Thursday of the Fourteenth Week in Ordinary Time
The reading from Matthew for today keeps taking me back to Father Satish’s powerful homily on Sunday. I have read the Matthew text numerous times in preparation for writing this reflection, and each time I think that it is speaking to the same themes: being present as an act of faith, vulnerability, and awe.
To be sure, we are called as Christians to be hospitable—to welcome even the stranger (not an easy thing to do in our time). In any time? But this text is about how one receives hospitality. Hospitality is surely an art. And so is receiving it!
So, what do we learn from this text about receiving it? First, that we must be present. The text says—“as you enter the house, wish it peace.” Think of the presence of mind that one would have to have, upon entering a house, to wish it peace. I think of where my mind usually is when I enter someone else’s house (thinking of how I might greet my hosts, how I might get conversation going, am I wearing the right thing) and where my mind would need to be for me to think of wishing it peace. I’d have to be focused not on myself but on the house I am entering—in all its complexity—and the peace it might need. I would need to be present to the other and stop thinking—even for a minute—about myself.
Second, in this text we are called to be vulnerable. Really vulnerable. Bill and I just got back from visiting family and doing other fun stuff in Denver. Compared to the folks hauling rather gigantic luggage (on domestic flights, just to be clear) I felt pretty good about the fact that I got all my belongings for a week into one roller bag that fit into the overhead compartment. And then I read this text and realize I really need to check my pride (no pun intended). Here Jesus’ followers are called to bring, basically, nothing of value except the Good News. No gold or silver. No sandals. Not even a second tunic. How is that working? That’s the point. It’s not about “it working.” It’s about faith. And so I have to ask as a 21st century woman of means—how might I make myself vulnerable. Really vulnerable such that when I encounter the other I am fully present.
Third, we can only be present and vulnerable when we come to terms with the fact that we do not fully understand this God whom we worship. This God made man. This divine figure whose love is so great that it made sense to become one of us—to know what it means to be a human being. Our awe is not only about how other this God is from us (which is certainly the case) but also how much like us our God was willing to be. What God volunteers to be Not-God? Oh, and then get crucified for doing so?
I really dislike violating Father Satish’s beautiful three-point rule, but I am not Father Satish! One more point. It’s about the really merciful, grace-filled, and wise advice that comes near the end of the reading. It’s the word about shaking the dust off your feet. We don’t get a lot of insight from this passage about what exactly that means. But, if you’re anything like me, you can probably think of times when you encountered the other (even a very near other) and stayed too long or too invested. This text challenges us to think about when (and there is seldom an easy answer to the question) we actually need to shake the dust off our feet. We need to go. To let it (whatever it is or whoever it is) go. That’s another challenging word. And one that I, as a woman (I have to say), wish I had been able to hear sooner and clearer.
Thank you Father Satish. And Matthew. Oh, and Jesus.
Amen.