"When Abraham saw them, he ran from the tent entrance to meet them, and bowed down to the ground…" We find Abraham and his band by the oaks of Mamre this morning. They are in the area that is located in what is now the city of Hebron, about 19 miles south of Jerusalem. The area is holy to Jews, Muslims and Christians because of its association with Abraham's story. In the cave of the Patriarchs it is said that Adam and Eve; Abraham and Sarah; Isaac and Rebekah; and Jacob and Leah are buried. By this time in their journeying on the promises of God, he and his wife have had name changes to signify their new relationship to God. And, doubting that God could manage a pregnancy for Sarah, they had taken matters into their own hands and had a child through their servant, Hagar.

As Abraham sits at the entrance of his tent – a holy place, he looks up to see three strangers approaching him. He runs to them and offers them the best of middle-eastern hospitality … water for their feet, the best of their flour, and a freshly prepared calf. The story more often focused on follows. The strangers turn out to be angels in disguise and remind Abraham and Sarah of God's promise, saying she will bear a sun in due season … literally when "time revives." Sarah, of course, laughs at the ridiculous idea of bearing a child at her age. This morning, I'd like us to look at the beginning of the story and the lesson it gives us on hospitality. For Abraham and Sarah hospitality was an ingrained behavior, they didn't know any other way to act. Being hospitable took precedence over just about anything. A story in Wednesday's New York Times illustrated how deeply ingrained hospitality is in middle-eastern culture:

Emad Refaat strode out of his workshop with purpose, his grease-covered hands pointing down the road even before he could see the road. "Come here," he said, his voice strong with reassurance. "Go to the light, make the first right. That's Salah el-Din Street." Sure? "I am sure, totally sure." But he was wrong, totally wrong. "I wanted to help. I was actually going to tell you to ask the flower vendor on the corner. He knows all the streets," said Mr. Refaat, 28, who was slightly embarrassed when he was asked why he gave the wrong directions with such conviction. In Egypt, it is routine, absolutely routine, to get the wrong directions. That is not because people are mischievous, but because if you ask for help, they feel obligated to try to help – even if they send you off in the wrong direction. (link)

Again, it is that deeply ingrained sense of hospitality that should capture us this morning. Abraham didn't wait until they were knocking on his tent flap, he went out … maybe the three men weren't even intending on stopping by. And Abraham's act of hospitality had a lasting mark on our history as God's people. The extension of hospitality leaves deep impressions. More than twenty years later I still remember with gratitude an act of hospitality that was extended to me. I was an outsider, working for another Annual Conference. I was a summer staff person for the Western Pennsylvania Conference's camping program. It was a much sought after job, so rarely was someone from outside the conference hired. When it came to the training week I found myself with 29 other people, all of whom had grown up in the conference and attended the camping programs since they were old enough to go to Day Camp. They were catching up, sharing stories and so on … and there was me. I found myself sitting off alone, wondering why in the world I had taken on such a job. In the midst of that one person in the group noticed me and came and sat down with me. He simply said he knew how hard it must be to come to this camp program as an outsider with all these people who knew each other so well … and he hoped that I would find a place in their midst this summer, he welcomed me. There was nothing profound in his words, but they gave me the courage to find a place that summer. That simple act of hospitality was all it took.

We have been given the greatest act of hospitality ever conceived. God loves us. And God's love does not wait until we seek it out. God's love comes to us even before we are aware we are in need of it. Abraham's actions mirror God's hospitality. Abraham is sitting at the entrance to his tent. A place considered to be the holy seat of one's dwelling. Abraham leaves that holy place to meet strangers. It is so with God's love for us. God doesn't wait until we happen to stumble into the doors of a holy place to find God. God is out there in the world seeking and searching for us. We see that story in the life of Jesus, again and again out in the world searching for people. Jesus didn't spend a whole lot of time waiting in the temple for people to come to him. Jesus lived a hospitality so radical the authorities of his day couldn't bear it … and the cross became the profound expression of hospitality.

This morning we sit in a designated holy place … somehow in our lives we have encountered God's searching love for us … we have figured at least that much out. In response to the radical hospitality we have found in the life and love of God in Jesus Christ we are now sent from the holy place. We cannot wait for others to come to us. We must reach out to the stranger in our midst … bring a cup of coffee and an outstretch hand...inviting others to journey with us that they too might know the profound love that God has for them. Like Abraham we are called to rise from our holy place and go out to seek the strangers who come near us.

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