Sermon, February 1, 2015
Rev. Bob Macfarlane, Interim Minister,
Mashpee Congregational Church
“Extravagant Welcome”
Luke 7: 1 – 10
You’ve heard it said many times over, the phrase made so popular by Gracie Allen: “Never place a
period, where God has placed a comma.” The red comma I wear, and which so many of you also wear
with pride, is the symbol of that super-wonderful phrase.
To those in the know, that comma is an immediate symbol of what we in the United Church of Christ
unabashedly call “Extravagant Welcome.” And as we move into our Cottage Meeting gatherings phase
of our Interim Ministry, it is important for us to zero in on some of the significant ways our
denomination, and our local church, have distinguished themselves, carving out a unique place in the
array of congregations from which people have to choose.
So just what does it mean to "place a period?” It means you’ve come to the end. The road has a stop
sign. There is no place to turn around.
On the other hand, what does it mean to “place a comma?” It means there IS someplace to go, there’s
something beyond the turn, there’s hope ahead. It means that “God is still speaking!” God is not
done with us. And that no matter who we are, no matter our station in life, no matter whether we’ve
failed or triumphed, we are God’s people, and there is HOPE!
Now THAT’S “extravagant welcome!” if ever there was any.
Let’s take for a moment your own congregation’s way of extravagantly welcoming folks into your midst.
How did Diana and I first meet you all? At a marvelous backyard dinner party with Cape Cod lobster
and Iowa corn! How did you welcome back our friend Pastor Steve Jewett from Iowa? With a gala
Anniversary affair at the Daniel Webster Inn! Now of course we don’t do those kinds of things ALL the
time – we’d go broke, and we’d put on the pounds. But it is not unlike the biblical story of the father
who thought his son was lost, but when he saw that son returning home from indulging in the big city,
what did that father do? Yes, he ordered a party, prepared the fatted calf, bring my robes for my son,
and put my ring on his finger.
The son had descended into the pits, and his only food had been what the pigs themselves had discarded
as disgusting. With his head in his hands, he walked the dusty miles back to his father, who instead of
yelling at him, or chastising him, or mocking him, or throwing him back to the city streets, what
happened?
YES! With arms wide open, he welcomed his son home to an extravagantly welcoming party. “For my
son is not dead, but ALIVE!” Let the rejoicing begin!
Now the story of the Prodigal Son is an extreme case, and most of us are not in the same position as the
wealthy father whose son had been lost. And yet, when the daughter or son returns from months far
away at college, or a friend or relative has returned from a major hospitalization, or someone has had a
particularly precarious journey, there is often a celebration – perhaps more subdued than our biblical
story, but yet celebratory nonetheless.
I never stop filling up - perhaps you are the same - as I witness our soldiers being greeted at the airport
by their jubilant children. Dad or Mom is home. Dad is safe. We’re a family again. Now that’s the
present-day “extravagant welcome.”
I was amazed last Sunday, as we welcomed four visitors into our midst for worship. They were looking
in upon us, perhaps church-shopping as it were, and it was delightful to meet each one. No matter our
station in life, everyone has an inner yearning for a spiritual home. So to be welcomed in, to hear
someone say, “Here’s your seat, we’ve been waiting for you to appear!” is a wonderful greeting, an
affirmation that I made the right choice, that it was all worth the effort to find this place which is so far
off the beaten path, an affirmation that there was a seat waiting for me at the welcome table.
Let’s turn to this morning’s scripture story, and examine it’s lesson for us. It is the little-known account
of a centurion who had a slave who was very ill, apparently close to death. Now it would have been
very precarious indeed in those days, for a Roman government worker, a centurion, to send for Jesus,
but he did anyway, because his valued slave was dying, and he’d heard that Jesus was a healer.
Above all, the centurion holds his slave in such high regard that he says, “He Is Worthy!” My slave is
WORTHY of being healed. Just as our Choir sang this morning – “Thou Art Worthy, O Lord!” So
Jesus is summoned, and he begins to make his way to the centurion’s home. And even before Jesus
reaches the house, as scripture tells it, the centurion sends notice to him that he doesn’t have to make the
long travel, but rather, “just say the word, and he shall be healed.”
And so it was, for scripture says: “When Jesus heard this, he was amazed at the centurion, and said, “I
tell you, not even in all of Israel have I found such faith.” So it was that because of the extravagance of
Jesus’ willingness to heal the slave of a centurion, the teaching of a welcoming faith is recorded for all
time.
