SERMON ~ 07/21/2013 ~ “Hospitality”

07/21/2013 ~ Ninth Sunday after Pentecost ~ Proper 11 ~ Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time ~ Amos 8:1-12; Psalm 52; Genesis 18:1-10a; Psalm 15; Colossians 1:15-28; Luke 10:38-42 ~ Special Music: Tom Rasely.

Hospitality

“...Abraham took cheese and milk and the calf which had been prepared, placed it before the travelers and waited near them under the tree while they ate.” — Genesis 18:8.

Many people do not realize there are two kinds of theater jobs, two classes of theater jobs.  There are regular gigs, jobs which are quite steady and pay a set salary.  There are not so regular gigs, jobs which feel like they might disappear tomorrow and often do.  Back when I was writing for theater I held both kinds.

The latter kind, the disappearing kind of gig, is the type most would associate with the actor-slash-restaurant wait staff who, when delivering a meal, might break into song on request.  The former kind of gig, the steady, often well-paying gig, is when a person has a part in a long running play or as a recurring soap opera character or even a job backstage— like box office treasurer.

I had one of the backstage solid gigs when I worked for the theatrical charity The Actors Fund of America. [1]  Now, before getting a paid job there, I had volunteered time.  And so, when I was a volunteer, I once went to a fund raising event held at an art gallery.

As the event was winding down, I got on the elevator to leave and by chance Josh Logan and Nedda Harrigan Logan were the only people to get on with me.  Nedda was on the Board of the Fund.

Now, if you don’t know a lot about theater, those two names may mean nothing to you.  But Josh Logan co-wrote and directed the shows Mister Roberts and South Pacific.  You’ve probably heard of those.  He also directed the film versions of both.

Nedda was an actress.  During World War II, she was one of the founders of the organization known as the Stage Door Canteen.  Her father was Edward “Ned” Harrigan, the composer and vaudeville performer about whom George Cohan wrote the famous song: H-A-Double R-I— G-A-N spells Harrigan— he was that Harrigan.

In any case, here I am— and I was at that point a theater novice— here I am alone, on an elevator with Josh Logan and Nedda Harrigan Logan— theater royalty.  Josh and Nedda looked at each other, nodded, smiled and reached out their hands to shake mine.  They introduced themselves by name: “Hi, I’m Josh Logan.”  “Hi, I’m Nedda Harrigan Logan.”  (As if I did not know exactly who they were!)

My reaction was natural.  I responded by shaking their hands and saying, “Hi, I’m Joe Connolly.”

Nothing else was said.  But they had been friendly to a novice.  I was, in fact, so much of a novice, I did not know this is a fairly common practice in theater.  Put out your hand, introduce yourself, be friendly.

You see, in theater the only place your station in life matters is when it comes to where your name appears in the Playbill.  Face to face, eyeball to eyeball, theater people are all equals.  Why?  Theater people rely on each other.

After all, theater is live.  An actor with a bit part can ruin a performance.  That actor might get fired right after the house lights come up, but actors rely on actors.  So it’s a given: everyone is equal in front of an audience.  (Slight pause.)

And we find these words in the work known as Genesis: “...Abraham took cheese and milk and the calf which had been prepared, placed it before the travelers and waited near them under the tree while they ate.”  (Slight pause.)

Langston Hughes was a Africa-American poet, novelist, playwright, an innovator in the then new literary art form called jazz poetry and a leader of the Harlem Renaissance.  The poem I am about to read was written by Hughes and published in 1938. [2]  So, this poem by far pre-dates current headlines.  But it sounds strangely, hauntingly contemporary.  (Slight pause.)

“This is for the kids who die, / Black and white, / For kids will die certainly. / The old and rich will live on awhile, / As always, / Eating blood and gold, / Letting kids die.”

“Kids will die in the swamps of Mississippi / Organizing sharecroppers / Kids will die in the streets of Chicago / Organizing workers / Kids will die in the orange groves of California / Telling others to get together / Whites and Filipinos, / Negroes and Mexicans, / All kinds of kids will die / Who don’t believe in lies, and bribes, and contentment / And a lousy peace.”

“Of course, the wise and the learned / Who pen editorials in the papers, / And the gentlemen with Dr. in front of their names / White and black, / Who make surveys and write books / Will live on weaving words to smother the kids who die, / And the sleazy courts, / And the bribe-reaching police, / And the blood-loving generals, / And the money-loving preachers / Will all raise their hands against the kids who die, / Beating them with laws and clubs and bayonets and bullets / To frighten the people— / For the kids who die are like iron in the blood of the people— / And the old and rich don’t want the people / To taste the iron of the kids who die, / Don’t want the people to get wise to their own power,....” [3]

“Listen, kids who die— / Maybe, now, there will be no monument for you / Except in our hearts / Maybe your bodies’ll be lost in a swamp / Or a prison grave, or the potter’s field, / Or the rivers where you’re drowned... [4] / But the day will come— / You are sure yourselves that it is coming— / When the marching feet of the masses / Will raise for you a living monument of love, / And joy, and laughter, / And black hands and white hands clasped as one, / And a song that reaches the sky— / The song of the life triumphant / Through the kids who die.” [5]  (Pause.)

