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Conversations Guide
By Kim Engelmann

Welcoming The Stranger: Living Out God’s Soul Stretching Love
Jan Johnson

In this article Jan discusses the importance of welcoming the stranger, and in so doing creating a “home” for them. Jesus himself identified with the stranger in his statement “when I was a stranger you welcomed me”. This is a poignant reminder that when we welcome strangers we are welcoming Jesus himself. This welcoming posture is not just a warm feeling, but actually is something we must learn to do and ought to have practical results in terms of meeting the needs of those we welcome. Even in the Old Testament welcoming the stranger was a command; often it was the Israelites themselves who were strangers and sojourners and who needed to be welcomed. In the parable of the Good Samaritan it is clear that the stranger (the unclean sinner from the Jewish perspective) is the one who shows hospitality to the wounded traveler. Not the priest, or the Levite, but the stranger who himself has been ostracized, has learned empathy for others who are left by the side of the road. Jan challenges the reader to reach out to all people (as God has reached out to the entire world) even those who don’t belong to our “own group”. This welcoming reach must extend to outcasts (those unacceptable in normal society like sex offenders), wrong-doers, people outside their own territory (political refugees), or anyone who is different from us politically, ethnically or theologically. Anyone we are tempted to exclude or ignore (even the elderly) we must be watchful to welcome as Jesus himself. Empathy is key, as is practicing the presence of God, to overcome our own shyness and think not only about our own interests, but also the interest of others. As we practice this, and invite God into our interactions with others, things begin to flow more easily and we become unselfconscious and more centered on others.

Friday. The small square on the calendar is empty. No appointments. No job site meeting with my client and the architect. No phone calls to make. No need to leave the house. Empty square days are the days when I can sit in the black leather armchair in the living room for as long as it seems good. These are not ordinary days when my time is cut short by the note in the appointment calendar.

My place of prayer is in this room. My prayers meander and wander prompted by the view out the window, the reading of Scripture, and the reproduction of Rublev’s icon of the Old Testament Trinity painted by my friend, Dan Cassis.

One cannot think of Andrei Rublev, the Orthodox monk who at the turn of the fifteenth century produced this icon near Muscovy, the precursor to modern-day Moscow, without also thinking of his spiritual abba and mentor Sergius of Radonezh. Their stories are as entwined as that of a boy and his father.

With this in mind, a particular event from Sergius’s childhood is worth recounting. Sergius was a good and earnest student, yet he struggled to read, says his hagiography. But one momentous day a starets, a spiritual elder, visited him and gave him holy bread. From this day on Sergius could read. Christians soon adopted the belief that this visitor was, in fact, an angel. It is not difficult to see possible linkages between this event in Sergius’s life and the icon Rublev created decades later. Notice the Trinity is presented as three angels (the text that informs this image, Genesis 18:2, refers only to “three men”), offering us holy bread.

Ok, I admit it. I am not very good at welcoming strangers. I am sure this is due, in part, to my introverted nature and the fact that my relational world is already very full. Truth be told, on most days I just don’t feel the need for more relationships and would rather stick with the intimate few. The other part of the truth is that some strangers are, well, stranger than others, which make things just plain uncomfortable. And since I am being completely honest—I seem to have the ability to walk into a room and sense immediately who is the strangest of them all so I can then expend vast amounts of energy avoiding the whole situation. I am not proud of this; I’m just sayin’…

Christianity is more than a way of thinking; it is way of worship and a way of life. Christianity derived patterns of thinking, worshipping, and living through sustained reflection on scripture. In the patristic era ethics, spirituality and theology were grounded in biblical interpretation. Consequently, the best method to explore the spiritual and theological implications of the practice of welcoming the stranger is to consult the central biblical texts on the subject. The locus classicus of biblical notions of hospitality include two Old Testament examples—Abraham and Sarah receiving the three strangers (Genesis 18), Lot’s welcoming the two angels at the gate of Sodom— and two New Testament passages—Christ’s declaration, “I was a stranger, and you took me in” (Matthew 25) and the exhortation to “show hospitality to strangers” in Hebrews 13:2. 

The term contemplation is derived from the Latin word templum, which referred to a “space in earth or the sky set apart for the sacred examination of animals’ entrails for indications of divine meaning.” Hence the temple became the dwelling place of the gods and the place in which oracles discerned divine meaning and purposes. Contemplation refers not so much to place but to the “seeing into” or “looking at” the insides of reality. And what is at the source of this reality? Or what is the really real? God. So contemplation refers to the “looking at” or the “seeing of” God.

“Mary . . . was listening to the Lord’s word, seated at His feet.” (Luke 10:39, NASB)

In its broadest sense, contemplative prayer is being open to the beauty and power of God- basking in his presence and enjoying his company. No words or thoughts are necessary. It is simply allowing oneself to be totally captivated by God and resting in him.

If contemplative prayer is understood in this way, I would have to say I have been a contemplative for most of my life. Thanks to the cultural and familial tradition in which I grew up, I learned early on that I lived in a world that was saturated with the presence of God. As a young child, I was keenly aware that I was with God and God was with me, and the joy of being present to the God who was Presence to me has been the subtext of my life. 

This is a great article, with very helpful distinctions and encouragement for those who don’t  think of themselves as contemplatives—who struggle with prayer—to give the practice of contemplative prayer a try. Benner dispenses with the notion that contemplative prayer is  somehow a more advanced form of prayer. Rather, he contends that contemplative prayer is rudimentary and basic, involving a different, earlier kind of knowing that we may have used intuitively when we were young. In the same way that children do not need to be taught to observe tadpoles in a pond, but watch, silently attentive and filled with wonder, so can we attend to God—as we “become like little children.”

When we know through reason we make the world conform to our concepts of it. In contrast, an encounter with reality by means of wonder allows us to adjust our concepts of the world. This is what makes contemplative prayer transformational. When someone is known in love, words become less and less necessary, just as lovers can sit in silence for hours, simply enjoying each other’s presence and being filled up inside.

Prayer is often taught as a way to talk to God rather than listen. It is couched as something that I, rather than God, take the initiative to do. It is based in my ability to reason. Yet the truth is that our prayer is a response to the God who has already called us. And the essence of prayer  is not so much what we do as what God does in us. John of the Cross calls contemplative prayer “passive, loving receptivity—leaning toward God in faith with longing, openness, and love.” Benner calls this kind of prayer a dance in which the Christian allows God to lead him or her in the dance steps. He talks about these steps as having a rhythm, found in the process of lectio divina.

Contemplation and social action are often seen as two separate camps. In this article, Thelma Nambu shows how her contemplative life informs and is profoundly integrated into her work with women who are survivors of prostitution. Thelma is honored by her fellow Filipinos and addressed as Ate, a title of respect and esteem.

The theological concept of grace, as it has been received in the West, was profoundly influenced by the writings of Augustine, so much so that he was later referred to as the doctor gratiae. His thought on the subject, built on the earlier transactional language (“accruing merit” and “making satisfaction”) of Tertullian and his intense study of Paul, crystallized in his debates with the British layman Pelagius.