A reminder for our times: biblical hospitality

A Reflection for Monday of the First Week of Lent

Find today’s readings here.

I’ll be honest with you: I don’t know how much I can say about today’s Gospel that hasn’t already been said—many times over, and by people much smarter than I am.

These verses from Matthew 25 are foundational to the Christian life, calling us to feed the hungry, visit the sick and imprisoned, welcome the stranger. I’m sure many readers of this piece will be intimately familiar with them.

Jesus speaks to the disciples and paints a picture for them of how things will be “when the Son of Man comes in his glory.” When he encounters “all the nations,” he will divide them into two camps: one group on his right side and the other on his left. He has good news for those on the right side; not so much for the left. 

Those right-siders are receiving their heavenly reward, and Jesus tells them why. They helped him when he was in need. Whether he was hungry or sick or imprisoned or lonely, they were ready to deliver just what he needed.

But there’s some confusion: The right-siders don’t remember ever seeing Jesus and stepping in to help him. Does he have it wrong? Of course not. They helped Jesus without even knowing what they were doing: “‘Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.’”

Now for the poor left-siders. The story follows the same structure but in reverse. This group is sent “into the eternal fire prepared for the Devil and his angels.” Why? Because at every opportunity, when their counterparts reached out to help those in need, this group failed to do so.

Key for our purposes: Those who welcomed the stranger did not do so just to please the Son of Man or to receive an earthly reward. In their moments of charity and hospitality, they weren’t necessarily aware that they were looking into the face of Jesus. It brings to mind for me what is perhaps an underrated biblical value: hospitality.

In Scripture’s tales of hospitality, the helpers, in trusting the stranger in their midst, take what is to the modern mind a major risk. How would my mom feel if I called home and told her I let a stranger who knocked on my door stay with me in my New York City apartment, no questions asked? We are conditioned for self-preservation. That’s not always and everywhere bad! But this chronic fear of strangers in our culture has robbed us of the habit of hospitality. How often do we think of reasons not to help a stranger, reasons why they might be dangerous to us, and fail to prioritize the danger we can see a struggling person in right before our eyes?

In praying with these readings, I noticed a weakness in myself that I’ll admit to you. It would be easy (and right!) to heed this parable’s warning and think of our Christian call to open ourselves up to those marginalized people who are most in need: our homeless neighbors, our migrant neighbors, our sick community members. I do believe that Jesus is speaking about them. But I also know, when I look at my own heart honestly, that I am not always even as open and self-giving as I could be to those closer to home. With the overwhelm of modern life, it’s not easy to keep our doors open even to those who depend on us: friends who need a shoulder to cry on, colleagues who need our teamwork, family members who need our love deeply. When it comes to opening my heart and letting someone find shelter, could I start with those closest to me?

One thing is certain: When the Son of Man comes in his glory, when we meet him face to face, those of us raised and formed in the church 2,000 years after the life of Jesus will not be able to say we didn’t know what was expected of us. In this way, we’re unlike those groups in the parable, who had no idea they were looking into the face of Jesus when they saw a needy stranger—and who weren’t motivated by that factor either way. We’ve been amply warned. Will we listen?

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