The sermon preached by Fr. Ernie on March 12 2023.

Radical Welcome

by Ernest Boyer 

If you think about it, the gospels are mostly a series of encounters. Again and again, people who have never met Jesus come up to him — or he comes up to them — and they go away changed. Sometimes, they are sick and they go away healed. At other times they are filled with guilt, and they go away forgiven. Frequently, too, they come to Jesus confused and they go away challenged and inspired. Today’s story is a little different, though. 

This time it is Jesus who wants something. He’s traveling through Samaria on his way to Jerusalem, and he’s thirsty. It’s been a hot, dusty journey, and he’s longing for a drink of water. He comes to an ancient well and finds a woman there with a bucket — a Samaritan woman — and he asks her for a drink. Just by doing this he’s already violated two taboos, first by speaking publicly to a woman — a taboo he often violated — and second by talking, more specifically, to a Samaritan woman, something Jews were never supposed to do. The woman herself is astonished.

“How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” she asks.

“If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’” Jesus replies, “you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” 

Hearing this, the woman then asks for this water.

“First go, call your husband, and come back,” Jesus challenges.

“I have no husband,” she answers.

 “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’;” Jesus responds, “for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband.”

In other words, she’s been living with a series of lovers. She doesn’t appear at all embarrassed or ashamed by his words, however. She’s only impressed that he knows all this.

“I see you are a prophet,” she says, at which point Jesus reveals to her that he is actually the Messiah.  

She accepts this at once and rushes off to tell the others in her village. The words she uses to do this are critical, though. “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!” she says. Those, at least, are the words she spoke aloud. Even more important are the words that go unsaid but which are implied in everything she goes on to say and do. Those words are these: “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done… and who loved me anyway! Come and see a man who accepted me just as I am!”

This really is a remarkable encounter.

Of course, all of Jesus’ meetings are amazing, but this one especially so.

In it, the woman does not come away healed.

She does not come away with her confusion cleared.

She does not even come away forgiven.

Instead, she comes away with something far better than all of these:

She comes away accepted for who she is.

You know, several years ago I attended a clergy retreat where the speaker was a priest from Boston named Stephanie Spellers. Stephanie had just written a beautiful book called Radical Welcome. As she explained it, “radical welcome” is at the very core the gospel. It’s at the heart of everything Jesus did. It’s also central to what it means to be a church. Radical welcome means accepting each and every person who comes through the door for exactly who they are, quirks and all. In other words, to welcome another person does not mean saying to them, “Come in. Join us. Now you can be just like us.” No. It means saying, “Welcome, Come in. We honor you for who you are and by being together we will both change and in the process we will grow stronger and more loving.”

Such a welcome takes practice. Let me give you an example. This happened about 20 years ago in a church in a university town in Oregon. The church was in fact right across the street from the university. It was a very prosperous church and, in many ways, it was also a very proper church. This meant that it could be a little stiff at times. And not just a little. The fact was, you were always aware that — in this church at least — there was definitely a right way to do things and there was also a wrong way to do things. And if you ever forgot which was which, there was always one person there to remind you. That person was a man named Bill.

Bill was the usher. Tall and thin with a leathery face and a constant frown, Bill had been the usher for as long as anyone could remember, and in all that time no one had ever seen him smile. Every Sunday he stood at the door of the church holding a packet of bulletins. He’d watch as person after person came through the door, and all the time he’d study them with razor-sharp eyes, the corners of his mouth turned down. It always felt that like he was examining you to see if you were good enough to go inside. At last he’d give a small nod and hand you a bulletin, and you’d feel that — for the moment at least — you’d passed. And yet, Bill’s presence never really left you. Even sitting in the pews you’d feel his eyes at your back.  And with good reason too. Because if — God forbid — you’d ever inadvertently do anything at all out of line, no matter how small, you’d almost certainly feel a tap on your shoulder. When you turned to see who it was, you’d find Bill standing there shaking his head sternly. 

Everyone was intimidated by Bill, even Frank the pastor. Some stopped coming to church because of him. A few whispered that someone should replace him, but no one had the courage to say it aloud.

Then one Sunday the unthinkable happened. The service had already begun. In fact, Pastor Frank was halfway through his sermon, when all of a sudden, the door of the church opened, then loudly closed, as a young man no one had ever seen before entered. He was clearly a student who had wandered in from the university across the street. He jeans were torn and his tee-shirt looked like it had not been changed in weeks. And he was bare foot. In his hand he held a bunch of wildflowers, which he had obviously just picked. He walked blindly past Bill the usher, who was glaring daggers at him, then began to walk slowly down the center aisle, his bare feet silent on the carpet, smiling at each person he passed. By now everyone was watching him. He progressed the entire length of the aisle until he at last stopped just before the pulpit.  At that, Pastor Frank trailed off in his sermon and grew silent. He too was watching the young man. Just like everyone else he was waiting to see what their visitor would do next.

What he did … was sit down. The young man lowered himself to the floor and sat there cross-legged just beneath the pulpit, staring up at Pastor Frank as if inviting him to continue. But Frank did not continue. Instead, he looked up and his eyes widened. Everyone turned to see what had caught his attention. It was Bill, the usher. Seeing him, several gasped. His back straight, his gaze stern, the usher was by now striding briskly down the aisle. At this point the tension in the church was palpable. You could feel it. Everyone was asking themselves what this rigid, proper man was going to do. It was only when the usher actually reached where the young man was sitting on the floor that someone at last spoke up.

It was Pastor Frank. He held up his hand as if to restrain the usher. “Now, Bill …” he began. But then he stopped.

He stopped because he was so astonished at what Bill did next.

Rather than saying anything to the student or intervening in any way, the old usher had stopped and — balancing first on one leg then on the other — slipped off first his right shoe then his left and lain them on the ground. After that he lowered himself stiffly to the floor to sit cross-legged beside the young man. Turning to the usher, the young man nodded and smiled. And with that, Bill the Usher did the one had ever seen him do before. He smiled back.

For several moments, all was silence. No one said a word. At last Pastor Frank cleared his throat. “Well,” he began, his voice unsteady. “I feel a sudden desire to shout hallelujah,” he said, as a broad grin spread across his face. He didn’t though. Instead, he just went on with his sermon.

You see? That’s radical welcome. It’s a welcome of complete acceptance. A welcome of unconditional love. It’s the sort of welcome Jesus gave the Samaritan woman and all those he met. It’s the sort of welcome that forms the heart of every Christian church. It’s the sort of welcome that makes us who we are. Who knows how a crusty old usher suddenly found the ability to give this gift of unconditionally acceptance to a young man who did not at all fit his standard of behavior, but he did. And in the process it became a gift to both of them. That’s how grace works. And I thank God for that!

AMEN

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