A Sermon for the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 8A)
July 2, 2023
Text: Matthew 10:40-42
Now, O Lord, take my lips, and speak through them. Take our minds, and think through them. Take our hearts, and set them on fire. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Several years ago, in June of 2014, our Presiding Bishop, Michael Curry, was featured in a short video that was put together by a group called The Society of Scholar-Priests. It was part of a video series entitled, “New Tracts for our Times,” which was intended to be a series of educational videos for those who are interested in learning more about the Episcopal Church and what we believe.
The topic for Bishop Curry’s video was the Holy Eucharist, and at the beginning of the video, he shared a wonderful story—one that he also shared in a book he wrote, entitled, “Crazy Christians.”
The story basically goes like this:
There was an African American woman who became an Episcopalian in the 1940s. She met a young man who was in seminary and licensed to preach in the Baptist church, and they began dating. One Sunday, she invited the young man to go to church with her.
He had never been to an Episcopal church before. Everything was new—the Prayer Book, the liturgy, the prayers, the chanting. Having grown up in the Baptist tradition, everything was different.
The people were different, too.
When the young woman and man showed up to church that Sunday, they were among only a few black people in the congregation.
You have to remember that this was in the 1940s when segregation was still very much the law of the land. As Bishop Curry puts it, “The armed forces had not yet been integrated. Brown vs. the Board of Education had not taken place, and, it was long before the Montgomery bus boycott. Martin Luther King, Jr. was still in seminary.”
This gives you an idea of the time period we’re talking about.
When the time for Communion came, the woman went up to the Altar to receive the bread and the wine. She was the only black person to go up to receive.
Since the young man was Baptist, he didn’t feel comfortable receiving Communion. So, instead, he sat in his pew and watched closely to see what would happen.
Because he noticed that everyone who went up to receive was not only taking the bread but also drinking from the same cup.
He waited to see what would happen when the priest came to the woman because he had never seen white people and black people drink from the same cup, or from the same water fountain.
So, the priest came to each person kneeling at the Altar rail, distributing the bread and saying, “The Body of Christ, the bread of heaven. “The Body of Christ, the bread of heaven.”
Then, the priest came by with the chalice. “The Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was given for thee, preserve thy body and soul unto everlasting life. Drink this in remembrance that Christ’s blood was shed for thee, and be thankful.”
And he came to the black woman kneeling at the rail.
“The Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was given for the thee, preserve thy body and soul unto everlasting life…”
In case you haven’t figured it out yet, the two people in Bishop Curry’s story were his parents.
And when his father told him the story, he would always say, “That’s what brought me to the Episcopal Church. Any church in which black folks and white folks drink out of the same cup knows something about a gospel that I want to be a part of.”
That’s a powerful story, isn’t it?
Of course, I don’t tell it nearly as well as Bishop Curry. So, if you want to go back and watch the video, you can still find it on YouTube.
But, the reason I wanted to share it with you today is because I think it has something to do with what Jesus talks about in our Gospel lesson this morning from Matthew, which is actually the culmination of a long discourse that began two Sundays ago when Jesus named the twelve apostles and empowered them to go forth into neighboring towns and villages, proclaiming the good news that “the kingdom of heaven has come near.”
He told them that as they go forth, they’ll encounter opposition and persecution from those who refuse to hear the good news, those who consider him—and anyone who follows him—the enemy.
He told his disciples not to have any fear, for God will be with them wherever they go. He told them they are more precious to God than they can possibly imagine and that anyone who wants to experience abundant life with God must take up their own cross and follow him.
And then, in our Gospel lesson for today, Jesus concludes this long series of instructions by telling his apostles, “Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me.”
There are a couple of ways we could interpret this verse.
On one hand, it could be seen as Jesus’ way of further preparing his disciples for the mission that lies ahead. He knows that, once they’re sent out to share the message he’s given them, some people will reject them, and some people will receive them.
And for those who receive them, it will be the same as if they received Christ himself. This isn’t something Jesus invented, by the way. It actually falls in line with the Jewish law of shaliah, which basically states that the one who is sent on behalf of another represents the full presence of the one who sends.
The Greek equivalent to the Hebrew word shaliah is apostolos, which is translated in English as “apostle.” Jesus’ mission, then, for the twelve apostles is not only to be sent out but also to fully represent Jesus in his ministry.
The same is true for us today. When we go forth into the world, we do so as apostles—as a people sent forth to proclaim the Good News and to fully represent Christ to those we meet.
Another way to look at this verse from Matthew—and this is really what I want us to focus on today—is that it speaks to the importance of showing hospitality to the strangers in our midst—especially those who are most vulnerable.
And I think this is why the story I shared earlier about Bishop Curry’s parents is so captivating.
The church they attended that Sunday morning, many years ago, could’ve easily overlooked them and ignored them because of the color of their skin. They could’ve treated them as outsiders, refusing to allow them to enter the church or approach the Altar rail.
But, they didn’t.
Despite the racial and cultural expectations of the time, despite the controversy it could’ve stirred and the hardships it could’ve caused, that church welcomed them in and invited them to fully participate in their worship.
Now, I don’t know what happened after church that day. I don’t know if they were greeted during coffee hour or if anyone spoke to them on the way back to their car that morning.
But, for that brief time during worship, they were seen as equals and shown the love and dignity they deserved as children of God.
Welcoming the stranger and showing the radical hospitality that Jesus calls us to share with all of our brothers and sisters is sometimes more challenging than we’re willing to admit.
Because when we open ourselves to the possibility of welcoming people who are different than we are—people who look different or act different or have different beliefs than we do—we risk alienating and even offending others who may not see the same way as we do.
Practicing the radical hospitality of Jesus requires a whole lot of trust in God, and it requires vulnerability and a willingness to come out of our comfort zones in order to welcome those whom the world would rather overlook and ignore.
But, I also think that, sometimes, we make it harder than it needs to be to welcome the strangers in our midst.
Sometimes, we get so overwhelmed with the needs and concerns of the world that we forget that even the smallest act of kindness—like saying, “all are welcome at the Lord’s Table—can be a life-changing moment. Jesus says, in our Gospel lesson this morning that “whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly none of these will lose their reward.”
It doesn’t have to take an act of heroic courage or epic proportions to show kindness to a stranger. All it takes is a willingness to be open.
A willingness to be open to the possibility that we may not know as much as we think we know.
A willingness to be open to the power of the Holy Spirit moving in us and through us.
And a willingness to be open to the fact that God is truly present when we welcome others in the name of Christ.
Amen.
The Rev. Eric Mancil 