God is Our Host

When we think of the English word “host,” several things likely come to mind. Throughout the Old Testament, English bibles actually refer to the Lord God of Hosts, which conjures up images of God in command of angel armies. This is an important attribute of God, an awe-inspiring one, and one we even sing about in worship, but not the attribute we’re going to talk about today.

The second sense of the term “host” is exactly like we use it–someone who welcomes a guest; who prepares a place for them; who sets their spot at the banquet table. And while the English word “host” isn’t found in the original Hebrew scriptures, the importance of hospitality–being good hosts–is. We’ll come full circle to this later.

A third meaning of the term “host” has commonly been used by the church since at least the year 405 CE, when St. Jerome completed the Latin vulgate, or common language, translation of the Bible. Host in this context was a reference to the hostis or sacrifice. It referred to Jesus, the sacrificial Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world–yours and mine. And it became the centerpiece of the act we now call communion.  The host. The bread. The body of Christ broken for us.

Regretfully, the host also became one of the most divisive topics in Church history. Catholics and various protestant denominations debated bitterly about the nature of this sacrament–whether the bread (the host) literally became Jesus’ body, whether he was present with the bread of communion, or whether he was symbolized by it. Volumes have been written on the subject. But many miss a simple point and the wider ark of scripture–that we, the Church, are also the Body of Christ; that when we eat communion together, the bread literally, physiologically speaking, becomes our body. It is incorporated into the living Body of Christ–his Church.

As Christians, we are called to be ministers of reconciliation between people and God and between people and one another (2 Corinthians 5). Eating communion together across the many divides which separate us is one way we do that. It’s a means of reconciliation. It’s a way of remembrance–literally re-membering–putting the limbs back on the Body of Christ. By eating the same bread, we become the same body.  One body. One Church. It’s a privilege; It’s a blessing; and, as it’s always been, it’s a means of grace.

So now let’s return to the more common use of the term host–someone who invites a guest in. God is this way. He’s always inviting us into relationship with himself. The overwhelming emphasis in scripture is on invitation–particularly the invitation to “come,” to “taste and see” that the Lord is good, to live as we live, to love as we love one another–to practice radical hospitality. There’s a reason the English words hospital and hospitality share the same root– both are means of healing. Jesus, in his brilliance, made the central act of his remembrance– the defining act–an act of hospitality–a meal–and said as often as we eat of this and drink of this, to do so in remembrance of him (1 Corinthians 11:23-26).   

Early in the history of the Church, communion was likely celebrated in the context of a full meal. The first Christians “devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer… Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people” (Acts 2:42-47).

And what happened?

“The Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved” (Acts 2:47).

In a time and place where communion is not practiced as a meal and is celebrated only periodically, it can be difficult to eat and drink in remembrance of Jesus.  But we need this. It was not unusual for John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, to celebrate communion–the sacrament in its ritual form– several times each day. So, what if “as often as we eat of this and drink of this” referred not merely to the ritual, but to the entire meal in which Christ is remembered? What if the meal, including the bread and the wine, were sacramental? 

Many of us would have an opportunity to remember Jesus three times a day, 21 times a week– over 1,000 times each year at everyday meals alone, not including separate worship gatherings.

Our Lord says “Where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them” (Matthew 18:20). It’s true. Yet I think we often remind ourselves of this truth when we want confidence that our petitions are being heard. That’s fine. But might there be more? How might we think about this verse differently from a perspective of hospitality? As hosts? If Jesus is here, right now, how might we be sure that we remember his presence as often as we eat? What does this actually mean? 

For many of us, this means giving thanks before a meal. After all–which of us, having asked the father for our daily bread, as Jesus taught, wouldn't thank him when he gave it to us? This is an excellent and praiseworthy practice to continue.

But might there be more?

Jesus also tells us a parable in which a king prepared a wedding banquet for his son (Matthew 22:1-10). The king sent his servants to those who had been invited to the banquet to tell them to come, but they refused. Then he sent some more servants and said, ‘Tell those who have been invited that I have prepared my dinner: My oxen and fattened cattle have been butchered, and everything is ready. Come to the wedding banquet.’ But they paid no attention and went off—one to his field, another to his business. The rest seized his servants, mistreated them and killed them. … Then he said to his servants, ‘The wedding banquet is ready, but those I invited did not deserve to come. So go to the street corners and invite to the banquet anyone you find.’ So the servants went out into the streets and gathered all the people they could find, the bad as well as the good, and the wedding hall was filled with guests.

We are at that banquet. We’re both guests, and servants.

Jesus said, again, “Wherever two or more are gathered, there I am also.” So, which of us today wouldn't welcome the groom to his own wedding banquet or recognize an honored guest? It's not the well fed, but the hungry who are in need of a meal. Jesus said to feed them. Because God is in the business of satisfying the hungry with good things–material and spiritual. Jesus said that we don’t live on bread alone, but on every word of the living God, so how might we ensure that we all have both? How might we eat as though to remember Jesus in our midst? And how might we satisfy our physical hunger in the act of communion?  With whom would we eat such meals? And what difference, if any, might it make?

