1 And the Lord appeared to him by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat at the door of his tent in the heat of the day. 2 He lifted up his eyes and looked, and behold, three men were standing in front of him. When he saw them, he ran from the tent door to meet them and bowed himself to the earth 3 and said, “O Lord, if I have found favor in your sight, do not pass by your servant. 4 Let a little water be brought, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree, 5 while I bring a morsel of bread, that you may refresh yourselves, and after that you may pass on—since you have come to your servant.” So they said, “Do as you have said.” 6 And Abraham went quickly into the tent to Sarah and said, “Quick! Three seahs of fine flour! Knead it, and make cakes.” 7 And Abraham ran to the herd and took a calf, tender and good, and gave it to a young man, who prepared it quickly. 8 Then he took curds and milk and the calf that he had prepared, and set it before them. And he stood by them under the tree while they ate.
This account of the visit of the three men (angels of the Lord, it turns out) to Abraham “by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat at the door of his tent in the heat of the day” gives a succinct but very rich picture of hospitality as practiced in Old Testament times. I think it also offers several (to me) quite challenging insights into how we might think about hospitality as Christians and as Christian communities.
1. Hospitality doesn’t discriminate.
Abraham had never met his three visitors before. For all he knew, they just happened to be passing by. He could have continued sitting in the shade, kept his mouth shut. But simply because they showed up on the road near his house, he was moved to offer them rest and nourishment. What would it be like to cultivate an awareness that, whoever walks through our door, or crosses our path in some way, whatever their appearance or whatever assumptions we might make about them, has been expressly sent to us by God for some reason only He knows, and so that person is the proper, God-ordained object of our care?
2. Hospitality calls for our best efforts.
Abraham sets out a full meal made from “fine flour,” “a calf, tender and good,” and “curds and milk” to provide the nutrition much needed by desert travelers. We ought to be as extravagant as our means allow. Go beyond the bare essentials. Good wine. Good food. Flowers. Small amenities. Powerful medicine for weary souls. (I think this applies to the Eucharist as well—for God’s sake, yes, but also for the sake of his people and whoever he has called to that space at that time, our worship should be as fine and as sumptuous as we can make it.) Further, we should seek to be as prompt and as efficient as we can when we serve others. Abraham “ran from the tent door to meet them.” He “went quickly into the tent to Sarah.” He asked her to make the cakes quickly. He “ran to the herd.” His servant prepared the calf “quickly.” Serving guests should be a focused endeavor. Dr. Rudolph B. Teusler, the founder of St. Luke’s Hospital where I served as chaplain, said about Christian service: “If you do a job in the name of Christ, make it first class. … Nothing second class will do.” I think this goes for hospitality, too.
3. Hospitality anticipates the needs of others.
Although he was at home, sitting in the shade, Abraham put himself in the place of his visitors. What would travelers walking on dusty roads in the heat of the day need most? Water to wash their feet. A place to rest in the shade. Something to eat and drink. It might be a worthwhile exercise to consider what some of the needs might be in the community surrounding us, wherever the Lord has placed us. Who is weary or burdened, in need of comfort or rest? What would ease that burden or provide rest and refreshment, physical or spiritual? And then to consider how we could meet those needs, voiced or unvoiced.
4. Hospitality is self-effacing.
Notice the gap between what Abraham says and what he does. He tells his guests he will prepare just “a little water” and “a morsel of bread” for a short while before they can “pass on.” But then he goes on to provide a full on, leisurely, multiple course feast. This is something Japanese culture majors in: the art of downplaying what you give to or do for someone else. You might have brought a really expensive box of sweets, but when you give it to the other person it is de jure to insist that it’s trifling, next to nothing, really. When someone thanks you for a meal you prepared, the proper response is to say that it was meagre, poor quality. Gruel, basically. We should take pains to avoid giving the impression that whatever we are doing is burdensome or unpleasant, anything that would cause the other person to feel that they are imposing on us: “since you have come to your servant.”
5. Hospitality is a team effort.
Abraham could never have pulled off this feast without the help of Sarah and his servants. A community united in its understanding of the importance of outreach, and how the Lord can use our hospitality to bless people and bring them closer to himself, is a powerful thing. He gives us different gifts and talents, and some will assume more up-front roles while others will mostly work in the background. But the common goal is to create a space for others that brings comfort, healing, rest, and blessing. Without any expectation of a return.
Though I have some doubts about its provenance as “an ancient Celtic rune,” I like the image evoked by this poem, a reference to Hebrews 13:2: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”