Radical Welcome. Stephanie Spellers

radical hospitality and radical inclusion. But we strive for that so we can do Matthew 25:35: “I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat.” We do it because we still have a dynamic sense that the gospel can change lives.

      BONNIE PERRY, ALL SAINTS-CHICAGO

      God’s way is like the father in the outrageous story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11–32). The rash younger son asked for his inheritance while his father lived, an act that, at the time, was the equivalent of wishing his father dead. Having squandered the gift and hit rock bottom, he returned in desperation to his father. By every standard in their society, and by his own internal moral compass, he had to know he was as good as dead to his family, barely fit to live among his father’s servants. But the moment his face showed on the horizon, his father raced out “filled with compassion” to embrace and draw him in. I imagine the young man approaching, dirty and humiliated, head hung low with the fear of justified retribution and anger. Much to his surprise and our own, his father saw only a glorious face and a reason to celebrate in a wildly generous manner.

      Henri Nouwen reflects on the meaning of this prodigal welcome for his own life, where he came to realize

      God is not the patriarch who stays home, doesn’t move, expects his children to come to him, apologize for their aberrant behavior, beg for forgiveness, and promise to do better. To the contrary, he leaves the house, ignoring his dignity by running toward them, pays no heed to apologies and promises of change, and brings them to the table richly prepared for them.⁸

      That is God’s hospitality: the welcome that actively loves and receives us just as we are, despite every reservation, expectation or term we might set out, however strange we imagine ourselves to be, however far out we have been cast. That is Jesus’ hospitality, as he illustrates with seemingly every action, and nowhere more clearly than in his radically welcoming table fellowship. He invites lowly fishermen, unclean prostitutes, marginalized tax collectors, and insignificant widows to partake of the lavish feast he has come to offer all. And he does it to teach us a crucial lesson: God made us all and loves us all, and no one more than those society casts out or sets apart. There are no limits to the love and justice of God. So, now, having known the welcoming love of God, the Holy One seems to say to us, “Be released from your fear and scarcity, go forth boldly and share from the abundance you have received. Do not worry about who may be watching and what they might say. Do not worry about your dignity and do not set terms on your welcome.” God has graciously, prodigally welcomed you, because it is in God’s very nature to seek you out and welcome you home when you feel the least worthy of embrace. Can you do likewise with others, entering solidarity with the outcast you find yourself least willing or able to receive? Can you make room within yourself to receive The Other?