Jeremiah 28: 5-9; Matthew 10: 40-42
Growing up in Appalachia, I lived what I would describe as “holler adjacent.” Bob’s Creek was a holler next to where we lived. Now, a holler is a small valley or depression between two mountains, usually with a creek, where people would build their homes. Some of the foods to come out of the hollers include soup beans and cornbread, often with hot chow-chow, fried taters, hominy, and Sauer kraut with hot dog wieners. My grandparents often had soup beans and cornbread almost every single night for supper.
But there is a long tradition in the mountains. There’s always a little extra food fixed, and an extra place held open just in case. As The Lost Mountain, which documents Appalachian traditions and folklore notes, “You never knew who might come up the holler hungry, and you never turned anyone away from your table…neighbor or stranger didn’t matter.” A full table is not about how much food you have, but about how wide you are willing to set it.
That ties into our scripture in Matthew. The Gospel lesson talks about the importance of receiving those who need shelter. Some of the nuances of this scripture tend to be lost on modern audiences. Matthew was written for a more Jewish audience as opposed to Gentile. Matthew was also written during a time of great persecution. This writing would have coincided with the destruction of the Temple and war between Judea and Rome in a Jewish uprising. Matthew, per many scholars, was an attempt by second generation Christians to provide a written recording of the recollections of the first-generation Christians before they died off. This Gospel was written during a time of great tribulation and persecution.
Many even describe Matthew’s church as a Martyr church where fear and destruction were part of the daily life. For us that is a bit foreign of an idea. We live in a time where there is comfort, and we don’t face daily persecution and poverty holding us at the brink of life and death. When we read this Gospel scripture, we read it as a lesson in grace, kindness, and hospitality. It is from your abundance of kindness that you receive a prophet, a righteous one, or even the least of the followers.
I’ve even heard this connected to inviting the preacher over to dinner after church or one evening as receiving the prophet or pastor. But for Matthew’s writer, this was not a question of grace or kindness. This was a question of life and death. If you are receiving a prophet or a righteous one, you are receiving them to provide shelter and care away from the potential destruction that could come their way. Giving a cup of water to the least of the followers could prevent death. But it also put the host in harm’s way.
In Roman law, a person who harbored a Christian could face charges of high treason or unlawful assembly. Those charges carried punishments of possible fines, prison, confiscation of property, or even death. This was not a question of providing a little bit of food, water, and refuge. This was a question of risking your own life and well-being for the good of the kingdom of God, to harbor God’s prophets, to safeguard God’s righteous ones, and to care for all even the least of those in the kingdom of God.
The same was true living up in an Appalachian holler. There’s a lot of wilderness land, a lot of scary things in the mountains, and for those who believe in it, if the bears don’t get you the “haints” will. Welcoming someone into your home for a meal or some water could mean the difference in their safety. Wandering onto the wrong property could get you killed. Wandering too far in the mountains could get you lost for good. It’s easy at dusk to miss the bobcat, the bear, and the den of rattlesnakes. This sense of welcome and hospitality, of receiving someone, protected them from the dangers that lurked in the mountains around them.
One author calls this the “decommercialization of evangelism.” It is simply receiving and showing God’s love and grace without photographs, a social media post, or well-funded outreach drive. It’s a bit counter-cultural, the circumstances are often more dire, and there is a greater sense of life and death. One of the best-known modern examples is those who hid Jews and other targets during the prelude to World War II. When the Nazis came for those they wanted to send to the camps, many folks facilitated escapes or hid out Jews in secret parts of their houses.
We, too, are called to this same sense of first century receiving. When we welcome refugees who have lived in war-torn countries, when we welcome those who are suffering, hungry, and escaping from suffering, when we protect someone from an unjust suffering or unjust death, we are doing what Jesus said here. When you help victims of a major earthquake as well. If you even give a cup of water to the least of these followers, you will be rewarded.
This type of receiving is a hard calling for us. We are trained to be wary of strangers. We listen to podcasts and watch shows of people being murdered by strange travelers. We are, by all accounts, a suspicious society. And in many ways that is justified. Yet we must also find how we can practice the kind of hospitality that Jesus calls on us to do. Jesus picks three complicated people for the righteous to receive here in this Gospel lesson.
The first is a prophet. As we hear from Jeremiah, no one really liked prophets. Most of them came to predict doom and gloom. If you saw a prophet in Jeremiah’s day, rarely were you going to get good news. And those who did bring good news were often tasked with offering proof of their prophecy. Jeremiah offers a measured response knowing that the prophet’s words of peace and hope come from a “royal theology” or from a nationalistic hope as opposed to what was actual reality. Prophets were heard, but very uncomfortable guests and presences.
The righteous were also problematic because sometimes you didn’t know whether you were getting the holy righteous or the self-righteous. The Gospel of Luke calls this out when the righteous ones walk past the injured man while the Samaritan helps him. This plays into our own fear that you never know what kind of person may show up for your good graces. And finally, there’s the least of all the followers, who only get a cup of water. We’re not told who this could be. But the implication is that you may not want them staying at your house. Yet we are called to give them a cold cup of water because receiving someone in the name of Jesus is important in the Gospel lesson.
It is also hard for us to be this hospitality oriented. Safety is a concern. We never know who or what version of whom may show up to our home. Yet we care called to receive with generosity just the same. You don’t have to give someone the spare bedroom, but even a cold cup of water is important. To really bring this home, let me give you an illustration.
In 2017, a mentally ill man, who by all accounts was not violent, knocked on doors in Deepstep, Georgia, asking for some water. He was on foot from Milledgeville to Sandersville. A concerned resident called police, who encountered the man, attempted to detain him for a crime they couldn’t actually articulate happening subsequently tasered him till he was dead in the ensuing back and forth. Most legal scholars say he was improperly detained and lawfully could leave the officers’ presence. How different would this have been if the man had just been given a cold cup of water as he was the least of these, God’s children and followers.
In an Appalachian supper, a little bit of extra food is fixed, whether it’s beans, taters, cornbread, or something out of the garden, because you never know who is going to wander up the holler in need of some grace and generosity. Likewise, in the kingdom of God, we are called to give generously to all, whether prophet, righteous, or the very least, for in each we see Jesus on our doorstep.
Worship Service Video https://www.facebook.com/fccmacon/videos/2698148657247963/