Lois Mitchell (PhD)
Professor Emeritus
St. Stephen’s University
May 5, 2021
I’m not a risk-taker. I don’t buy lottery tickets. I don’t run for political office (well, actually I DID run for political office quite recently but with probably less than a 1% chance of being elected, so that doesn’t really count as “taking a risk”). I don’t engage in extraordinary life-threatening activities. I don’t carry a gun. I don’t negotiate with terrorists. I don’t cheat on my income tax or lie to customs officers. I don’t speed - well, hardly ever. I try not to offend people who think or believe differently than I do. Like I said, I’m not a risk-taker. I follow the rules. The most dangerous thing I do is teach. But that’s a subject for another day.
Here’s the thing: I don’t take risks because I don’t have to. I follow the rules because the rules are made by people like me to protect people like me.
My mother once said that I led a “charmed life” - by which she meant, I think, that things always seem to work out for me. She was right. I am educated, financially stable (as much as anyone can be these days), successful, white. Sure, I have setbacks, but they tend to be minor and manageable. They serve to remind me that I'm not God and, more and more these days, that I'm getting older. I’ve sometimes quipped that any sense that we are in control of our lives is just an illusion. But it’s an illusion that tends to work well for me.
It’s not all Hollywood and happy endings, but the reality of my life is unbelievably easier than the reality of the lives of billions of people on this planet. And it's not because I'm somehow better than other people - more virtuous or closer to God. The fact is, I don’t need to offer a bribe in order to secure medical help for myself or a loved one. I don’t need to choose between acting within the confines of a Judeo-Christian morality OR having enough food to eat. I don’t need to lie, cheat, steal, or kill in order to make it through the day. And if I should choose to lie, cheat, steal or kill, it’s not about survival but about justifying a self-centeredness that wants to get ahead – to be seen as “better”, wealthier, smarter, more powerful, stronger. A step above those around me.
No, I’ve never had to chip away a fragment of my integrity for a piece of bread, or surrender my good conscience for a night’s sleep. But that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t or that somehow I’m immune from the sordid, risky actions of the desperate. I haven’t sold my soul, or even my inheritance, for a bowl of stew,[i] because I’ve never been THAT hungry.
I’m comfortable and content. And I – or at least people like me – continue to make and enforce the rules – rules that make sure that the game doesn’t change. I suppose it’s fair to say that we have a vested interest in the status quo, even as we see its inconsistencies and lament its misdeeds.
Sure, I can see injustices, and I can even speak against them, but at the end of the day I'm still well-fed, comfortable, and secure. And to be honest, I'm thankful for that. I don't want to be tested. I really don't want God to ask me to give that up (even as I sing, “I surrender all”. I might try to convince myself - and you - that if it should come down to it, I'd be willing to give up anything and everything if I know for sure that it's God that’s asking. And really, that’s not a great risk since there is so very little that I know for sure… beyond a reasonable doubt… (you see how that works?).
When I read the story of the Rich Young Ruler,[ii] I tell myself that I wouldn't have gone away sad from that encounter. That I would have done just what Jesus asked - sold everything I have, given the money to the poor, and followed Jesus. Surely I would have! But the truth is, I'm hiding in the crowd, head down, hoping to stay comfortably below the radar. I'm not going to rock the boat or draw attention to myself.
As I write this, I realize that it probably sounds a bit like self-flagellation. Why beat myself up? It's not my fault that I lead a “charmed” life. And for sure I can think of lots of people who have more to give up - or hold onto - than I do. But that's not really the point.
Where I'm going with this has more to do with my attitude toward those whose reality is far different than mine - those who have to take risks, and make choices, and do things that are shameful. If God calls us into a community of believers - to be brothers and sisters with men and women from all walks and classes of life - the challenge is to adjust my attitude so that I can form good, healthy relationships across all kinds of barriers.
I think what is missing in my life – and maybe in the lives of many of us - is a genuine understanding of the biblical principle of hospitality.
When we are willing to take the risk of hospitality, we extend favour to another - not because they deserve it but because they need it and simply because we have the capacity to meet that need, whatever it may be. And when we do it out of our love for Christ and obedience to his command that we ought to love our neighbours as we love ourselves - no questions asked - maybe that's what a life of faith looks like.
Hospitality isn't just getting together with friends and family over a meal. It's denying ourselves - even to the point of laying down our lives - so that we can bring the blessing of community to those in our path. I can't help thinking that our faith would have a whole lot more credibility if we become a community that learns to take the risk of hospitality - no strings attached.
I love the movie, Les Miserables. There's a scene at the very beginning when Jean Valjean, a newly released convict, comes into town and is settling in for the night on a park bench. An old woman tells him to ask for hospitality at a nearby home - the home of Bishop Myriel. Valjean is amazed that the Bishop welcomes him to his table and provides a bed for the night and he reiterates that he is a convict. He says to the Bishop, "how do you know that I'm not a murderer?". Bishop Myriel replies, "we will have to trust one another." Given Valjean’s demeanour and behavior, that’s a pretty risky response. And, as it turns out, Valjean is not to be trusted. He steals the silverware and disappears into the night, only to be arrested and brought back to have his identity confirmed by Bishop Myriel and the goods returned to their rightful owner.
Much to Valjean's amazement, however, the Bishop corroborates Valjean’s desperate fabrication that the silverware was “a gift”. And thus Valjean is released from custody; Bishop Myriel tells Valjean that he has “purchased his soul” and must therefore change his ways. And he does. It's a wonderful and inspirational story of redemption, rooted in the extraordinary (and perhaps foolish) hospitality of Bishop Myriel.
What if we all extended that kind of grace - and redemptive redirection - to the scoundrels in our lives? What if we decided to trust one another, despite the real and perceived risks? What if we were to see our “stuff” – our possessions, our thoughts and insights, our credibility, our hope, even our health – not as so many sandbags to protect us from the floodwaters of human untrustworthiness (or from scarcity) – but as treasures to be shared?
*A version of this post was written in July, 2011 (http://cbmjustice.blogspot.com/2011/07/risk-of-hospitality.html). It has been updated slightly for publication here.
Notes
[i] This is a reference to the Biblical account of twin brothers, Jacob and Esau (Genesis 25), in which Esau agreed to give Jacob his “birthright” in exchange for a bowl of stew. As the first-born of the twins, Esau had the benefits that came with being the eldest son – his “birthright” included more wealth and position (also perhaps more responsibility…?). On this particular day, Esau had come in from hunting and was famished – in fact, he was so hungry that he justified giving up his birthright because he reasoned that it would be no good to him if he died from his hunger. I suspect that he was being a bit dramatic and was likely not in danger of actually dying, but perhaps he was hungry enough to not be thinking straight. And his brother, it turns out, was a bit of a scoundrel and happy to advance his position by hook or by crook (as the story goes on to show). See Gen. 25:19-34 to read the story: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+25%3A19-34&version=NIV.
[ii] The story is told in Mark 10:17-27 of a “rich young ruler” who came to Jesus and asked him what he must do “to inherit eternal life”. He declared that he had kept the commandments since he was a boy. Jesus then said to him: “sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” Apparently this was not what the young man was expecting. Verse 22 records his response: “At this the man’s face fell. He went away sad, because he had great wealth.” Interesting… we often don’t think of having great wealth as a cause of “being sad”. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark%2010%3A17-27&version=NIV
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