I Was A Stranger: A Christian Theology of Hospitality

I WAS A STRANGER

I WAS A STRANGER

A CHRISTIAN

THEOLOGY

OF HOSPITALITY

ARTHUR SUTHERLAND

Abingdon Press

Nashville

I WAS A STRANGER

A CHRISTIAN THEOLOGY OF HOSPITALITY

Copyright © 2006 by Arthur M. Sutherland

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted by the 1976 Copyright Act or in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission can be addressed to Abingdon Press, P.O. Box 801, 201 Eighth Avenue South, Nashville, TN 37202-0801, or emailed to [email protected].

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Sutherland, Arthur, 1956-

I was a stranger : a Christian theology of hospitality / Arthur Sutherland.

   p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references.

ISBN 0-687-06324-8 (binding: pbk., lay flat : alk. paper)

1. Hospitality—Religious aspects—Christianity. I. Title.

BV4647 .H67 S88 2006

241'.671—dc22

2006016388

All scripture quotations unless noted otherwise are taken from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright 1989, by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked (NIV) are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION ®. NIV ®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked (RSV) are taken from the Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright 1946, 1952, 1971 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Excerpts from The Papers of Martin Luther King, Jr. and A Knock at Midnight are reprinted by arrangement with the Estate of Martin Luther King, Jr., c/o Writers House as agent for the proprietor, New York, NY. Copyright Martin Luther King, Jr., copyright renewed Coretta Scott King.

Excerpts from Prison Writings by Kim Dae-jung. Kin Taichu gokuchu shokan. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, Publishers, 1983. Used by permission.

Excerpts from Church Dogmatics III/3 and III/4 by Karl Barth. Copyright © 1961. Reprinted with permission from The Continuum International Publishing Group.

Parts of this book were based on Hospitality in the Prison Writings of Kim Dae-Jung by Arthur Sutherland, Analytic Teaching 23 (November 2002). Used by permission.

06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15—10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction: Throwing Up in Wynnewood

1. Poor, Wayfaring Stranger:

Christ, Thurman, Du Bois, and the Spirituals

2. The Death of Hostility:

Strangers, Enemies, and Reconciliation

3. She Laid It on Us:

Guests and Hosts in Feminist Perspective

4. Remember My Chains:

Hospitality and Eschatology in Prison Life

5. Hospitality:

The Practice by Which the Church Stands or Falls?

Notes

Bibliography

Acknowledgments

I wish to thank the people, groups, and institutions that supported my effort to write this book. Grants from the Coolidge Fellowship, the Center for the Humanities at Loyola College in Maryland, and the Wabash Center for Teaching and Learning in Theology and Religion all played significant roles. Listeners at the American Academy of Religion, the Notre Dame Center for Ethics and Culture, the D. B. Reinhart Institute for Ethics in Leadership at Viterbo University in La Crosse, Wisconsin, and inmates at the Maryland State Correctional Facility in Jessup offered me the opportunity to be both applauded and criticized. The librarians at Loyola College in Maryland and Pitts Theology Library at Emory University were very helpful to me. N. Lynne Westfield, Amy Oden, and Christine Pohl, all of whom have significant works on hospitality, encouraged my work. I need to thank Sharon Watson Fluker at The Fund for Theological Education for introducing me to my editor at Abingdon Press, John Kutsko. A number of individuals read and corrected parts of the book in its various stages including Elna Solvang, Sarah Heneghan, Angela Leonard, Christie Harris, and the members of the theology department at Loyola College. Thanks are due as well to the editor of Analytic Teaching, Richard Morehouse, for permission to reprint parts of an article I published that appears in chapter 4. I must thank two of my teachers: Abraham J. Malherbe and M. Shawn Copeland. Finally, my wife Mary's love gave me so many ways to rethink the meaning of giving and receiving. I thank her.

Introduction:

Throwing Up in Wynnewood

One of the most delightfully witty passages in Karl Barth's Church Dogmatics appears in his defense of angels. After cataloging the opinions of fellow theologians such as Schleiermacher, de Wette, Lipsius, Kaftan, Kirn, Haering, Nitzsch, Seeburg, and Stephan, he says:

The consensus of all these modern dogmaticians, both among themselves and with their master Schleiermacher, is overwhelming. . . . These modern thinkers are not prepared to take angels seriously. It does not give them the slightest joy to think of them. They are plainly rather peevish and impatient at having to handle the subject. And if we are told in Hebrews 13:2 not to be neglectful of hospitality, since some have entertained angels unawares, these theologians are almost anxiously concerned to refuse angels a lodging in their dogmatics, and think that all things considered they should warn others against extending hospitality to them.¹

Pity the poor angels! The combination of historical criticism and the demise of the supernatural have left them homeless. Since they have nothing to do with saving faith, the modern theologian considers angels to be as mythical as the fat little putti of the High Renaissance artists.

