"We welcome everyone to grow with us."

This phrase is in the middle of our mission statement. If something is in the middle, we call it the heart of the matter. When you order a sandwich, it is the middle that counts. You might like wheat or rye bread, a croissant or bagel, but you are motivated by the middle; the hamburger, bacon, and egg, or ham and cheese. Without the filling, you just have toast. At the heart of our mission is to welcome everyone to grow with us. We want to be a community that is open and inclusive. Through the diverse gifts of our people, we strive to be a thriving and healthy example of the body of Christ.

Welcoming and growing may sound easy, but few churches succeed. Almost every church has a sign out front that says, "Everyone welcome," but experience tells us otherwise. Churches send nonverbal messages of judgment if you are divorced, gay, or ask too many questions. I went to a Northern Ireland church that insisted women wear hats in worship. You are welcome here if you share our social class, our ethnic identity, our politics, or our agreement to never talk about politics. A hundred years ago, H. Richard Niebuhr published "The Social Sources of Denominationalism, " saying, "Ten o'clock on Sunday morning is the most segregated hour in America." Most churches look like specific ethnic, class, and lifestyle enclaves. 

Churches become like restaurants that serve one thing.  They specialize in hamburgers, pizza, or fish and chips and keep churning them out. We are a taco stand. If you don't like tacos, go to the taco church down the street. Megachurches are like a Greek diners with a menu that takes an hour to read. This menu has something for everyone, but none of it is great food. The Moussaka and the meatloaf taste the same. If our church were a restaurant, what would we serve? More on that at the end. How do we defy the odds of being a genuinely welcoming and growing church, and what does that mean? 

The Bible tends to use the word "hospitality" rather than welcome. From the Latin root "hospes," we get hospitality, hospital, and Hospice care. In a tourist town like Boothbay Harbor, hospitality is an industry. The most important phrase in hospitality is "the customer is always right." Your profit and tips come from pleasing the customer, even if they are obnoxious and demanding. We want to treat everyone who enters our doors like they matter, but we quickly learn everyone in the church can't be right. With the polarization today, businesses like Disney and Target find they can't please all their customers because of ideological differences. So, hospitality is more than simply pleasing everyone. Think more deeply about what welcome and hospitality means in a church context.

The concept of welcome and hospitality is rich throughout the scriptures. Leviticus urges everyone to treat the stranger well, like a neighbor. Jesus said the mark of a disciple is the one who gave me water when I was thirsty, food when I was hungry, and welcomed me when I was a stranger. Jesus taught that hospitality is proactive. The Good Samaritan doesn't just ask if the man injured beside the road is OK. He tends his wounds, takes him to an inn, and pays for his lodging while he recovers. Many stories of Jesus' ministry revolve around eating together. Everyone is invited to the great banquet, even the poor, blind, and lame. Jesus got in trouble for eating with sinners. Showing great hospitality doesn't always win friends and influence people.   

As a focus scripture, I chose Hebrews 13:2, "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." I love the Greek text which uses the word "philoxenia." I have mentioned "philos" several times lately, which means "the love of friendship." "Xenos" means "stranger." Xenophobia is the fear of a stranger. Philoxenia is to love the stranger as a friend. This definition pushes us deeper than being polite or friendly at coffee hour. Friendship implies trust and relationship. Friendships endure. So philoxenia would mean we are willing to invite a stranger into the friendship circle. We would need to be willing to take a risk and invest ourselves in this stranger till they become one of us. The best practices in welcoming new members affirm this idea. People stay with a church if they make at least three friends in the first six months. Showing hospitality to strangers is an invitation to the community. 

The second half of Hebrews 13:2 says, "You may entertain angels unaware." Something happens to us in the interchange. Hospitality isn't only for the guest or stranger; it will shape us too. What happens when you entertain an angel? Angels in the Bible are often messengers of God. They give insight into the future, offer a blessing, or tell us who we are. An angel visits Mary, who would become the mother of Jesus, "Be not afraid, Mary, for I bring you good news of great joy." Angels can change and disrupt our lives.

Jacob wrestled with an angel hoping for a blessing and a connection with God. So, the text isn't telling us to show hospitality, and then we will be rewarded. Instead, show hospitality, and you might discover something important. The stranger might just be the messenger from God we need.

Jeanne and I were early adopters of Air BNB in 2015. In those days, people stayed down the hall and shared our bathroom. I learned a great deal from our guests. I spent an hour listening to a social worker who trained people to help with hoarding disorders. Many guests were prospective Smith students and their moms, and we helped ease their anxiety about leaving home. We had guests from China, Dagestan, and South Korea. We go to the same Airbnb in Acadia every visit because we like our host and enjoy catching up. Our host in Dublin sent us on the most remarkable journey to see things that weren't in the tourist brochures. All these experiences have become part of our story. Our guests turned out to be angels; sometimes, we were angels for them. Opening our home opened our hearts in ways we did not expect. 

Becoming a welcoming church is discovering where the angel is in each new person. Every person who joins a church changes the community in some way with their story and gifts. New people bring new experiences, skills, and insights. And questions too! New people ask why we do certain things. We often scratch our heads and don't know the answer; we have just always done it that way. New people often bring new ideas and energy. Sometimes we think they are angels, but sometimes we feel this diversity is a threat. Churches are unconsciously looking for more people just like themselves. I read dozens of church profiles in a search process, and the vast majority say, "Help us reach younger families with kids. And respect our longstanding traditions." Congregations don't see the inherent conflict between these two statements. You cannot simultaneously grow and stay the same.     

This conflict became clear in my first church in Poughkeepsie. After seven years, we had added 75 new members, and attendance had moved from 85 to 115. A new generation wanted the church to be more kid-friendly, updated hymnals with modern language, and more emphasis on community action. People who were long-term members were feeling displaced. They no longer knew everyone in the church, and new people did not know to defer to them. One member stood up at the annual meeting, visibly upset, and said she felt the church was being run by a secret cabal behind the scenes. This woman wasn't a firebrand or troublemaker. She was frustrated with the amount of change, and I felt it was necessary to respond gently.

I had all the Deacons and Trustees stand and asked everyone to count how many leaders they knew. When I asked how many know less than 50 percent of the leadership, quite a few hands went up. The tone in the room shifted with some space for reflection. The disconnect many people felt was real. But it was not a hostile takeover of the church by a cabal. It was the growing pains of becoming a welcoming church. Once the congregation recognized this reality, they could shift to working on a deeper community rather than arguing over policies. All kinds of growth face resistance and growing pains, even the things we truly want, just as getting in shape will make your muscles sore. 

Let's return to my earlier question- what kind of a restaurant should the church be? The answer is something we know how to do. The church is a potluck supper. Everyone brings something they like and shares it. You don't know how it will turn out, but you trust it will all work. Sometimes you discover something new and wonderful, like a Mexican mole chili recipe you need to get. But you don't have to like everything, but you have to appreciate the effort behind a lime and pineapple jello salad. I have never been to a potluck where there wasn't enough for everyone, even a stranger who turned out to be an angel. What if we applied potluck principles to all parts of church life? How would we change and grow? Everyone brings what they have, we all try something new, and there will be enough. Church vitality is seldom the result of new programs and strategic plans. Maybe churches should start to track recipes shared as the new vitality metric. When you share a recipe, you know a stranger has become a friend.