Welcoming Angels

A sermon for the Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 17
Jazz Mass
August 31, 2025, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: Proverbs 25:6-7; Psalm 112; Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16; Luke 14:1, 7-14

The seminary professor was going on sabbatical. He was a scholar of the early monastics, the desert fathers and mothers of the Church, so he traveled to Egypt to visit one of the oldest continuing monasteries in Christendom. He flew to Cairo, hopped in an SUV with a driver, and headed out. The highways turned to streets, which turned to paths, which turned to impressions, which turned to sand. Eventually they were bounding through the desert with no discernible way forward. But soon they came to the monastery. He got out of the car, went to the large doors, and knocked. No answer. He knocked again. No answer. He knocked a third time, rather desperate, because his driver had already taken off back across the desert. Finally, the door creaked open, and a monk who looked about as old as the desert motioned him inside without saying a word. In silence, he took him to a table in a dark room, brought out food and water. Before the monk walked off, he turned to the visitor and softly said, “By the way, we welcome you as an angel–just in case.”¹

That welcome was inspired by today’s reading from Hebrews. The author says, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” It is, perhaps, a sobering thought–that I have been visited by a heavenly messenger on a bad day and given them a poor welcome, yelled at them in traffic, ignored them in the grocery store, dismissed them with little thought. And so, the author says, be alert for those messengers, and treat everyone as if they were an angel from heaven. He goes on to say treat those in prison as if you were in prison with them. Suffer with those who suffer as if you yourself were the one suffering. Honor the relationships and boundaries of others as if they were your own. Let mutual love continue, he exhorts. This is what we mean by love your neighbor as yourself.

From his list of exhortations, it is clear to me that the author of Hebrews is not thinking of angels only as heavenly beings, some flames of fire, some with six wings, some covered with eyes. He is also thinking of those earthly messengers, the people we bump into, the folks who plop down in our lives unexpectedly, like the traveler in the middle of the desert. The monk had said, “We welcome you as an angel–just in case.”

These themes of welcome and hospitality are connected to our Old Testament and Gospel readings. These teachings about hospitality, about taking the lower seat at a banquet, about preferring one’s neighbor and giving up the place of honor–these teachings are about how we are called to welcome angels, those messengers not clad in fire and light, but in khakis and polos.

When we get to the bottom of it, these teachings are less about etiquette in polite society and more about how we live like Christ. After all, was it not Christ himself who took the lowest place at the table, giving himself completely for us? Is it not Christ himself who gives us his body and his blood, his very life for us? Is it not Christ himself who prefers us, who seeks us, who honors us? This heavenly One, the Son of God himself, has humbled himself so we can be exalted; has lowered himself so we can be lifted high; has died so that we might live. He has taken the lower seat and given you the place of honor.

Let this same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus. That’s what Paul preaches in Philippians. And while Hebrews does not use the same language, the message is the same. Be like Jesus; humble yourself; welcome the stranger; honor your neighbor. They may well be an angel, someone with a message from heaven just for you. They may even be Christ himself in disguise. The monk said, “We welcome you as an angel–just in case.”

And just know that those angels are usually not dressed in dazzling white, radiant with perfection, everything put together nicely. They are often those who can give you nothing in return, who get in your way, who inconvenience you, who may make you uncomfortable. Jesus ends his discourse today by saying, “When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.” To put it differently, angels, those messengers from God with something we need to hear, are often the most vulnerable among us, the least of these.

I was sitting at my desk downstairs. The office was closed, and I was trying to catch up on work. The door buzzed; I ignored it. Again, buzz. Again, ignore. It kept buzzing, and finally I had had enough. I went to the door, tried to collect myself, opened it and said firmly, “We’re closed.” On the other side was a man I hadn’t seen before, but probably homeless. He smiled through rotting teeth. “Do you have a snack pack?” Truthfully, we did–but you see, I have a rule. I don’t give snack packs out on days we are closed. “I’m sorry, we are closed today.” He kept on smiling. “A bus pass?” “I’m sorry, we’re closed today.” He kept smiling. “Is Ms. Kathy in?” “I’m sorry, but we are closed today.” He smiled on. “One more thing,” he said. “Can we pray?” At this point I’m rather exasperated. I have a sermon to preach in a couple days, and I haven’t made progress on it. I have to prepare for a Sunday school class. There is paper work and phone calls to make. I wanted to say, “Man, did you hear? We are closed today!” But that’s not too Christian. None of my behavior during this encounter had been too Christian; I could have done better. “Sure,” I said with an audible sigh. “What would you like me to pray for?” The man smiled. “No, I want to pray for you.” And he did pray for me. Sincerely. He prayed that God would bless me and give me strength, especially on hard days. Then he left. I haven’t seen him again.

The words of the monk echo in my ears with a stinging and convicting intensity: “We welcome you as an angel–just in case.”

1. I owe this anecdote to the Rt. Rev. J. Neil Alexander. If I remember correctly, the professor in question taught at the General Theological Seminary in NYC. ↩︎