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| Abraham received the angels |
I’ll never forget how, many, many years ago when I was a young
adult in my twenties, a friend was trying to ‘sell’ me the Christian
message. He had his Bible open to the
Gospels – the first four books of the New Testament, which supposedly present
the narrative of Jesus and his life and works.
“For the first 30
years, Jesus’ life was unremarkable,” my friend proclaimed. “Except that he was
perfect.”
My first thought in
reaction to the statement was, then the Gospels must have been written by
his Jewish mother. And my second
thought, following mere seconds later, was, Yeah, tell me some more, buddy. I mean, he lost me almost before he had begun.
Call it my Jewish
cynicism or whatever. When someone is
proclaimed to be ‘perfect,’ that makes it clear to this Jew from the
start that we’re talking fairy tale territory.
To tell me that someone is perfect, makes it patently false. That’s not to say that nobody is righteous or
meritorious. Righteousness and merit do
not require perfection. And that’s a
good thing, because if it did nobody would have any. No, nobody has ever been perfect: not the Dalai Lama, not Gandhi, not Mother
Theresa, not Menachem Mendel Schneerson.
Not Jesus of Nazareth. And no, not
even Abraham and Sarah, the Father and Mother of the Jewish people. Each had their quirks and foibles, their
flaws and imperfections. And yet they
all made their own positive impact upon human history.
As I’ve said
before, the patriarchal narratives in Genesis are unique in scripture in that
they provide us with keen insights into the human condition. They seem calculated to teach us everyday
morality as the patriarchs and matriarchs struggle with life and relationships
and make decisions. Sometimes these
decisions are not the best possible decisions under the circumstances. When they aren’t, the Torah doesn’t whitewash
the actions of these towering figures. But
we clearly see the consequences of their actions. They are presented to us with all their flaws
and imperfections, as examples both positive and negative. The glimpses into the lives of the patriarchs
and other figures of long ago, make the Torah a great and important text for
teaching ethics.
In this week’s
Torah portion, Vayeira, we see a fairly complete picture of Abraham: the good, and the bad. The reading, which opens in the 18th
chapter of Genesis, starts with the good.
Abraham is seen as being hospitable to a fault. Three travellers show up at the entrance to
his tent in the heat of the day when he and his household are taking their
siesta. These are not just any
travellers; they are angels, messengers of God.
But presumably Abraham does not know this. Even so, he galvanises himself and his
household into action to prepare a feast for the unexpected guests. He treats them as messengers of God.
We know that,
in doing so, Abraham is upholding an ironclad law of the desert. Desert-dwelling nomads consider it an
absolute law to provide hospitality to the traveller. Many are the accounts of travellers who have
received such unstinting hospitality and wrote about the wonder of it. I have personally been on the receiving end
of such hospitality: not in the Arab
world but in Turkey. Turkey is, after
all part of the Middle East and therefore awash in the customs that have come
to permeate in differing degrees the different peoples of the region. When I was in Turkey, I could hardly pay for
a meal or a drink. Somewhat
embarrassingly since I was wealthier than most of the Turks I encountered, as a
foreigner or ‘guest’ I was not allowed to open my own wallet.
Years after my
stint in Turkey, when I was stationed in San Angelo in West Texas, I was in the
Base Exchange and accidentally encountered a Turkish man – a young Air Force
officer attending an intelligence course for members of allied air forces at my
base. Aha! I thought. Here’s my chance to return, at least in
some small measure, the hospitality shown me when I was in Turkey. So I befriended the man, and showered him
with meals, drinks and other perks over the next few weeks until he finished
his course and returned home. And that’s
when I found out the secret. The ‘price’
of hospitality is the cost of the catering that you provide, and perhaps the
time spent catering to your guests. But
the ‘reward’ is far, far greater.
In the desert,
part of the ‘reward’ of hospitality is surely the fact of helping to perpetuate
the law of the desert. If compliance
were only spotty – if the customary hospitality were not actually provided in
most instances – then the custom would ultimately fade away. That’s why the idea of hospitality to
travellers remains an important value today in many places where the
environment is harsh and unforgiving.
In our
comfortable and secure existence, we have seen the law of hospitality fade to
insignificance. Of course, we still
enjoy hosting the people we know: our
friends and families. But the idea of
seeing a traveller stranded and taking them in, is all but foreign to our
sensibilities.
Don’t get me
wrong; this is not a criticism. It’s a
dangerous world out there today. Many
who have befriended travellers in need have lived to regret it. Others did not live, did not survive the
experience. So don’t hear in this
message, criticism for not taking a bedraggled traveller into your home or
under your wing. Rather, hear regret
that our society has ‘progressed’ to the point where one puts oneself and one’s
family at risk for going out of one’s way to provide hospitality. If you feel a burden for this particular need
– or even if you don’t – I recommend you consider making a donation to
the Salvation Army or some other organisation that provides such hospitality. But I do not recommend taking
strangers into your home.
Abraham’s
providing hospitality to unknown travellers did not carry the same degree of
risk. But it is still to his merit that
he did it, especially considering the extent to which he did it. However, if we really want to count the
giving of hospitality as meritorious, we should look at Lot, Abraham’s nephew,
also in this week’s Torah reading, in the 19th chapter of Genesis. I’ll talk more about it tomorrow
morning. But Lot actually put himself at
great risk to give hospitality to two of God’s messengers who went down to
Sodom to investigate the degree of wickedness there. And that doesn’t mean that Lot is
squeaky-clean either; in the course of the chapter we are given ample reason to
think, Hmmmm. But again; God
takes us and uses us for good, to the extent that we make ourselves
available. In spite of our flaws. Because as I said a moment ago, if we had to
be flawless, there would be nobody doing good.
So let’s not
worry if we are worthy enough to do good.
Let’s just do good, whenever and wherever the opportunity
presents itself. Because goodness does
not require flawless people. It only
requires people willing to do good. That
is what we can learn from the patriarchal narratives in the Torah. That is what I think God is specifically
trying to teach us through the patriarchal narratives in the Torah. Let us hear, and let us do. Shabbat shalom.
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