Be Our Guest

Luke 22:7-13

I hate traveling. Even before Sir Rona showed up, I hated leaving my house. I didn’t do well with booking vacations because I also hate spending my own money. (Guess my astrological sign, I don’t like to travel because it costs money and interrupts my work. Answer: Capricorn). In the last year, though, I’ve found myself wishing I had made time (and rearranged financial priorities) to go on those Girls’ Trips to Vegas and New Orleans, and Mexico. If I regret anything in this life, it is that I did not take advantage of my paid time off to do things besides attend conferences. There was always something that demanded my attention and my savings. 

Welp. 

Enter Sir Rona. And all travel had to come to a halt. 

I’ve only used AirBnB once. It was for a Covid-friendly staycation in my neighborhood. I needed a change of scenery and some quiet time. Upon arriving, there was a locked box with a code that held a key inside.

“Great,” I thought to myself. “I don’t have to make small talk with anyone. I can just let myself in.”

Upon entering, there were signs that directed me to the sunroom. There were sanitizers and even a little box of masks. There was a note that all items had been cleaned and changed and that I was the only person in the space for this time. 

I couldn’t focus on what I’d come to do. I was supposed to just get somewhere and sit my hind parts down, but I was tender. I kept thinking about the host who went through all of the trouble to make my stay worthwhile. I began to think about all the ways I’d been hosted or a host. It all seemed so far from me.

All the taco nights at my apartment.

All the waffles I’ve made with my special elephant, bunny and giraffe waffle iron. 

The ushers who greeted us in the Narthex. 

The church ladies who kept a candy bag. Specifically, Aunt (Deacon) Sandy who never enters without a fresh token for her row. 

The volunteers at Freedom School, who didn’t mind going back into the kitchen closet to find some foil for a to-go plate. 

The hosts at the Black queer and trans day parties, who made sure you know the hashtag to get your pictures from the photographer. 

The vibe checkers, who mediated conflict at those events, because conflicts always arise anywhere people gather.

The uncles, who encouraged you to “reach on down into that cooler and get you a soda.”

The elders, who invited you to sit on their stoop “for a spell” since it’s nice outside. 

The babies who offered you cheese doodles with dusty orange fingers.

The practice of hospitality has had to adapt. We cannot gather in the ways that we normally would, which means we cannot practice hospitality as we normally would either.

Hospitality. Philoxenos. Its root words make it almost an oxymoron. 

Philo- Friend

Xenos- Stranger 

Hmm.

Jesus tells Peter and John, “Look here, when you get to where you’re going, you’re going to find a man carrying a jar of water. Follow him into the house, and tell the owner of the house that your teacher asked ‘where’s the guest room for us to set up the Passover dinner?’ And you’ll be taken to a big room that has already been set up.” And of course, they went and found everything as Jesus had described. 

This story isn’t about Jesus who predicted the preparation. It’s about an unnamed guide carrying a jar of water, happy to escort these strangers to a place they can rest their bones. 

These days, I am in awe of such hospitality. You mean to tell me, you were just standing on Fulton Street selling water bottles for $1 and you allowed some men to follow you to your spot? How did you know they weren’t the Feds? How’d you know they weren’t informants? After all, we’re getting closer and closer to what would become Holy Week. And you’re just letting anyone come to the upstairs room? 

How do we know this is safe? Have you been tested? What precautions are in place? Will there be ventilation? How many people will be there? Who all is going to be there, because So and So be acting like there’s no pandemic going on, they were JUST in the Dominican Republic two days ago, ain’t no way they properly quarantined…

What kind of trust does it take to be the one carrying water? What other arrangements have been made so that this encounter didn’t end up tragic? We often see the end result of these plans and assume they just came together. But it takes organization and collaboration to do anything like a Passover meal. 

Strangely, there is no dialogue. We have no clue what Peter, John, and Unnamed Guide talk about. Maybe there was a secret password or handshake. Maybe they each knew to look out for each other’s clothes. Maybe someone had made drawings of them and they matched the drawing to the person in real life. All we know is that the Unnamed Guide is carrying water. I wonder if he was carrying water because he knew they’d be thirsty. 

I will never forget one of the first times I attended a WomanPreach event. I had budgeted for incidentals (Capricorn, remember) and I had set aside Uber money. As a New Yorker, I don’t trust (or respect) anyone else’s public transit. It took just one WomanPreach event to learn that someone will always come get you from the airport. 

For one event, I was met by Minister Jene Ashley Colvin. Upon getting into the car, her first question was “Have you eaten yet?”

Maybe that’s just it. Just that question. An invitation to witness someone else’s humanity. After all, we all gotta eat! 

I am relearning all that I thought I knew about hospitality. As a minister and educator, I have been lamenting the loss of public and shared space. How do we create flexible and elastic learning spaces if we’re online? How can people share their most vulnerable truths if we’re just looking at each other in Brady Bunch formation? 

I do think we have lost something by being out of intimate space for a year. There are some conversations that Zoom cannot hold, and some ways of communicating that Facebook just can’t manage. You don’t believe me? Try to do a call-and-response song on Zoom, and watch how chaotic that lag will be.

But I also think the spirit of hospitality prompts us to orient ourselves to the possibility of strangers becoming friends. And no matter where we are, we can ask, “have you eaten?” “You want a pump of my sanitizer?” “You want help carrying that stroller down the stairs?” 

Or my favorite, when someone is taking selfies in public, “ Alright now!” Everyone could use a little gas, ya know. 

Following in the footsteps of this unnamed guide goes deeper than niceness. And it shouldn’t exhaust you beyond human limitation. This unnamed guide is an integral part of the movement just by doing what he does best. Holding water and meeting people. Part of me wants to believe that he’s the kind of person we ironically nickname “LIl’ Man.” I imagine him as a swole, brolic dude who knows that no one will cross him. Maybe that’s why they sent him to wait for strangers. Ain’t nobody messing with Lil’ Man. 

The movement has use for everyone. Each one of us has an important role in the ecosystem of God’s hope for us. I likely won’t be the person meeting strangers, but I know I’m good at sending memes and listening. 

What’s your contribution?

Minister Candace Simpson (she/they) is a religious educator serving at the Concord Baptist Church of Christ in Brooklyn, NY. She is a graduate of Trinity College and Union Theological Seminary. She also is the voice of the Fish Sandwich Heaven Podcast and lead designer for the Fish Sandwich Heaven website. They are a PhD student at Garrett Seminary in the field of Christian Education and Congregational Studies. Most recently, Minister Simpson developed a Bible Study series with United Women in Faith called "Who Can We Be Together?

A Biblical Exploration of Luke 13."  It is Minister Simpson’s philosophy that Heaven is a Revolution that must begin right here on Earth.