Reflection on the readings for the 28th June, the 4th Sunday after Trinity: 09.00 Service
- Jul 2
- 3 min read
Readings:
Readings: Jeremiah 28:5-6; Matthew 10:40-end
Today’s reflection is by the Vicar, the Revd Canon Jonathan Cain.
Hospitality of the heart
Thursday marked ten years since I was ordained priest. Anniversaries have a way of making us look back—sometimes with gratitude, sometimes with surprise, sometimes with a quiet sense of “how did we get here?” And as I look back over these ten years, one theme rises again and again: hospitality. Not simply the hospitality of tea and biscuits—though never underestimate the sacramental power of a good biscuit—but the deeper hospitality of the heart. The kind Jesus speaks of in today’s Gospel:
“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.”
That line is deceptively simple. Jesus is sending his disciples out with nothing—no money, no spare tunic, no safety net. Their only resource is the willingness of others to receive them. And Jesus says that the way people receive these vulnerable, humble disciples will reveal the state of their own hearts. Hospitality becomes a spiritual diagnostic. It shows what we truly value, whom we truly see, and whether we recognise Christ when he comes to us in unfamiliar clothing.
Our first reading from Jeremiah reminds us that true hospitality is not the same as easy comfort. Jeremiah stands against the prophet Hananiah, who promises a quick return from exile—“two years and all will be well.” Jeremiah longs for that to be true—“Amen! May the Lord do so,” he says—but he knows that false comfort is not kindness. Sometimes love requires truth telling. Sometimes hospitality means making space for uncomfortable realities rather than smoothing them over.
Six years ago, when I preached on these readings, I reflected on a diocesan webinar where Black clergy shared painful stories of exclusion and racism. One line from that sermon still strikes me: that faithfulness requires “a willingness to forego popularity, and to unmask realities that many audiences would prefer remained veiled.” That remains true. Hospitality is not sentimental. It is courageous. It asks us to see who is missing, who is hurting, who is unheard—and to open the door wider.
And that, I think, is something this parish of Woodside has been learning in recent years. When we opened the food pantry, we weren’t just offering tins and toiletries. We were saying: your struggle belongs here; your dignity belongs here; you belong here. When we opened the Horsforth Shed, we weren’t just providing tools and timber. We were saying: your loneliness matters; your gifts matter; your presence matters. These are not side projects. They are signs of the kingdom. They are the Gospel in wood and stone, in bread and beans, in companionship and craft.
They are, in the words of the hymn many of you know I love, attempts to “build a house where love can dwell and all can safely live… where the outcast and the stranger bear the image of God’s face.” That hymn has shaped my ministry because it names the church I long for—and the church I believe we are becoming.
Ten years into priesthood, I am more convinced than ever that the heart of ministry is not cleverness or efficiency or even competence. It is welcome. It is the daily, sometimes costly, sometimes joyful work of making space—for God, for neighbour, for the stranger who turns out to be Christ in disguise.
So today, as we hear Jesus say, “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me,” perhaps we might ask ourselves: Who is Christ sending to our door next? And will we recognise them?
May God give us the grace to build a house—indeed, a community—where all are welcome.
Amen.
