Dinner Party Table- Beyond the Welcome Mat

Welcome, the mat by the door says.

You show up. You are dressed for the occasion. You are so excited to have been asked. You ring the door bell and the door swings open and you are grinning wide.

But everyone else? Awkward glances. Polite exchanges are given but no eye contact. Others don’t even bother noticing, as if you were invisible.

They told you to “make yourself at home,” but you don’t feel at home at all. Pretty soon it becomes clear: you may have been invited, but that doesn’t mean you are welcome.

Today’s text is a tale of two welcomes. The extravagant dinner party host. The unexpected guest. And Jesus in the middle of it all.

Jesus shows up at Simon’s house. Simon ushers him but doesn’t bother tending to his dirty feet or embracing him. He might as well have said “so glad you decided to stop by Jesus. I’m sorry you can’t stay too long.”

Jesus is in the room reclining and the party is moving along when the woman appears. She bends down and is near his feet. Feet that were still dirty from the walk over to Simon’s. Feet that hadn’t been cleaned at the door. And in his presence, she begins weeping.

We don’t know what this woman’s sins were and that is beside the point. All we know is that everyone else knew what they were and judged her for it. She shows up at a dinner party unannounced, uninvited, and moves straight to Jesus and kneels down and starts crying. Can you imagine the scene? Have you ever had an uninvited guest? Someone who is a bit much, a bit awkward, or just doesn’t fit in with the rest of the group well? Let alone the talk of the town crying over Jesus in the middle of the main course. What a way to cause a scene.

Around her everyone’s eyes are popped open and their jaws are scraping the floor. Does he have any idea who this woman is? If he did, he wouldn’t get within ten feet of her. She’s no saint, that’s for sure. Simon assumes Jesus must just be a prophet then, because no Son of God would allow themselves to accept such a gesture from such a woman.

But the woman does not allow her tears to be wasted. Having no water in a basin, she allows her own tears to fall down, down, down, sliding over Jesus’s feet. Then she pulls out this vial of perfume. An alabaster jar. Something costly. Something fragrant. She pours it over his feet, kissing them in the process. Having no towel, she risks her reputation even further in taking out the pins in her her and letting it fall down, bending over to dry Jesus’s feet.

Simon is caught off guard by her sin, but the woman is caught up in God’s grace. Simon welcomes Jesus as a formality, but the woman offers all she has. Simon’s welcome has a limit, while the woman crosses lines to sit beside Jesus and extend a holy welcome, a welcome that is an offering of her very self.

Listen to the contrast again.

Jesus uses this as a tale of two welcomes. Stephen Kraftchick says “Simon provided no water, no kiss, and no oil. The woman bathed Jesus with her tears, kissed his feet repeatedly, and used her costly ointment to anoint his feet. Nothing suggests that Simon acted incorrectly, but his actions are more about perfunctory etiquette than honoring Jesus. Jesus is a guest—just not a welcome one. The woman, however, acted with deep humility and graciousness, reflecting her gratitude. She transcended etiquette and expressed true hospitality.”

Mi casa, su casa.

Make yourself at home.

How far does your welcome extend? You are welcome, as long as it isn’t an inconvenience. You are welcome, as long as it doesn’t cost too much. You are welcome, as long as it is on your side of town and not mine.

I remember when I was in seminary, a classmate was sharing her story about how there was another church in town who was helping her neighborhood. They were so nice and friendly to her and her and her child. She thought they were friends and so one day she and her child arrived at the church, only they weren’t welcome, not allowed inside. The welcome ended at the front door.

I remember when other unsavory looking individuals would appear in the church on occasion. Everyone would speak of course, but no one offered food or to go to lunch.

Rev. LeAnne Clausen de Montes recently shared a piece called “All are Welcome. She writes:

"All Are Welcome"

the church sign said

but they yelled at

the neighborhood kids

for playing ball all week

in the empty parking lot

and out on the big green yard.

"All Are Welcome"

the church sign said

but they called the police

when the homeless folks

slept in the entryways

sheltering from the wind

and came inside

for the restroom,

coffee, and donuts.

"All Are Welcome"

the church sign said

but they stared down

the new family

because their kids

were too squirrelly

and they didn't come back.

"All Are Welcome"

the church sign said

but the stairs were so steep

and the doors so heavy

and there was no one

available to help

seniors inside.

"All Are Welcome"

the church sign said

but there were

no sidewalks

no bus stops

no entrance signs

and the website

was five years

out of date.

"All Are Welcome"

the church sign said

and the church wondered

where everybody was

because after all

the church sign said.

All are welcome.”

Where do we draw the line with our welcome? Does it come with conditions? Rev. Karla says “If your ‘everyone is welcome’ ends with conditions, it’s not love- it’s control.

Simon’s welcome thought it could control who Jesus welcomed or forgave. And the one who everyone shunned was the one who revealed what it means to really say “make yourself at home.”

How far does your welcome extend? Do you feel like you have to get things in order or tidy up before you can fully welcome? I can’t tell you how many people over the years have apologized to me about their house during a visit, or as Alex Early says, as if “God only accepts those who clean their act up and keep their elbows off the table.” I guess I caught the bug because I do the same thing. It’s almost as if I can’t welcome you if I don’t have things tidy, like some version of life that isn’t at all what exists in the every day. I remember doing this one time when a dear friend said to me “I’m not the kind of person you have to do dishes for before I come over. I want to be here for all of it.” God doesn’t want our polished selves. God wants the everyday mess of our lives. He meets us in the space between our dirty dishes and his dirty feet, between our messy selves and his messy grace. Hospitality isn’t about portraying perfection. It doesn’t start with our resources. It starts with our hearts.

Chrysostom instructed his parishioners to “make for yourself a guest chamber in your own house: set up a bed there, set up a table there and a candlestick. Have a room to which Christ may come in.” This isn’t about if you have enough room or resources. Making people feel “at home” can happen in all kinds of settings. One couple who offered up there space over and over again shared, “when hospitality is viewed as entertainment, the house is never ready.”

“A Benedictine monk said that what we now call spiritual direction was often provided in the past by mothers and grandmothers in the neighborhood who always had a pot of coffee brewing in their kitchen. People knew they could stop by, talk, and leave with more clarity and insight.”

All thanks to a cup of coffee. All thanks to a welcome that went beyond the front door and into the kitchen and circled around the table.

So let’s live our lives with large welcome and with hearts that say “make yourself at home.”