Most of you probably know that I don’t “title” my sermons; there’s nothing on the sign outside! In all of my years of preaching, I may have done it five times. But, as I considered what I was going to say today, I thought, if I were to title this sermon, it would be something like “Close Encounters of the Divine Kind”. (I’ll let you choose the soundtrack!)
Those of us here this morning have all encountered God in unique ways. We may have been brought up in the church, and at some pivotal point, had an “experience of the divine”. We may have grown up without any religious upbringing, and then had a conversation with someone who either “channeled” the divine, or explained things in a way that “made sense”, and we were captivated. It may have been a particularly vivd dream or, more dramatically, a “near death experience”. It may have been something awakening a sense of awe in us. But most of us have encountered God, in one or more ways, encounters that have drawn us here this morning
Encounters with God/Christ often lead to conversion or, perhaps, renewed commitment. That means that, beyond any “comfort”, or knowledge that we’re “saved”, we are given a mission, a mission that varies from individual to individual, based on our individual circumstances and personality. But Christ gives us a mission suited to each of us, for example:
•“All who want to come after me must say no to themselves, take up their cross, and follow me” (Mt 16.24);
•“If you want to be complete, go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor. Then you will have treasure in heaven. And come follow me” (Mt 19.21)”;
•“True devotion, the kind that is pure and faultless before God the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their difficulties . . .” (Ja 1.27);
• “[Go] and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to obey everything that I’ve commanded you” (Mt 28.19-20);
•Or, as we heard this morning, “[Go], make this announcement: ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those with skin diseases, and throw out demons” (Mt 10.7-8).
Different missions—often overlapping, to be sure—but differently put to different people.
Abram, as we heard last week, had a close encounter with God; it came to him unbidden. And the mission was relatively simple—although, perhaps, not easy. God told the patriarch to pack up his household and go— “Lech lecha” (as you may remember from several months ago)—go to a land God would show him. That was “mission objective” part one. “Mission objective”, part two was, appropriately enough for today, to be a father, ultimately the father of many nations.
In our reading from Genesis this morning, however, we hear about a different kind of encounter. Abraham was to allow God to do God’s work through and with him (and Sarah) where they were. It was an encounter that placed demands on Abraham’s “mission” of hospitality.
The ancient Near Eastern practice of hospitality was expected of pretty much everyone—not just those who’d encountered God. And it was a bit different then than we may think of hospitality today. “[It] was the process of “receiving” outsiders and changing them from strangers to guests . . . different from entertaining family and friends” (Harper’s Bible Dictionary, HarperSanFrancisco 1985, 408). As described in one source, hospitality was an “intricately choreographed dance, where any participant who does not observe his or her role must . . . learn it” (ibid.). My guess is that Abraham and Sarah, with their means, had had plenty of opportunity to learn the dance. But this time was to turn out a bit differently.
As in any occasion of “welcoming the stranger”, ancient rules of hospitality included assessing a potential threat—from physical threat (as from an invader) to violations of community norms; strangers like that are not welcome. Satisfied that there is no threat, foot-washing (as we heard) then begins the movement from stranger to guest.
Then there is the “dance” of treating the stranger as guest. Not only were there “rules” about how the host should act, so were there rules about how the stranger/guest should act: for example, neither should do anything to insult the other. And, of course, refreshments ought be offered. Abraham seems to have gone a bit overboard: baked goods, a young calf, butter and milk! And, then, if all goes well, the stranger-guest will leave no longer a stranger, but a friend.
That seems to have happened! We don’t hear it in this morning’s abbreviated story, but after the discussion about Sarah’s laughter, Abraham accompanied the three men on their way, and they apparently had had a good-enough visit, that they had transformed into friends. The travelers took Abraham into their confidence about the rest of their mission. But, in a different way, their encounter with Abraham and Sarah had also transformed the couple into the future parents of Isaac.
Encountering God often means encountering others, but that may not always go well. Those twelve who were Jesus’ closest followers— they who were commissioned to go, and encounter “the lost sheep, the people of Israel”—they were warned that there may be folks who will refuse to welcome or listen. The apostles were sent out as “sheep among wolves”, and those “wolves” may take it upon themselves to beat the sheep and/or to hand them over to higher authorities for judgment (Mt 10.5-18). An encounter with God leading to a call to mission may not be the easiest thing to experience.
But that mission may not end as out story warns. Luke’s parallel version ends differently than Matthew’s (which, oddly, never mentions the twelve actually going out!). In Luke’s story, “the Lord commissioned seventy-two others and sent them on ahead in pairs to every city and place he was about to go. . . [They] returned joyously, saying, ‘Lord, even the demons submit themselves to us in your name.’ Jesus replied, ’I saw Satan fall from heaven like lightning. . . Nevertheless, don’t rejoice because the spirits submit to you. Rejoice instead that your names are written in heaven’” (Lk 10.1-2, 17-20).
In Luke’s story, those who were sent were warned about the potential dangers. But they went, preaching and healing . . . to great effect. Those they encountered were transformed. And the seventy-two rejoiced! I have to imagine that the seventy-two, despite any initial doubts, were transformed in their own ways . . . perhaps with Jesus’ stamp of approval that their names were now written in heaven because they had fulfilled that mission. And they may have gained confidence for the next one!
Three encounters with the divine: personal, welcoming strangers in, and going out to engage strangers. The first encounter includes a call to mission, and the second two are two sides of what I’d call the “mission coin”: welcoming the stranger and transforming them to guest and then to friend. AND going out to the stranger and transforming them to friend. It won’t always work. Jesus knew that. He was a stranger who, with some, through their encounters with him, became friends, but who, for others, became a threat. Despite knowing that that could be the case, his belief in his mission-call was so strong, that he endured the “threat” status, and its consequences.
Additionally, as Abraham, Sarah, and Jesus’ disciples themselves were transformed through their engagement with strangers, I have to believe that Jesus was transformed by those he met as well. I believe that as he “looked on others with compassion”, seeing them as a “sheep without a shepherd” (Mt 9.36), he became increasingly convinced that there was only one outcome to his mission—to be transformed—in a completely radical way—through death and resurrection.
We—as individuals and a congregation—who have come to know God, are compelled to bring the fruits of that encounter to our dealings with others. In a time of seemingly increasing threat, how do we welcome those who come through our doors—especially those who may not “look like us”—and transform them from strangers to friends? How do we, often hesitant to leave the comfort and security of what we know, answer Jesus’ call to “Go . . . to the lost sheep . . . [Announce] ’The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those with skin diseases, and throw out demons”?
“Close Encounters of the Divine Kind” promise transformation—for others as well as for ourselves—transformations from stranger to friend. Can we—individually and corporately—take the leap of faith to open ourselves to that possibility.
Amen.