time on the streets. He had been drinking when he got here, and proceeded to have more wine with his soup and bread. 

Then we came up to the sanctuary for the rest of the service.  I was in the pulpit, and had just begun to read the gospel lesson, about Jesus washing feet when John got up out of his pew, walked up the center aisle, sat right down, took off his shoes and his socks, stuck his foot up toward the pulpit and said, "WASH MY FEET!"  I kept reading a bit, then I looked at him and said that right after the service I would wash his feet--then he proceeded to yell about his moldy socks and his blankety-blank feet.  About that time a couple of guys came up and asked him to come and sit down.  He was pretty agitated, but by the time the service was over and we were downstairs cleaning up, he was just sitting on the floor staring into space, and no longer wanted his feet washed.  Finally, not wanting to just send him walking down the street, we called the police to tell them that he either needed a shelter or de-tox.  We sent him off with some clean socks and a sweatshirt.  The next day he called, wondering if we had found his ID and he said, "I'll come and see you again some Sunday, and I promise I will be sober."  I said that would be good.

I don't know what Jesus would have done.  I guess that is part of the ambiguity of being a follower.  Maybe Jesus would have sat right down and forgotten about the church service and just tended to John's feet then and there.  Maybe Jesus would have taken him home to sleep and bathe.  And while we are called to follow, we are not Jesus.  We will never do it perfectly. Hospitality is not without its risks and pitfalls, even dangers.  Joan Chittister, a contemporary Catholic writer says, "Hospitality means we take people into the space that is our lives and our minds and our hearts and our work and our efforts.  Hospitality is the way we come out of ourselves."

It will not matter what sort of flashy ad campaign we have if we do not make room for each other in our lives, and make room for the stranger who comes, wanting only to be recognized as a person on a journey.  What Jesus offered, and what we as his followers are called to offer is more than charity, it is true welcome, acknowledging the other as someone with something to offer.  It is being both guest and host.  Recognizing that we have something to give the other, but also something to receive.  How many times have we heard people say that when they went to serve a meal in a shelter, or help with a habitat house, or clean up after a hurricane, their lives were blessed by what they received from the very people they were there to help?  That is the power of radical hospitality, the power of being open to one another.  That is the power of forgiveness and the power of the love of God that we are called to give, and to receive.  AMEN