Gospel readings seem to come in different shapes and sizes. Some are so long that nothing else will fit on the notice sheet. Some are so short that they seem to be over before we’ve even realised they’ve started. Today’s, at just 2 verses long, falls firmly in the latter group (Matt 10:40-42). Time then for a recap I think over the previous bits of Chapter 10 of Matthew’s gospel that we’ve dipped in and out of over the last few weeks.

It begins with Jesus sending out The Twelve, the inner group of disciples, on some kind of mission. They are sent to the lost sheep of Israel; to those who have a church background but for one reason or another have lost touch with their spiritual roots. They are to proclaim that the kingdom of heaven has come near to them. To show this they are to cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers; they are to do things that will attract attention and proclaim heaven bursting out on earth. They are to take no staff, no weapons for protection - they are not to keep double-barrelled silver guns in clocks in their vicarages! They are to be unarmed and therefore vulnerable. They are to speak a different language to the prevailing one dominated by violence.

If they receive a welcome, they are to sit and eat what is put before them with thanksgiving. If they are not welcomed they are to shake off the dust from their shoes to show that they are moving on and those people have missed the boat. If they are rejected, then the one who sent them will reject those who show such hostility. A stark message that it is decision time.

They are warned, even promised, that there will be hostility and if it comes, or when it comes, they are not to fear. As sparrows are sold in the market for next to nothing and God notices them, then how much more are we loved by God; even the hairs on our head are counted - less of a challenge for some perhaps, for those thinning on top! He goes on, nothing is to be loved more than God. Nothing and no one is to take priority, to be loved more. Not a spouse, not a child, nothing.

This is where our passage comes in this morning. Whoever welcomes the ones who are sent, welcomes the one who sends them. They are emissaries and as such to treat them well is to honour the one they serve. They therefore become sacred ground themselves. Just like in the past prophets have been honoured because of their message and all who are righteous have been honoured because their holiness has been recognised.

Our first reading, though, gave us a hint at the difficulty involved here (Jer 28:5-9). Hindsight is a wonderful gift, but rarely granted in advance. And as Jeremiah points out, a prophet’s value will be seen in whether what they say comes true or not. Likewise few people are recognised as saints in their own life-time, though some may be honoured and admired but usually because over time their virtue shines through in their actions and words, so its a kind of hindsight.

Giving a cup of water is hardly the most generous of acts, it is the most minimal act of hospitality going. But how many of us would give a cup of water if approached by a travelling preacher at the doorstep or in the street? And does being hospitable or compassionate to the thirsty really constitute an acceptance of their mission, a recognition (with hindsight or without it) that this is someone special or with a special message? There are many preachers in the streets whom I would give a wide berth to as they rant and shout out their message. I might give them a drink though if they asked for it, just like the man who regularly calls round for a black coffee, with one and half sugars, and a sandwich.

It is interesting that being near to the kingdom of heaven is narrowed down to involve simple acts of hospitality. But then it is an act of hospitality at the Oaks of Mamre that leads Abraham to entertain angels in the sagas of Genesis. It is by a well, when Jesus is thirsty on a hot day, that he meets the woman who has quite a past. She is hardly seen to take what he says without a debate and gives quite a spirited response to him, but still seems to give him water and in that act of welcome, in that hospitality, creates a space for the gospel to germinate.

This is what Rowan Williams calls ‘a breathing space’. (Rowan Williams is the Archbishop of Wales and is tipped to be the next Archbishop of Canterbury and if that happens then I will send up a few rockets in celebration.) Rowan’s comments come in a wonderful little book called ‘Writing in the dust’ and it’s the best reflection on September 11th that I’ve read. He is referring to those mobile phone calls to loved ones in the final moments when those on the planes realised they were about to die. They are moments when self-interest and any other concern gave way for something more important, the power of love and an openness to love. It is a breathing space in life, even in the face of death, when what really counts can get through. It is when we ‘hush the noise of strife’, to quote the Christmas Carol, when we offer a cup of water and create a space for something to shine through.

These ‘breathing’ moments are the times when we allow ourselves to come near to the kingdom of heaven. They don’t rely on full comprehension, on passing great intellectual tests, not even on being a push over and swallowing everything that is said straight away, just enough charity to let God sit down with us. And in the old version of St Paul’s great hymn to love from 1 Corinthians 13, much used as a wedding reading, we are told that the greatest gift is charity, is the gift of love. It is the openness to a breathing space which something as simple as a cup of water shows.

It is in the hospitable act that we show our openness to the one who sends out the disciples, via the love, the charity which opens up the breathing space of the Spirit. Forty two verses come down to something so simple. Are the lights on or are the lights off? Has this person got it in them to make space even if they don’t know yet what they are making space for? And for that matter, have we?

© Ian Black 2002

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