Hospitality Hospital

Pentecost 2

And as he reclined at dinner in the house, many tax collectors and sinners came and were reclining with Jesus and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” But when he heard this, he said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous but sinners.”
Matthew 9:10-13

Last week I received an invitation to lead the 90 minute Sunday morning yoga class because the regular instructor had a conflict. I immediately said yes to the opportunity and then I began to wonder: Who comes to this class? What do they need to receive from our time together? How do I plan a 90 minute gentle flow yoga class without burning people out? If you cannot tell, I am new to this. I just finished my 200 hour yoga teacher training this spring and I am learning how to craft and lead a yoga practice of asana (poses). Everyone has their own flavor of teaching and typically, people settle into the comfort of a regular practice with a trusted guide. A substitute can become a bumpy ride… and I am a substitute with training wheels. This could get bumpy.
Or perhaps a substitute can be an unexpected breath of fresh air?

Instead of trying to get clever or smart or impressive, I asked my ego to step aside and my heart began to wonder: “What do people need right now? What kind of spiritual practice would be nurturing for people given what is happening in the world, in our lives, in our community?”

The world seems full of judgment right now. The news cycle is educating us about classified documents and the indictments against our former president. The war in Ukraine continues with a David and Goliath narrative and the slaughter of so many civilians. Greece has been putting people “out to sea” in a rubber raft rather than allow them a process of immigration. Our own immigration borders are full of people, fear, and exclusion.

In my own life, I am coming to the conclusion of a period of judgment and choosing my own faithful discernment forward. I am renouncing vows of ordination and marriage because I can no longer live faithfully according to these promises. Deep grief and scary freedom are the flavors mixing on my tongue as I step out from under the control of others’ judgment. In the span of two weeks I will formally let go of the two identities that have shaped me for almost half my life, wife and Episcopal priest. Some will judge me a monster, others will see a miracle. I am both and neither. (Thank you Dominick for framing this beautiful paradox)

Then God whispered in my ear, “people need loving kindness and hospitality, just like you.”

This past Sunday, Jesus and his disciples reclined with sinners and tax-collectors for a meal and conversation. It was a scandal. A Rabbi and his followers broke bread with people rightly judged to be monsters living against the law of Moses. People willing to fill their own pockets with money by executing the brutal power of Roman taxation. The Pharisees are shocked, “This man performs miracles of healing and he makes friends with monsters. Why?”

Jesus can hear the fear and judgment in their voices, feel the burning scorn in their gaze. He changes their frame and answers, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick.” Instead of seeing a dinner party with unfavorable guests, Jesus invites them to see a hospital and he is a physician tending to the sick. The hospital and a table of hospitality are not so far apart when it comes to healing and restoration of life. With a living parable, Jesus shows them what mercy looks like, in the face of judgment and casting out the wicked. The healing balm needed is not exclusion and estrangement, but rather hospitality, welcome, loving kindness served up with generosity and connection.

I began to create a yoga class focused on the loving kindness meditation I learned from loved ones and Buddhist wisdom teachers over the last two years. I invited the class to focus our practice on hospitality for ourselves, for our loved ones, for those hard to love, and for all of creation. To make space in our bodies, set a table of generous welcome with breath and movement. To energetically let go of judgment against ourselves and others as we prayed:
May (I, you, they) be filled with compassion
May (I, you, they) be held in loving kindness
May (I, you, they) be peaceful
May (I, you, they) be joyful
May (I, you, they) be blessed
May (I, you, they) become who (I, you, they) am/are.

The truth is that we are all monsters and we are all miracles. We are all in need of a physician who loves us back to wholeness. We are all called to the table for a meal of loving kindness, fed by Jesus’ hand. The moment I begin to judge you or accept the judgment of others about myself, I have shut the doors of healing and I am starved out of existence. I believe this grieves God’s heart. God desires mercy, not sacrifice. So, as hard as it is sometimes, I choose mercy.

Where do you need to remove the block of judgment and find the spaciousness of mercy and loving kindness in your life? Perhaps, you might pray with your body and find room for loving kindness in those places that have become painfully tight.

PS
Each week for the last two years, I have written a haiku on Sunday night to help me keep track of my life when I scarcely know who or when or what I am. Life has been disassembling too fast for my soul to keep up. The poems are small vessels of remembrance that I can revisit and re-assemble myself. Sunday night I wrote this poem. Maybe it is helpful for you, too?

I am miracle
and monster, trusted and false,
(I tried sacrifice)
I require mercy.