The Practice of Hospitality—Part 1 (Inner) 2-23-14

God, wake us up from our places of inattentiveness to life.  Call our names until we hear what creation longs to tell us.  Lead us to the deep places where your spirit resides.  Amen

            I have a theory.  It’s not an original theory.  It’s not even particularly profound except in its simplicity.  You have heard it before.  Why, you have even heard it from me before.  But, I believe that as we grow and change and, make room for more, it makes sense to revisit some, if not most, of what we thought we already learned.  This is the theory:  it is not possible to welcome others until we have welcomed ourselves.  See—I told you—not really profound.  Usually, we hear this theory worded like this:  it is not possible to love others until we love ourselves.  But love can be such an esoteric, quasi-romantic word.  We lose track of the effort that lurks under the word itself.  That is why I chose to use the word “welcome”.  Welcome is active.  It brings up the picture of someone opening the door and saying, “Welcome, please come in”.  “You are welcome in this place” is a phrase we have used often to refer to our hospitality, here in Open Circle.  And, I think that, as we begin to make significantly more serious plans for the future ministries of this church that it is time for us to revisit this welcome, this hospitality, this throwing wide the door. 

            Today, we are going to start with inner welcome.  So, just for today, you can put aside thoughts of welcoming the stranger into our midst.  That’s for next week.  It’s not possible, you see, to even think about welcoming the external stranger into our midst until you have welcomed the internal stranger into your midst.  Depending on where you are in life, your internal stranger takes all forms and shapes.  Perhaps, you feel as though you know all there is to know about who you are, who you were formed to be, and that you have loosed any bonds on your inner divine spirit.  In other language, perhaps, you think you already know who God intends for you to be.  Or, put another way, perhaps you believe that you have transcended the constraints of this earthly life and are one with Truth and Beauty.  There are as many ways to say it as there are traditions that speak of this internal place we all have.  Words grow quite useless as we try to explain to another our inner experiences.  Ultimately, this inner welcoming is a process to which we are all called, though many choose to ignore the call completely.

            Knowing, even understanding, my friends, and welcoming, are entirely different.  Think of a time when someone for whom you have missed and yearned for came to visit you.  If you have to pretend, why, that’s okay, too.  You were, more than likely, willing to set aside most, if not all, of your pre-arranged plans.  You enjoyed sitting by the hour, perhaps, talking and catching up.  It was enough to just be in the company of that person—no words were needed.  Breathing the same air in the same space was gift enough.  Your expectations for specific outcomes were shelved for the time being and you drank in all you could experience of this embraced guest.  Time stood still, or mattered, not at all. 

            It seems to me that the easiest way to understand the difference between love and welcome is to understand the role of time and presence.  I can love you from afar.  I cannot welcome you from afar if you are to experience that welcome in your own life.  I can love you and I can love myself in the abstract.  But to invite you into my space requires that I make room for you.  This is the truth that I want us to hear today.  To welcome ourselves means to make room for ourselves.  This is not as confusing as it sounds.

            Jesus knew that his students, that is, all of us, have a very difficult time with inner understanding.  Our gospel passage today, of course, is talking about gaining insight into what God was doing in the world.  His disciples asked him why he told stories and he explained that it was the only way some folks would ever understand the goodness of God.  It gave them the nudge the needed to explore the insight they actually already had.  Those who had hearts ready to receive insight did not need stories; but, in actuality, there were few who were ready. 

            I would suggest that using Jesus’ technique is a good place to start with our journey in inner welcome.  Jesus said that the purpose of stories is “to create readiness, to nudge the people toward receptive insight”.   So, when was the last time you told yourself your story?  Now, that’s a question you didn’t expect to hear today.  But, I’m quite serious.  Some of you journal, so you have a head start on those of us who begin a journal and make it to about page 3 before we give it up completely until the next time—well, they say confession is good for the soul.  Then, for the rest of us, this notion of telling our story might be a strange notion indeed.  But, hear me out.  I want to ask you some specific questions about your story.

·         When was the last time you made a list of all the times you have been brave?

·         Or, a list of lessons learned and lived through that changed the way you act or think?

·         How about a list of the people that you have befriended or helped in some kindness, small or large?

·         When was the last time you wrote down your dreams for your life?

·         Or, kept a gratitude list of all the people and things you are grateful for in your life.

·         How long has it been since you thought about your childhood memories or laughed at some childhood joke or game?

There are so many ways for us to tell ourselves our stories and I think that we shortchange ourselves and our spiritual and emotional development when we get so busy in today that we forget some of who we are.  Now, and this is important, telling your story does not mean getting lost in the past.  It’s just about appreciating what there is to appreciate and learning if there is something to learn and returning to the journey at hand.  Notice that Jesus did not say that the story itself was what needed to be learned, but that the stories gently encourage us to be receptive to the greater truth.  And, that greater truth is that we are children of love, of God, of the Universe.  The next time you choose to spend some time in quiet, if you have never done so before—or even if you have—try to receive deep into your spirit and soul that very truth.  I am a child of God.  I was formed by love to live out my flesh-and-blood life as an off-spring of all that is. 

      You see, we who have been raised as traditional Christians, tend to confuse the whole “first shall be last”, “be ye not puffed up” thing with welcoming our true selves.  We worry about pride and self-importance.  When we do, we miss the point.  It may also be that, for many of us, rejection is more comfortable than acceptance.  It is true that we may have been rejected many times for many reasons; and, so we let it creep into who we are.  This is not in harmony with loving or welcoming the stranger as we love and welcome ourselves.  I love Psalm 139.  These are the 13 and 14 verses in the RCV (that’s Rev. Carol version) :

                  You, O Source of Life,

created the very innermost part of me—

the part that no one sees. 

You were there in my mother’s womb

rejoicing in my birth. 

I praise you because

I am designed and formed in ways that

instill awe. 

You made me to be brilliant and

            delightful. 

All the works of nature are wonderful and

magnificent.

I, child of all there is,

know this completely and wholly.

I want to ask you to close your eyes as I read these words again.  In whatever way you are comfortable; and, if you are comfortable, I invite you to affirm these words about yourself as you welcome yourself into your heart and spirit.

You, O Source of Life,

created the very innermost part of me—

the part that no one sees. 

You were there in my mother’s womb

rejoicing in my birth. 

I praise you because

I am designed and formed in ways that

instill awe. 

You made me to be brilliant and

            delightful. 

All the works of nature are wonderful and

magnificent.

I, child of all there is,

know this completely and wholly.

I grew up at a time when, throughout Protestantism, there was a phrase that I heard often.  “God loves you and has a plan for your life.”  While the rest of the words fade into a memory that did not serve me well, I can still affirm those first few words.  Little did I know or understand of God’s love or that the plan was for me to be a reflection of God’s own divine spirit; but, now, without hesitation I can say, ‘may it be so’.  Amen and amen.