Divine Interruptions

On this day in 2017 I had a providential encounter with a man from Chile. His name is Paulo. He joined us for our worship gathering the previous Sunday at WCC. He chose our Church because the uncle and aunt he was visiting lives three blocks away.

Paulo’s life was turned upside down and his heart broken. Even though almost one year prior he had come to believe that Jesus is Lord, he told me something was missing in his relationship with God. He decided to visit America to take a break from his job and normal surroundings so he could spend two weeks praying. He wanted an answer from God about the questions that troubled his heart and the circumstances that flipped his life upside down.

For one week he walked the city every day begging God to hear him. In his words, “I have cried many tears.” That day around mid-morning he was sitting in his uncle’s car parked in front of Aroma’s Coffee Shop crying out to God to give him an answer. After two hours of praying he went in for a cup of coffee. I recognized him. So I approached and said hello, asking if he was at WCC that Sunday. He recognized me. He nervously asked if we could talk. I was on my way out for an errand and was planning to go about the rest of my busy day. But despite my plans and other appointments, I felt the Lord tugging at me to allow my day to be interrupted. So I asked him to give me half an hour and I would return.

I came back to Aromas and met with him. He told me about his spiritual pilgrimage and what led him here. We talked about Jesus. He told me that even though he believed that Jesus is Lord he never knew about baptism. After reading the Scriptures together (in Spanish) he began to cry. He said, “This is what God needed to tell me. When can I get baptized?” So we left the coffee shop for the church building.

This is a picture of me, Garrett, Dave, and Paulo after his baptism. Before we left he said, “My tears of sorrow are now tears of joy!” He shared his story with WCC the next Sunday.

Only the Lord of heaven and earth can bring a man from half a world away to a “chance” encounter like this. Divine interruptions like these still amaze me. Happy baptism birthday Paulo!

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The Banquet’s Ready

Theologian Kosuke Koyama imagined Jesus says this to those who see him upon death:

“You’ve had a difficult journey. You must be tired, and dirty. Let me wash your feet. The banquet’s ready.”

I need that image tonight.

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Jesus

I’m gonna say this here in case you need to see it. The God of the Christian tradition understood to be the God of heaven and earth, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob revealed as Jesus of Nazareth, loves you just as you are, not as you think you should be. In a world fraught with a million tensions and traumas, I realize that statements like this sometimes fall short or come off trite.

Still, there is Jesus, the One revealed in the Christian Scriptures. In the midst of all the tensions and traumas of humanity the story reveals One who loves and suffers with us, promising something more to us, something that speaks to what we feel is possible deep in our bones. He promises the transcendent and mysterious—something bigger than what we see and hear and feel. And while we wait for it to be revealed, he promises to make his presence known to all who long for it and anticipates its fulfillment. We are assured that none of us are the sum total of our worst decisions, or even our best decisions. Jesus declares each one of us intrinsically valuable and full of divine dignity, from the top of our head to the soles of our feet. You are loved beyond your feelings of worthiness or unworthiness.

There are many convoluted portrayals of Jesus in the USA. I know, because I’ve contributed to the problem. But there’s always the Jesus revealed in the Christian Scriptures. He’s the One I hope you’ll look at. He’s the One I hope you’ll hear say, “You are my beloved.”

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Hospitality in Context, Part 2

When our society speaks of hospitality today, we do not normally think of a kinship love for strangers, which is the meaning of philoxenia, the biblical Greek word usually translated as “hospitality.” We live in a culture of xenophobia—a fear of strangers—while as Christ followers we are called to philoxenia—a kinship of love strangers. So, our dilemma is that our culture of xenophobia pushes back against our gospel-summons to make room for strangers with a welcoming embrace.

Unlike today, the early mothers and fathers of the Christian faith practiced a way of being that welcomed others, including strangers and those incapable of paying them back, with generous and relational embrace. In fact, hospitality was more than just a practice for the early Church; it was a way of being. It encompassed the whole person as it addressed the social, emotional, cognitive, physical and spiritual dimensions of personhood. To early Christian writers, hospitality was a moral obligation that came with God’s in-breaking kingdom. It was a fundamental expression of the gospel, and vital for faithful Christian witness.1 So much so, in fact, that the early Church mothers and fathers considered sharing meals, homes, and worship with people of different backgrounds to be a significant identity marker of the Christian faith.2 

For the people of ancient Israel, a significant part of what it meant to be the people of God was understanding themselves to be sojourners with a responsibility to care for the vulnerable strangers in their midst. Jesus, who was dependent on the hospitality of others during much of his time on earth, also served as a gracious host in his words and in his actions. Those who turned to him found welcome and rest and the promise of reception into the Kingdom. He urged his hosts to follow his example by opening their tables to more than family and friends who could reciprocate and by giving generous welcome to the poor and sick who had little to offer in return. In fact, Jesus even promised that welcoming the stranger, feeding the hungry person, and visiting the sick were acts of personal kindness to the Son of Man Himself. 

Hospitality begins in creation. In the Genesis narrative, we see God making room in his infinite and always-present life for a finite and limited creation, including us. He did so not stoically or out of obligation but instead in love and out of desire. As a “homemaking God who creates a world for inhabitation,” he welcomes us into his life to share in all that he is and all that he has, including his good creation.3

Our God is a homemaking, hospitable God, and hospitality is central to his triune being.

I have more to say, but that is for the next post. Until then, think about the image of God as a homemaker. Sit with it.

The home we all long for can be found with God.


1 Shepherd of Hermas, Mandate 8:8–10. See also John Chrysostom, Homily 45 on Acts; Homily 14 on 1 Timothy; and Homily 66 on Matthew. 

2 Christine D. Pohl, Making Room: Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 4. 

3 Steven Bouma-Prediger and Brian J. Walsh, Beyond Homelessness: Christian Faith in a Culture of Displacement (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 14. I owe the language of “homemaking God” to the authors of this insightful work. 

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Hospitality in Context: Introduction

A few years ago our Church eldership publicly denounced what was, at the time, the refusal to offer due process for asylum seekers. After listening to many in the WCC fam we registered with a few regional organizations to sponsor an asylum seeking family in their transition.

A local neighbor visiting WCC off-and-on (not a member) sent me a private message on Facebook that Sunday afternoon. They shared their concerns with the decision. They denounced my teaching (which wasn’t new to WCC). I replied in the hope that we could reason through the Scriptures together. In the end, ideology won. I’ll never forget what the neighbor said to me. It echoes in my heart (and I saved it in a phone note so I’d never forget). They said, “Pastor Fred, it’s deplorable that you would willingly put your own family at risk and encourage the Church to do the same by welcoming foreigners like these into our country. I will no longer attend the Church. You are a dangerous man.”

There’s much I could say about why I think the neighbor responded this way, but it wouldn’t be helpful. In the end, what I understood about the gospel then I still believe today: the people of Christ are committed to hospitality, because Christ is committed to us.

I’ll offer more in the next post. For now I just want to sit with that simple conviction.

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