Were Barth alive today and living in America he might also wonder what has happened to hospitality itself. Hospitality, public and private, is under attack from all sides. The term compassion fatigue has made its way into our lexicon of societal ills. In an effort to clean up its downtown business district, the city of Atlanta recently considered a zoning ordinance that made not just panhandling illegal but even the act of giving money to strangers. Here, in a place perhaps more famous than others for its southern hospitality, are city elders who seem to despise public generosity. But they are not alone. The current national crisis goes even further. On highways, in shopping malls, and by school yards Americans are encountering strangers with ever-increasing anxiety. Events such as the 9/11 attack, the sniper shootings in Ohio in 2003 and the Washington DC area in 2002, along with the rapid expansion of the Internet, have increased the fear associated with strangers. Our mistrust exhibits itself in a renewed interest in immigration laws and efforts to limit our borders to those who seem to be most like us. Today, protection against strangers and their supposed threat has led us to retinal eye scans, DNA swabbing, and dime-sized details of where we live and work all constantly photographed and recorded by geosynchronous satellites. Technological palliatives and silicone chips are becoming the sedatives of choice for an increasingly nervous public. Even the United States Patriot Act makes church involvement with strangers, political refugees, and displaced persons such as that promoted by the sanctuary movement in the 1980s hard put. The audacious hospitality of the nineteenth-century abolitionist movement and the Underground Railroad is almost unimaginable today.

The decline of hospitality is because of a number of factors, all of which preceded or are concurrent with the present crisis. Increasing urbanization means that we see more people but we encounter, in the deeper sense, fewer and fewer. The development of political and civic institutions that care for the poor, the orphaned, and the homeless, and ironically, the elimination of the city gate, the place in the past where strangers gathered in expectation of being welcomed and sheltered, also contribute to hospitality's end. The most pernicious factor is the oldest of all: hospitality requires a conscious effort to be your brother's keeper.As a consequence, we often overlook the fact that being our brother's keeper requires that we give attention to the physical space that we share with others. Hospitality is the caring for that shared space. The hospitable person is making the assertion that when we live or meet together in that space, sometimes permanently and sometimes only momentarily, we strive to keep that space, whether public or private, inviting and welcoming. This is hard to do.

I was once invited to participate in a meeting of second- and third-year college students who had volunteered to serve as mentors for incoming first-year students. The goal of the afternoon was to think through how to help entering students adjust to the academic and social environment of today's college. As part of the session, the volunteers joined in roundtable discussions on issues such as study habits, the honor code, and life in the dorms. Everyone received a set of predetermined questions and my role was to start the conversation, redirect it when needed, and keep it lively. It did not take long for that to happen. One of the questions on life in the dorms raised the following concern: Your mentee complains that every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night someone has vomited in the elevator. They are tired of this situation. What would you advise them? Why is it a social justice concern?

I have not lived in a dormitory in many years but I take it for granted that puking in public is not a unique event at many colleges. However, the way the question was put, as a concern of social justice, makes me think that it is only raised at a small fraction of colleges across the country. The question was highly appropriate and intended to be taken seriously.

In the discussion that followed, one of the students said that her advice would be to move to a new dorm. Her response is entirely sensible if the first priority of dormitory life is your own comfort and ease. I did not believe then, nor do I believe now, that one has to tolerate distasteful and disgusting behavior. I certainly would not like to live with people who have such little regard for public space and have such a crisis of imagination that they cannot consider expelling their vomitus someplace other than in an elevator. However, avoiding the problem by moving to a new dorm is not a sufficient answer if the goal is to think in a way that is consistent with a desire for social justice, and not least of all, hospitality.

This student's response was not unique. For years, Christians have struggled with how to understand what living in community means. What does it mean to be a guest or a host? How should one respond to strangers, exiles, and the imprisoned? What are the boundaries of my obligations? Are they set by physical or social markers (my house, my street, my family, my country) or are they nondeterminate? These questions are so dogged that it is virtually impossible to find a theologian who has not argued that hospitality was an essential mark of what it means to be Christian.

Tertullian, the third-century theologian, understood and empathized with the plight of women whose nonbelieving husbands insisted on going to the baths when their wives wanted to receive visitors or sneak food to the imprisoned.² Pope Gregory the Great (born ca. 540) pulled no punches when he discovered that Janurius, the bishop of Caralis,