HOSPITALITY WITH STRANGERS
A sermon by the Rev. Dr. James G. Kirk
Harundale Presbyterian Church
August 29, 2004
Text: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers.” (Hebrews 13:2)
First
Second
There are two stories that warrant out attention this morning, both of which fit our reading from Hebrews perfectly and give us something to think about. The first comes from Robert Peterson and has been around for some time. It’s called The Sandpiper. “She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me. She was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea. ‘Hello,’ she said. I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child. ‘I’m building,’ she said. ‘I see that. What is it?’ I asked, not really caring. ‘Oh, I don’t know, I just like the feel of sand.’ That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by. ‘That’s a joy,’ the child said. ‘It’s a what?’ ‘It’s a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy.’
The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself, hello pain, and turned to walk on. I was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance. ‘What’s your name?’ She wouldn’t give up. ‘Robert,’ I answered. ‘I’m Robert Peterson.’ ‘Mine’s Wendy…I’m six.’ ‘Hi, Wendy.’ She giggled. ‘You’re funny,’ she said. In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me. ‘Come again, Mr. P,’ she called. ‘We’ll have another happy day.’
After a few days of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an ailing mother, the sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat. The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. ‘Hello Mr. P,’ she said. ‘Do you want to play?’ ‘What did you have in mind?’ I asked, with a twinge of annoyance. ‘I don’t know, you say.’ ‘How about charades?’ I asked sarcastically. The tinkling laughter burst forth again. ‘I don’t know, what is it? ‘Then let’s just walk.’ Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face. ‘Where do you live?’ I asked. ‘Over there.’ She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
Strange, I thought, in winter. ‘Where do you go to school?’ ‘I don’t go to school. Mommy says we’re on vacation.’ She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed. Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home. ‘Look, if you don’t mind,’ I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me. ‘I’d rather be alone today.’ She seemed unusually pale and out of breath. ‘Why?’ she asked. I turned to her and shouted, ‘Because my mother died!’ and thought, My God, why was I saying this to a little child?
‘Oh,’ she said quietly, ‘then this is a bad day.’ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and yesterday and day before and—oh, go away!’ ‘Did it hurt?’ she inquired. ‘Did what hurt?’ I was exasperated with her, with myself. ‘When she died?’ ‘Of course it hurt!’ I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. I strode off. A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn’t there. Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door. ‘Hello,’ I said, ‘I’m Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was.’ ‘Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I’m afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please accept my apologies.’ ‘Not at all—she’s a delightful child.’ I said, suddenly realizing that I meant what I had just said. ‘Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn’t tell you.’
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath. ‘She loved this beach so when she asked to come, we couldn’t say no. She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks she declined rapidly…’ Her voice faltered. ‘She left something for you…if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?’ I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with ‘Mr. P’ printed in bold childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues—a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed: A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.
Tears welled up in my eyes and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. I took Wendy’s mother in my arms. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,’ I muttered over and over, and we wept together. The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words—one for each year of her life—that speaks to me of harmony, courage and undemanding love.”
The second story is titled simply, “The Pink Dress.” “There was this little girl sitting by herself in the park. Everyone passed by her and never stopped to see why she looked so sad. Dressed in a worn pink dress, barefoot and dirty, the girl just sat and watched the people go by. She never tried to speak. She never said a word. Many people passed by her, but no one would stop.
The next day I decided to go back to the park in curiosity to see if the little girl would still be there. Yes, she was there, right in the very spot where she was yesterday, and still with the same sad look in her eyes. Today I was to make my own move and walkover to the little girl. For as we all know, a park full of strange people is not a place for young children to play alone. As I got closer I could see the back of the little girl’s dress. It was grotesquely shaped. I figured that was the reason people just passed by and made no effort to speak to her. Deformities are a low blow to our society and, heaven forbid if you make a step toward assisting someone who is different.
As I got closer, the little girl lowered her eyes slightly to avoid my intent stare. As I approached her, I could see the shape of back more clearly. She was grotesquely shaped in a humped over form. I smiled to let he know it was OK. I was there to help, to talk. I sat down beside her and opened with a simple, ‘Hello.’ The little girl acted shocked, and stammered a ‘hi,’ after a long stare into my eyes. I smiled and she shyly smiled back. We talked until darkness fell and the park was completely empty. I asked the girl why she was sad. The little girl looked at me with a sad face and said, ‘Because, I’m different.’ I immediately said, ‘That you are!’, and smiled. The little girl acted even sadder and said, ‘I know.’
‘Little girl,’ I said, ‘you remind me of an angel, sweet and innocent.’ She looked at me and smiled, and then slowly she got to her feet and said, ‘Really?’ “Yes, you’re like a little Guardian Angel sent to watch over all people walking by.’ She nodded her head yes, and smiled. With that she opened the back of her pink dress and allowed her wings to spread, and then she said, ‘I am.’ ‘I’m your Guardian Angel,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye. I was speechless—sure I was seeing things. She said, ‘For once you thought of someone other than yourself. My job here is done.’ I got to my feet and said, ‘wait, why did no one stop to help an angel?’ She looked at me, smiled, and said, ‘You’re the only one that could see me,’ and then she was gone.”
Hebrews tells us, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” Like both of these stories tell us, too often we get so absorbed in our own lives, our own worlds that we forget to notice all the wonderful people God puts in our way. So often we think they’re just that, they’re in our way! We have our own agendas to accomplish and perish the person who for whatever reason gets in our way. When just perhaps God has put them there to get our attention, to get us away from our self absorption for a moment and think of something else or someone else for a change. That’s what happened to Robert Peterson and to the man who noticed the girl in the pink dress. If we were to think of those people as God’s angels rather than just in the way perhaps it would make a difference in our lives. We’d take more time to be with them, really with them, listen to them, learn about their lives, and hear what they have to say to us. I did a funeral this past week for a 92 year old father of four, the son of whom never told his father that he loved him, that is not until the day of his funeral when his father could no longer hear him say it. And that’s sad, but too often it’s true. So, beginning today, let’s make a promise to ourselves that we’ll take some time to show a little hospitality to strangers. They may just be God’s angels.
Thanks be to God,
Amen