Preached on Sunday, August 31, 2025, the Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost, at Trinity Cathedral, Little Rock.

I preach this morning on a verse from the letter to the Hebrews: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some entertained angels without knowing it” (Hebrews 13:2). And this morning, I would like us to take up two different themes from this beloved verse: first, hospitality to strangers, and second, entertaining angels.

So, first, strangers. It is difficult to be hospitable to strangers. The author of this letter knew it back then, and we know it now. Hospitality is challenging. And why is that so? Well, because it requires us to humble ourselves. We can’t be welcoming and controlling. Hospitality to strangers requires that we submit ourselves to the unknowns of other people. Strangers are those of whom we know nothing. We do not know their stories or their values, their needs or their wants. And here, Holy Scripture tells us––commands us!––to be in relationship with them. And not only to be in relationship with them, but to show hospitality to them, to welcome them into our presence, to stoop ourselves to their lives.

Hospitality might first make us think of hearth and home, welcoming guests into our dwellings. But hospitality is first learned in the household: hospitality towards our own family members. One of my very favorite theologians, Tom Breidenthal, says that the family itself is a community of stranger-welcoming [1]. Of course, each and every married couple has a responsibility of hospitality to those outside of their household; the marriage rite is quite clear about this. But Breidenthal says that marriage itself, the married life of these two persons, is an ongoing experience of hospitality to the stranger.

Of course, ideally, we learn as much as we can about the person we are to marry before wedding day. Hopefully, we do not see a stranger while making our vows, but a deeply trusted friend and partner. And yet, there are always unknowns. We do not know if our spouse will be healthy or sick, rich or poor [2]. The marriage liturgy openly admits that things are going to change, and that we cannot know what those changes will be. We may know our spouse-to-be entirely, but at the very same time, we do not know them at all. That is, we have no idea who they will be in the years to come, nor do they know who we will be. This person, Breidenthal tells us, this person to whom we wed, is a stranger, and the beautiful part, the miraculous part, is that we commit ourselves to them anyway.

But there is more! Children, too, are strangers for Breidenthal. At least in marriage, we come to know our partner first. But there is no such thing with children! We know nothing of the children we bring into this world, and yet, we are charged with loving them, nurturing them, teaching them, cleaning them, paying for them, and chauffeuring them. We know nothing about who these children of ours will be. We do not know what their stories will be or what their values will be, what their needs will be or what their wants will be. We do not know if they will even like us, but we are to love them anyway. This, Breidenthal tells us, this is where hospitality to the stranger begins. This is where we first learn how to love the unknowns of other people.

This love of stranger learned at home with spouse and sibling bursts out into the world. From our households, we learn to empty ourselves to the strangers of our common life: at traffic lights and at cash registers, in parking lots and on side walks, at school and at work, and yes, even here––most especially here!––at Trinity: at Sunday School, at coffee hour, or in the pew. In all of this and in so much more, we are to show hospitality to the stranger, to the unknown, humbly letting go a part of ourselves, our comfort and our certainty, all for the sake of the human being right in front of us.

Now, let’s talk angels. It’s interesting––at least to me––that here, Scripture speaks of angels. Why not just stop at commanding us to “show hospitality to strangers?” Or, why not say something like, “do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for you too were once a stranger in a foreign land”? (That sounds an awful lot like the book of Leviticus.) Or how about, “do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven”? (Now, that sounds like the Gospel of Matthew.) But none of this is what we find here. Instead, we have this assurance that in showing hospitality to strangers, we might “entertain angels unawares,” as the King James Version so memorably puts it.

Perhaps, we imagine this possibility of “entertaining angels” as the reward for our self-emptying hospitality, as if to say, “show hospitality to strangers, because if you do, you might just meet an angel, someone who might be your best friend one day, or at the least, someone who won’t bother you too much, someone who behaves the way you prefer, who thinks the way you do.” If you show hospitality to strangers, who knows? You might just meet an angel!” Well, if only. But I think Hebrews has something else in mind.

Now, we have to remember that angels are scary. There is a reason that, when angels visited Zechariah (Luke 1:11–13), and Mary (Luke 1:26–30), and the shepherds in the fields (Luke 2:9–11), and the women at the tomb (Luke 24:5–7), Scripture tells us that, first, the people were terrified, and then second, the angel says something to the effect of, “be not afraid.” Yes, angels are scary. This could be because they were visually quite scary. The prophet Daniel describes angels as having faces like lightning, eyes like flaming torches, arms and legs like the gleam of burnished bronze, and, all the while, making sounds like the roar of a multitude (Daniel 10:6). No wonder these angels said, “be not afraid!”

But this verse from the letter to the Hebrews is not speaking of angels that are visually scary because, after all, this verse speaks of “entertaining angels without knowing it” (Hebrews 13:2), that is to say, angels we could not recognize, that we could not see. No, this verse is speaking of a different kind of scary, angels that are scary because they bring a message––which is what the word “angel” actually means, “messenger.” And friends, messages from God can be scary.

The phrase “entertaining angels without knowing it” is a reference to the story of Abraham and Sarah in the book of Genesis, a story about a message from God. Three men, three unknown men, three strangers––three angels, tradition tells us––appeared before Abraham’s and Sarah’s tent. Abraham welcomed them, providing them curds, and milk, and a calf, and the three strangers ate under the tree––you might remember this story!

And then, these three asked the great question: “Where is your wife, Sarah?” (Genesis 18:9). This wife of yours, this barren one, this one who, long ago, had been promised a child, so that the descendants promised by LORD God might be fulfilled, this wife of yours shall have a son. This message from the angels is one of the great turning points in the story of salvation: from bareness to fruitfulness, from promise to fulfilment, from doubt to assurance. Now, of course, fruitfulness, fulfilment, and assurance are all good things, but this kind of change, this kind of newness, can be quite scary. 

So, strangers and angels: let’s put it all together. This verse from Hebrews tells us that in showing hospitality to strangers, in humbling ourselves, in our willingness to be vulnerable to the unknown, we might hear the message that God has for us. So, maybe––just maybe!––this is part of why hospitality is just so difficult, because in showing hospitality to strangers, you just might entertain angels, messengers, messengers who have a word for your life that will be the great turning point in your story. Maybe this is why making ourselves vulnerable before the unknowability of the stranger is so difficult because we would far rather have what we have right now than hear a message from the LORD. Maybe this whole thing about angels is more of a disclaimer: show hospitality to strangers, but just a warning, if so, God might show up with a word for you to hear, and that word might just turn your life upside down. This happened to Abraham and Sarah, to Zechariah and Mary, to the shepherds in the field and to the women at the tomb. These life-changing messages can be scary––but to echo the angels, “be not afraid!”

This is one of the glorious truths of a life shared with God. He has things to tell us, and so often, we learn these things when we enter into a life with Him, humbling ourselves to Him, submitting ourselves to what is beyond our control or comfort. This is what we see in Christ’s life, in His death, and in His rising to life again: there is something to learn in the life of self-emptying, in giving things up and laying things down, in the humility to which God has called us, the humility to enter into the unknown. For it is right there that we hear what God has to say. Amen.

[1] Thomas Breidenthal, Christian Households: The Sanctification of Nearness (Oregon: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 1997); Breidenthal, Sacred Unions: A New Guide to Lifelong Commitment (Cambridge: Cowley Publications, 2006).

[2] 1979 Book of Common Prayer, 429.