Making Space for God – And Birthday Cake

Let us pray. Lord, open our eyes to see You, our ears to hear You, and our hearts to welcome You. Speak to us today, not just through words, but in spirit and truth. Amen.

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Good morning, everyone.

It really is a joy to be with you this morning—and I want to begin by saying a sincere thank you to Father Roger for the warm welcome and the kind invitation to share the Word with you. I know it’s no small thing to offer that opportunity, and I’m very grateful. I’ll do my best not to undo years of good pastoral work in the next 60 minutes!

Being here in Komga today is also personal for me. It’s not just a stop on a trip—it’s coming home. I’ve been living in Bulgaria for a while now, and this is my first time back in South Africa in 18 years. I’m here for a few weeks, shared between my Dad, Michelle and Jacques, and my Mom and Robert.

One of the things I’ve missed most over the years is the taste of home. I’ve come back craving so many things, like boerewors, biltong, a good braai, and beef that doesn’t require a steak knife and prayer. And if we’re being totally honest, I’m also hoping that—after church today—there’s melktert or at least a decent slice of cake. I mean, not just the kind of hospitality that puts out tea and Marie biscuits (although that’s a vital ministry in any church)… but the kind that says, “you’re family here—so have seconds.”

And honestly, just in these first two weeks back here, I think I’ve eaten more meat than I do in several months in Bulgaria! Between the braais, the biltong, and the fridge that somehow keeps refilling itself, I’ve had a proper reintroduction to South African hospitality. But it’s more than the food. It’s the feeling of being genuinely welcome. It’s the friendly “hellos” from strangers in shops. It’s being called “Sir” at Home Affairs in King William’s Town—where, for a moment, I genuinely felt confused. I’ve felt truly welcome—not just accommodated, but honoured. And that kind of welcome... well, that’s what today’s readings are really all about.

Now I want to share one of my favourite stories.

Tony Campolo, a well-known Christian minister and speaker in the United States, was in Honolulu for a conference. He arrived late, and because of the time difference, he was wide awake at 3:30 in the morning. So he wandered out looking for something to eat and found a little corner café still open.

While he was there having coffee, in walked a group of loud, laughing prostitutes finishing their shift. They were regulars. One of them, Agnes, said to her friend, “Tomorrow’s my birthday. I’ve never had a birthday party in my life.”

After they left, Tony asked the café owner, “Do they come in every night?” The owner said, “Every night like clockwork.”

So Tony said, “Let’s throw her a party tomorrow night.” The owner laughed—but agreed. So the next night, 3:30 a.m., that café was decked out with decorations, balloons, a cake that said “Happy Birthday Agnes!”—the works.

When Agnes walked in and saw it all, she froze. And then she cried. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me,” she said.

And when someone asked Tony what kind of church he belonged to, he said:

“I belong to the kind of church that throws birthday parties for prostitutes at 3:30 in the morning.”

Now that’s a line worth remembering.

That’s the kind of radical, Jesus-shaped hospitality that today’s readings invite us into.

In Genesis, Abraham doesn’t just wave politely from his tent. He runs to greet three strangers. He begs them to stop. Sarah starts baking. They kill the best calf. They prepare a proper feast. This isn’t “put the kettle on.” This is a full-on act of honour, generosity, and open-hearted welcome. You know, it’s one of those break out that bottle of extra special KWV Brandy or something similar.

And in return, Abraham and Sarah receive a word from the Lord: “By this time next year, you will have a son.”

You see, it wasn’t just the strangers who entered their tent that day. It was God. And they made room for Him.

Psalm 15 asks: “Lord, who may dwell in your sacred tent?” In other words, who gets to be close to God?

And the answer isn’t “the one who gets everything right.” It’s not “the one who never swears” or “the one who knows the Bible backwards and can quote whole chunks of scripture.”

It’s the person who walks with integrity. Who speaks the truth. Who keeps their promises. Who lends without exploiting. The person who’s real. Who treats people with dignity and respect. Who lives in a way that says, “God’s welcome here.”

