The Gift of Strangers

The Guest House

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This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

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A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

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Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

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The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

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Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

 

-By Rumi​

This poem came to mind this week as I sat down to write the midweek reflection. I’m aware that as we re-gather and things begin to seem normalish, we’re all carrying a lot of mixed emotions – a lot of joy and of grief, and it surprises us at unexpected times. And some things and people are easier to welcome than others . . .

Somewhere in my devotions last week was the passage from Hebrews 13, ‘Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.’

Hospitality is on my mind as I think back on Sunday, when we forgot to unlock the main doors to the church and people had to knock in order for us to open up and let them in. Not so welcoming, and yet you all are gracious! And it comes to mind because we had visitors on Sunday, including one who none of us had met before, and I think he might have been sent for me.

He came late and sat in the back and something about him reminded me of Eric, who used to worship with us sometimes, who loved coffee (and sometimes drank the whole carafe in the back before the end of the service!) and who one time during our silent confession prayed about his sins out loud, and then a lot of us did too and it was vulnerable and holy and beautiful. But this person wasn’t Eric. And I was a little uncertain when he came in after the service started and spread his arms out wide in the back pew.

And I was a little uncertain again when he surprised me by doing a second lap through the communion line, jogging back up to the front. I was not sure what to do, or what was happening, but then he flashed a big grin, saluted, and said, “I forgot to say ‘and also with you.’ ‘And also with you!’” And it wasn’t till I was thinking about it later, and some of my startled discomfort had passed, that I realized he was saying exactly what I needed to hear.

I love to serve communion and I love to pray for you as you receive. I often pray that you will know you are enfolded in Jesus’ love. It’s probably my favorite part of church. And by that time each Sunday morning, I know I need communion. I know I need Jesus’ mercy and loving nurture. And yet sometimes between the serving and the praying, I’m a little dazed when it’s my turn to receive–it’s hard to take in the wonder of it. But this week I got an extra reminder from this stranger, spoken with a grin and a salute, that the gift of communion, of Jesus’ love made edible, is for me too.