Again, even though written a long time ago, these are the hauntingly contemporary words of Langston Hughes, words published in 1938.  (Slight pause.)

As was said earlier the narrative we heard from Genesis seems ordinary.  Abraham, a nomad, is resting in the shade of a tent on a blistering afternoon and in typical nomadic fashion extends hospitality to three strangers who suddenly appear.  (Slight pause.)

Most commentators insist this is not ordinary.  The travelers represent a theophany, an experience of the real presence of God.  Commentators also insist God is present to renew the covenant already made with Sarah and Abraham.

Last, they insist that the hospitality extended by Abraham and Sarah is not meant to please the visitors.  Quite the contrary, the hospitality offered is a paradigm of how the other should be treated— with openness, with equity.  As it happens, in treating these visitors with openness and equity, Abraham and Sarah welcome God.  (Slight pause.)

Theologian Richard Rohr notes we live in an interesting era, in a time when people say things are non-negotiable, make non-negotiable demands.  However, he says, a lot of those non-negotiable demands have to do with the violent protection of property— the violent protection of property.  He then observes Jesus had non-negotiable demands also.

The non-negotiable demands of Jesus include loving neighbor.  They include justice, healing and restoration for the poor.  This is also a non-negotiable: never exclude anyone— ever.  Hospitality is to be extended to all.

In fact, of all the things Jesus mentions as non-negotiable— you’ll find the non-negotiable demands of Jesus when you read the Beatitudes— of all the things Jesus mentions as non-negotiable, a right to commit violent acts is not on that list.  The protection of property is not on that list.  (Slight pause.)

Another theologian, Henri Nouwen, said this (quote): “Much violence is based on the illusion that life is a property to be defended and not to be shared.”  So yes, there are connections here between sexism, racism, militarism, nationalism.  These are all forms of violence which protect some kind of turf, some property.  (Slight pause.)

It has occurred to me that we really do not understand Biblical hospitality.  We hear the word hospitality and we confine it to being cordial, welcoming.  But Biblical hospitality includes justice.  Biblical hospitality includes peace.  Biblical hospitality includes freedom.  Biblical hospitality includes dignity.

Biblical hospitality means we need to strive to make justice and peace and freedom and dignity happen for all people.  Biblical hospitality, you see, is a place where justice, peace, freedom and dignity can happen because we rely on one another.

And this— this is what people do who rely on each other.  [The pastor leaves the pulpit and walks up to several parishioners who are sitting in pews, shakes their hands and says]: “Hi.  I’m Joe Connolly.”  (Needless to say the parishioners each respond with their own names.)  [The pastor does not to the pulpit but finishes the comments below standing in the center isle of the Nave.]

As I said, this is done in the theater.  In the theater everyone is equal in front of an audience.  In life all people are equal in front of God.  And hospitality— Biblical hospitality— being present to our neighbor, striving to make justice and peace and freedom and dignity happen for all people— is our true calling from God because we are equal, all of us, before God.  Amen.

07/21/2013
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York.

ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Congregational Response and Benediction.  This is an précis of what was said: “Just so you know that my encounter with Josh and Nedda Logan was not a fluke, after I started working for The Actors Fund one of the great actresses of the 20th Century dropped by my office, stuck out her hand and said, “Hi, I’m Helen Hayes.”  (As if I would not have known!)  With God, the handshake is know as Covenant.  And God knows the world can be fraught with handshakes of greed, anxiety and violence.  But God realizes handshakes of greed, anxiety, and violence are countered when commit to the work of the Dominion of God.  So, God offers the handshake of Covenant since our hands do the work of the Dominion.”

BENEDICTION: We can find the presence of God in unexpected places.  God’s light leads us to places we thought not possible just moments ago.  God’s love abounds and will live with us throughout eternity.  The grace of God is deeper than our imagination.  The strength of Christ is stronger than our needs.  The communion of the Holy Spirit is richer than our togetherness.  May the one triune God sustain us today and in all our tomorrows.  Amen.

[1]  A note on grammar/spelling: this organization is “The Actors Fund” (i.e.: Actors, plural— a fund for all actors.)

[2] The Collected Works of Langston Hughes, Volume 1, 1921-1940, pg. 138-140.

[3]  “To believe an Angelo Herndon, or even get together.”  This line was removed here just to avoid have to explain who Angelo Herndon was (a socialist).

[4]  “Libknecht” - This word was removed here just to avoid needing to explain who Libknecht was.  He was a socialist.

[5] http://books.google.com/books?id=uuREXd_sZyoC&pg=PA139&lpg=PA139&dq=LANGSTON+HUGHES+WHEN+KIDS+DIE&source=bl&ots=R1FGSHOpFL&sig=hELWGeBV0Tr5GsSqAzHWwH1y1SQ&hl=en&sa=X&ei=z0nsUa3mMoWGqgGEoICgAg&ved=0CEEQ6AEwAzgK#v=onepage&q=LANGSTON%20HUGHES%20WHEN%20KIDS%20DIE&f=false