Then in Colossians, Paul tells us something awesome and amazing.

Jesus is the image of the invisible God. He created all things. He holds all things together. And here’s the surprise: this great, cosmic Christ—the One before all things—is now living in us.

“Christ in you, the hope of glory.”

That’s what the Christian life is meant to be. Not just Christ around us. Not Christ over there. Not just Christ at church. But Christ in us. Shaping how we live. Changing how we speak, and how we think. Guiding how we see others.

Then, we come to Martha and Mary.

Now, if you’ve ever hosted guests, you’ll feel for Martha. Especially when you’re hosting special guests. She’s doing all the work. She’s chopping and stirring and checking the oven. Probably washing the dishes, and not having turns doing them, like we’ve been doing at Morgan’s Bay the last two weeks. And there’s Mary—sitting on the floor, doing absolutely nothing, just sitting there listening.

Eventually Martha blurts out: “Jesus, tell her to help me!”

And Jesus responds gently, “Martha, Martha… you are worried and upset about many things. But only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better.”

He’s not upset with her for working hard. He’s inviting her to stop. To listen. To realise that sometimes the most important thing is simply to be with Him.

We need our Marthas—but we also need our Mary moments. We need to stop, slow down. To listen. To make space for God to speak.

I’d like to suggest that making space for God happens not just in quiet devotionals or Sunday services.

It happens in real life.

In ordinary moments. In unexpected encounters. In 3:30 in the morning birthday parties, yes—but also at 5:30pm braais that turn into midnight meals (because let’s be honest: in South Africa, lighting the fire and eating are sometimes separated by several hours and several beers or brandies or coffees or whatever).

The point is: God shows up where we make room. He shows up in braai conversations, on long drives, in long queues at Home Affairs, discussing broken hearts, in cluttered homes, and with imperfect people who still choose to love anyway.

On Tuesday, I turn 50.

I can’t believe I just said that in public. You spend your twenties wanting to be taken seriously, your thirties trying to find balance, your forties wondering where your thirties went—and then you turn 50 and hope people don’t think you’re too old for cake!

But honestly, I’m not asking for gifts—maybe just some cake. I’m just grateful to be here. To be home. To be reminded that God is still doing something in all of us, no matter where we are.

And as J.R.R. Tolkien once said, “If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”

So here’s my question for all of us:

What would it look like for you to make space for God again?

To stop, be quiet and say, “Lord, I’ve been seriously busy… distracted… tired… maybe even disillusioned… but I want to make space for You again.”

Not just in your schedule. But in your soul.

Because the good news is: God never stopped making space for you. Jesus came to our world, not to scold us—but to sit with us. To eat with us. To carry our burdens. To throw parties for people who’d given up on themselves.

So this morning, whether you feel close to God or a million miles away—there’s a seat for you at the table.

There’s always space for one more. And wherever that is, know that Christ is there for you.

And honestly, that kind of hospitality really resonates with me—because anyone who knows me knows how much I love food. Especially sharing food with others. And even more so if I’m not the one doing the dishes afterwards! But seriously—hospitality isn’t just a theme in Scripture, it’s the rhythm of the Gospel. From Genesis to Revelation, God keeps showing up at tables and tents and doorways. So much of Jesus’ ministry happened over meals—feeding the hungry, turning water into wine, sitting with tax collectors and so-called sinners. And this is important—He welcomed everyone. The ones who didn’t belong. The ones who’d made a mess of things. The ones religious people wanted to keep out. He didn’t ask them to pass a test first—He just said, “Come.” And if we’re serious about following Him, then we don’t get to decide who’s worthy of our welcome either. True Christian hospitality doesn’t ask, “Do you deserve this?”—it simply says, “Come. There’s room for you here.”

Let us pray. Lord Jesus, You came to dwell among us—to sit at our tables, to walk our roads, to carry our shame and offer us freedom. Teach us how to make space for You again—not just in our homes, but in our lives, our communities, our hearts. Fill us with Your love once again. Amen.