Some time ago, I learned the story of a struggling church in Seattle, Washington faced with the disappointing prospect of closing their doors or doing something different.  They were struggling to keep their lights on and declining in numbers. Their pastor, a man named Verlon Fosner, did something amazing.  It was also counterintuitive and deceptively simple.  They began using what remaining resources they did have to host community suppers in the poorest parts of the city. And what do you think they did there? They devoted themselves to teaching, they fellowshipped with one another, they broke bread with one another, and they prayed (Acts 2:42-47).  They served a meal for whoever wanted to attend, told a story about Jesus and discussed it as a group, prayed for one another, and offered communion as part of the meal.  And the Jesus part and communion were optional –you could leave–but people stayed anyway.

And guess what? The Lord added to their number those who were being saved. 

The results astounded me–call it a lack of faith, but I needed to hear it for myself. We bought Fosner’s book, read their church’s story, and I called Verlon and discussed it with him firsthand.  It was true. At one point a new dinner church of about 100 people was being planted each week, not only in Seattle, but throughout the United States. Almost all of the attendees had never been to church or, if they had, had been burned by itꟷyet 80% of the attendees kept coming every week. People were literally hungry for more. Their physical and spiritual needs, which we all have, were being met.

The final point I’d like to leave you with today is that God goes before us.

I recently traveled to Washington D.C. for work and had the pleasure of being joined by my wife and daughter. My wife was flying in the next day and was understandably nervous about having to navigate the city for the first time on her own with a toddler and a stroller. So, I had the opportunity quite literally to go before them–arriving a day before and sending step by step instructions back along the way.  It was the first time that I truly understood what it meant that Jesus goes before us–that he’s a way maker–and he prepares a place for us. There was not a step, stone, turn, ticket booth, or ice cream place in that city that I didn’t notice, knowing that my family was going to following in my footsteps.

Deuteronomy 1:30 says that “the LORD our God … goes before us” and Deuteronomy 31:8 that "The LORD is the one who goes ahead of you; He will be with you He will not fail you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed." The prophet Isaiah says “the LORD will go before you, And the God of Israel will be your rear guard” (Isaiah 52:12). The Psalmist says that God “led His people through the wilderness” and “His lovingkindness is everlasting” (Psalm 136:16) … “You go before me and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head” (Psalm 139:5).

Imagine a picture of a church building. Within this building, at least one in five of us and, according to some studies, up to three quarters (75%) of us, don’t know where our next meal is coming from. How might change that? How might we invite one another into each others’ lives as the Church, so that we can share God’s abundance with one another?

Now imagine another picture of the same church, strewn throughout Lansing. It’s a map of our homes. Remember what Jesus said? Every time we gather in his name, he is there also. So look around you today and notice your neighbors. Because what you don’t see in this picture are the 300,000 people in Greater Lansing who do not know Jesus but, like all people, crave more than bread alone. What an incredible opportunity to welcome them into our lives, too.

This Lenten season, we find ourselves in a time of prayer and preparation, just as the saints have done for thousands of years before us– as we approach good Friday and the remembrance of Jesus, our sacrificial host. Like the disciples in Acts, it would be tempting to hole up in an interior room, unsure of what comes next–as though the Holy Spirit weren’t already within each of us here today. Let’s not do that. I’d encourage us to look at that map and remember why we’re here.

God is here in Lansing.  He’s gone before us.  He’s prepared this place for us.  He’s prepared a banquet for us and told us to invite others in.  To come to the table. Our tables.  And to tell them they have a place here.

The effectiveness of our witness to all of Lansing begins with each other.  It begins in a meal with our savior, extends to a meal with our brothers and sisters in Christ, and culminates in an invitation to our neighbors, whom Jesus said we are to love as ourselves, and whom God is calling us to ask to our tables. If they’ll know we are Christians by our love, then they’ll know that love is sincere when no one among us goes without a meal. When this is true, we’ll be known as a people who look out for one another and as a community others crave to be a part of.   

On the same trip to Washington D.C, I sat in a secular conference, in a ballroom with several hundred professionals, and watched the following video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yLsSy64xILI

Amen?

When the video ended, the group–teary-eyed and silent–erupted into wild applause and cheers at that message.  No one had described to them the nuances of eucharistic theology or Wesley’s open communion. But they got it.  And all I could think was “That’s Church. That’s church, people!”

That’s church.

So in parting, I leave you with several questions–none of them rhetorical:

Is the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of Verlon Fosner?

Is the God of Seattle, Washington, the God of Lansing, Michigan?

Is God still capable of adding to our number daily those who are being saved? 

Is Jesus truly here among us, in our homes, and at our dinner tables?

Are we remembering his presence as often as we eat together? How about his sacrifice?

Are we still eating meals together with our neighbors?

If God is our host, whose host are you?