Today we are conscious of the presence of “strangers” – people we don’t know and don’t trust. We warn our children about “stranger danger,” and now without reason. We are conscious of the lurking presence of predators. We guard our homes against the stranger because we read about local burglaries in the newspaper’s crime reports. We are justifiably wary of the stranger in our midst because we do not know either their identity or their purpose.
I had grown comfortable with this sensible approach to life, until Jesus’ words from Matthew hit me hard: “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in…” In fact, the scriptures repeatedly advise us to show hospitality to the stranger. In Psalm 39, the ancient hymn writer even suggests that he himself was a stranger: “Hear my prayer, O LORD, listen to my cry for help; be not deaf to my weeping. For I dwell with you as an alien, a stranger, as all my fathers were.” As it turns out, we are all strangers, and we depend on the hospitality of others.
The word in Greek is paroikos, translated as either “stranger” or “alien.” The stranger is the unknown one who may not even share one’s faith. The stranger is the “foreigner,” perhaps traveling through. The basis for hospitality, according to the Bible, is the recognition that “we were once strangers too.” The memory of being a stranger is to drive us to be welcoming toward the aliens in our midst.
Hospitality is an important aspect of congregational life. People visit churches and choose whether to come back on the basis of their friendliness. Most of us have had the experience of walking into a crowd, feeling like everyone else there knows each other, and being ignored as if we were invisible. A congregation may do a lot of things very well, but if we do not sense friendliness toward the stranger, it won’t get to first base with us.
It may surprise you to note that this Greek word, paroikos, is also the root of the words “parish” and “parochial.” How interesting! In other words, a parish is a gathering of strangers. We are the gathered aliens – the fellowship of the alienated, who come together to experience and practice hospitality. Rather than a congregation being a fellowship of the likeminded, we are a family who, like all families, has our differences, our conflicts and our misunderstandings. We are often strangers to each other. But our charge is to use our differences as grist for growth and maturity.
Some pundit suggested that where there are four or five Christians gathered, there will be five or six opinions. In my experience, that is probably true. We have our differences, and we come from different places. But I have also found that the paroikos I serve has learned to enjoy the liveliness and spirit that brings to the body.
After all, we were once strangers too….