You know, as well as I do, that it is NEVER easy to walk into a place where you don’t know a single
person. Every single one of you have experienced it before I am sure. It is a feeling of terrible unease.
Anxiety is rampant. Our heartbeat goes up. Some might even become sick to our stomachs. Walking
into a roomful of strangers is one of the hardest things for many people to do. And there is a delicate
balance between being overly gushy in our welcome, and being totally aloof.
I want to tell you a story of a man named Paul. He was a man in our own new church in Pennsylvania
many years ago, who had just moved into town, following the death of his wife. He was a UCC person,
and searching for a new church home. He was an elderly man whom our family and our congregation
we grew to love.
He arrived at our modest rented schoolhouse in the Lehigh Valley one Sunday, and was greeted by Diana
at the door, who asked his name so that a nametag could be quickly made by one of our boys, and
handed a cup of coffee, for in those early days, we had TWO coffee hours – one before worship
especially for greeting newcomers, and one following worship for everyone. (At this point, I’d like to
call Diana forward to the microphone, so she can continue the story.)
Diana:
“The first words out of Paul’s mouth to me, were totally astonishing. He didn’t introduce
himself or tell me his name, or even ask if he were in the right Church.
“Am I invisible?” he asked.
“Tell me please, am I invisible?” “Well of course not,” I replied to this stranger, who had such a
different approach to anyone who had ever previously walked in the door of our makeshift sanctuary.
“You are very much VISIBLE to me. And we’re glad you came by to see us.” With that she introduced
him to Duncan and Andrew, and to the two women ready with a cup of coffee.
“When he finally told us his name, Paul Evans, our boys made a name tag for him, and I showed him to
a seat and I sat down beside him. Before Worship began, announcements were made, and words of
welcome were extended.
I stood and introduced Paul to the congregation of about fifty people,
explained that his wife had died, that he’d moved into the neighborhood, and he was looking for a
friendly place to worship. Paul joined Shepherd Oaks UCC the very next week.”
“And here is Paul’s story, which is such a sad commentary upon so many church organizations today.
Paul told us that he had recently visited a couple of other Churches in the area. And when he entered,
none greeted him, no one asked his name, no one invited him to coffee hour. It was as if he were
“invisible.” But the next Sunday, he thought he’d give it another try. Perhaps it was an aberration, and
perhaps he wasn’t as “invisible” as he had thought. And yet, the VERY SAME experience happened on
the second visit! No greeting, no one inquired of him who he was, no coffee hour invitation.”
“Now the next Sunday was going to be different, he said. Because he decided upon a different church to
try, and surely he was be noticed. But no! Exactly the same experience! He was beginning to believe
that perhaps he was indeed invisible. But true to form, Paul was going to give this second church a
second chance, as he had done with that earlier first congregation. And it was to no avail. Paul struck
out once more. People seemed to be giving an “extravagant welcome” to all their friends, and those they
knew, but NO ONE seemed to notice this dear, elderly man, who just wanted someone to say “hello.”
Just once!”
“And that is how Paul Evans found his way to our church’s front door that morning, when just out of
curiosity, asked us, “Am I invisible?”
Thank you Diana.
Paul became one of our most VISIBLE members, much valued, and dearly loved. And listen to this. We
just don’t know who it is when a stranger walks through our front door. For you see, Paul had been a
prisoner of war, captured by the Germans in WW II. And he had a purple heart and “POW” on his car’s
license plate. And one time he took a trip to Europe to attend the summer Olympics with his son and
granddaughter. It turns out that Paul Evans was the grandfather of a multiple Olympic gold medal
winner in swimming, by the name of Janet Evans. You just never know who will be walking in your
front door.
In some churches he had visited, the people had myopia or something, and they could not see the
invisible stranger in their midst, so they missed out on the friendship of a wonderful man.
EVERYONE is entitled to an extravagant welcome. EVERYONE should know that God continues to
speak to them, and is NOT silent! EVERYONE ought to hear that they are WORTHY of God’s love,
and Jesus’ gift of healing. EVERYONE is entitled to be VISIBLE and affirmed and appreciated.
These are the marks of a truly Christian congregation, who opens themselves up to the stranger who
becomes a friend, to the seeker who finds a spiritual home, to the newcomer who becomes part of the
family.
Yes, each and every one is entitled to be visible - visible by us as Paul Evans was visible by his new
congregation, visible by Jesus as was the centurion’s slave, visible by God who continues to speak
words of love and encouragement, offering extravagant welcome by placing a comma instead of a period.
Amen.