The story of Abraham
and his visitation by the Lord
in the form of three mysterious travelers
has often been seen as foreshadowing
the mystery of the Holy Trinity.
And the story of Jesus’ visit
to the home of Martha and Mary
has often been seen as an allegory
of the active and contemplative lives.
Both of these are venerable interpretations
and worthy of our attention,
but I would like to bring into focus
something that lies in the background
of both stories,
and that is hospitality.
Abraham welcomes the three visitors,
offering them food and shelter,
and in so doing welcomes the Lord himself.
Mary and Martha, in their different ways,
offer hospitality to the Lord Jesus,
and through this hospitality
God is in their midst.
God calls us to radical hospitality,
for in receiving the stranger
we receive the God who receives us.
Hospitality was a key virtue in the ancient world.
In a world dominated by families, clans, and tribes,
hospitality was a recognition of the humanity
of one who is outside my group,
a recognition of their basic dignity
and of our common bond.
In the book of Exodus
the Israelites are commanded,
“Do not mistreat or oppress a foreigner,
for you were foreigners in Egypt.”
God bids them to remember
that they were mistreated
when they were strangers,
and not to do the same
to the strangers in their midst.
The Gospel calls us
to an even more radical hospitality,
because through the Gospel we have received
the hospitality of God.
St. Paul writes to the Roman,
“Welcome one another…
as Christ welcomed you,
for the glory of God.”
In his ministry, Jesus welcomed sinners
and ate with them;
through his cross and resurrection
he has welcomed us to new life in his body,
where we “are no longer strangers and sojourners,
but…fellow citizens with the holy ones
and members of the household of God.”
This welcome is what St. Paul calls,
in our second reading,
“the mystery hidden from ages
and from generations past.”
But hospitality is hard,
particularly when we are talking about
the kind of radical hospitality
to which the Gospel calls us.
St. Thomas Aquinas says that all the works of mercy
are contained in hospitality (Ad Rom 12.2 §995),
because strangers come to us in all their neediness,
both physical and spiritual.
You may have to give them food and drink,
you may have to give them shelter,
you may have to instruct or counsel them,
even possibly admonish them
or bear with them patiently,
and you will almost certainly
need to pray for them.
Yes, the hospitality of God is a costly hospitality,
but it is also one in which God sustains us
and which promises us
nothing less that life eternal:
“Come, you who are blessed by my Father.
Inherit the kingdom prepared for you
from the foundation of the world.
For I was…a stranger and you welcomed me.”
To welcome Christ in the stranger
is to be welcomed by Christ.
In recognizing in a stranger
the human nature that we share,
I come through Christ
to share in his divine nature.
To make this a little less abstract,
let me suggest two examples
to help us examine our consciences
on the question of hospitality.
Since I seek to be an equal opportunity offender,
I will take examples associated with both sides
of our current political divides.
The first, and perhaps more obvious,
test of our hospitality
arises in the question of how we should think
about the contemporary phenomenon
of mass migration.
Even if we differ on the details
of this or that policy,
it seems clear that as Christians
we should always be seeking
the best way to welcome those
who come to us seeking refuge.
This might involve ways of helping them
find a permanent place among us;
it may involve providing temporary shelter
until they can safely return to their homeland;
it will definitely involve finding a way
to treat each person as a fellow human being,
and it will definitely not involve
speaking and acting in a way
that dehumanizes and demonizes.
As Pope Leo said in his homily this Pentecost,
“Where there is love, there is no room for prejudice,
for ‘security’ zones separating us from our neighbors,
for the exclusionary mindset that, tragically,
we now see emerging also in political nationalisms.”
The second test of our hospitality
is perhaps less obvious,
but no less important.
Every family that welcomes a child
welcomes a stranger,
and in welcoming a child into life
we are imitating the hospitality of God
who welcomes us into eternal life.
The church’s defense of unborn life
bears witness to our belief
that we are called to welcome the stranger,
even when that stranger’s arrival
is difficult or demanding—
especially when that stranger’s arrival
is difficult or demanding—
and that God’s grace can sustain us
in situations when our own power cannot.
It bears witness to
our recognition of the humanity
of the most vulnerable of strangers.
But it is not just pregnant mothers
who are called to radical hospitality,
even when it is difficult and demanding,
but we as a Church and as a society
are called to make sure that welcoming a child
is not more difficult and demanding
than it has to be,
that the mother’s humanity is not denied,
and that every child is promised not just life,
but a life in which mother and child can flourish.
In light of today’s scriptures,
all of us should examine our consciences
and ask ourselves, “Have I shown to others
the welcome that God has shown to me?”
For, to quote again Pope Leo,
“No one is exempted from striving
to ensure respect for the dignity of every person,
especially the most frail and vulnerable,
from the unborn to the elderly,
from the sick to the unemployed,
citizens and immigrants alike.”
As we seek to embody the hospitality of God,
let us pray that God would open our hearts
to see the humanity of others,
and that God, who is merciful,
would have mercy on us all.
